Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts

Thursday, February 9, 2012

And all shall be well...

For a number of years, I've written a blog called The Preppy Yogini. Bits and pieces of this blog have made their way into various yoga and book circles. I feel incredibly fortunate to have had The Preppy Yogini be so well received. It's been a lifeline for me in many ways. I've met some incredible people through The Preppy Yogini and it has opened doors for me in ways I never could have imagined. 


And yet, as I wrote in a piece called The Bohemian Sloth, I've felt myself stepping away from my Preppy Yogini persona. I've spent the past 15 months battling cancer, and its physical aftermath, for the second time. No longer am I a yoga instructor. No longer am I particularly preppy. It's been a time of great changes in my life...in what I can do, in what I want to do and to what I will aspire. Blessed Julian of Norwich was an anchoress in the 14th century. She was quite literally walled into Norwich Cathedral. She had two windows: one opened into the cathedral, so that she could be a part of the worship in the church. The other window was outside. It allowed her to receive food (and I'm assuming, to get rid any waste). More importantly, it allowed her to speak with people, to pray for them and to be a part of their lives. She was a mystic and a little "out there" in her theology. And yet, she was also ahead of her in many other ways. She felt God's presence as a Loving, Kind Mother. Imagine that concept in the medieval world!


While the idea of being walled up anywhere is terrifying from a claustrophobia standpoint,  I have to admit that I felt some affinity for Blessed Julian for the past year. While I've done some traveling and I have gotten out of the house, I have also been home more than ever have. I've always been a doer, a mover, a goer and a 'be right in the thick of things' kind of woman. I've worked, I've volunteered, I've gone out to lunch with friends and noodled around art museums. I have spent more time in quiet contemplation, over the past year, than ever before. It's a heady thing. I've had to learn how to simply be in peace without anyone else to entertain me. I've learned so much in the past year...most of it having to do with meditation, harmonious quiet and silent images. I'm done a great deal of praying. I've read a tremendous amount, even for a bibliophile like me. I've come to appreciate the beauty in stillness in a way I never had before. I've always been an admirer of Blessed Julian, but I've come to understand her better...even in the smallest way...to know what it's like to simply be alone.

My new blog,  And All Shall Be Well, will not be  a collection of my own life experiences and lessons from, as I had in The Preppy Yogini. It's my goal to write short essays that may be used in meditation, for inspirational reading, for prayer and for uplifting imagery. This won't be a running diary. Rather, it will simply be a tool for others to use in their quests. I like to describe myself an Episcopalian with dashes of Jewish roots and twists of Zen. I feel honored and blessed by Native American, Celtic and Norse traditions. And All Shall Be Well is most definitely written with God in mind and in heart. But, I'm hopeful that, whatever one's faith tradition, there will be illuminating pieces that will speak to many. I plan on drawing from many sources for my own inspiration.


St. Paul wrote in Philippians, "Finally, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."  It's my hope that the pictures I'll paint with my words will uplift and will be worthy to 'think on'.


(Note: I will not take down The Preppy Yogini, I've accomplished what I had hoped to..and will continue to update. But, I hope you join me as I work on And All Shall Be Well. Namaste, Peace and Thank you.)

Monday, January 9, 2012

Broken

Broken: Adjective: reduced to fragments; fragmented, ruptured; torn; fractured,not functioning properly; out of working order.

When my son, Josh, was a toddler, Cheerios's came out with a new twist on their oat cereal. Instead of just having the famous and signature "O", they also came out with "X's". It was cute. It was clever. It tasted the same and had all the same healthy reasons for putting the new gimmick on my shopping list. Josh, however, was duly horrified, as only an 18 month old can be. I thought it was so charming to put the X's and O's on the tray of his high chair. Josh looked at the cereal, looked at me, and then began precisely picking up the X's, tossing them off the tray to the waiting vultures (masquerading as dogs). With each flick of his chubby baby wrist, he'd say "Broken!". Nothing I could do would persuade him to even taste one. In his one year frame of reference, his beloved "O-eee-o's" were not supposed to look like that.

This was a parenting annoyance at the time. But, now, 19 years later, I can understand completely how Josh felt. There was a way that his neatly ordered world was supposed to be. He was accustomed to his snack looking a particular way. It gave Josh stability knowing what he should expect. His passionate rejection of the 'different' was not unlike how an adult might feel when her world is turned upside down. What Josh experienced as baby, on a much smaller scale, many of us discover, to our horror, as grown ups. "Broken" can mean a wide variety of things to us. It might be that a marriage fails. Or a family member dies. Or a debilitating, scary illness is diagnosed. It may be being downsized from a career. It could mean that our belief system is shattered, our hearts are crushed, our friendships aren't steady and our mind can't grasp the changes. Broken can mean that the worlds we work so hard to create for ourselves are in nothing more than a gossamer scarf, holding together the fragile pieces that fit together within the delicate folds. 

Over the past year, I've been exploring the concept of brokenness, as it applies to body, mind and spirit. This wasn't intentional. I had no choice in the matter of my body. Cancer is an all powerful, indiscriminate leveler, particularly when one has had the disease more than once. My strength through yoga failed me. I was physically broken, emotionally drained and intellectually flummoxed. How does a non-smoking, organic eating yogini get a rare form of cancer more than once? I was angry. I wanted to power through, to be the little engine that could", to deny that this disease would have any long term effects on me. I refused to allow myself to be broken. I wouldn't stand for it. How very wrong I was! How naive, and how foolish. I wish I could back in time. I wish I could take myself by the hand and say, "You will be broken. You will be challenged. Nothing will be easy. With every step forward, there will be two steps back and to the side. You will not reemerge the same woman. You will be different. You will be changed. You will be splintered. But, you will survive and create something new from the pieces."

After yet another setback last week, I wanted to cry out to the heavens, "Seriously?" But, I realize that there is still more for me to learn. There is always more for me to learn. Perhaps that's the lesson in all of this; no matter how well I think I've put the pieces back together, they seem to twirl out of my hands, crashing to the floor and creating even more fragments for me to contemplate. It's not the breaking that matters. Regardless of how I feel about it, I'm beginning to realize that the brokenness itself may very well be the lesson. It may be that I need to continuously learn humility; that I must deliberately look at each fragment and wonder what it has to teach me. It may also just be a crappy deal that I'm stuck with, and if I don't want to end up as a bitter, hate-filled old biddy, I'd better learn how to dwell with what is, rather than focusing on what is not.

Like a mosaic work of art, made from bits of shattered glass, I need to learn how to see the beauty in brokenness. I need to appreciate what is broken. Why? Because it's healthier than the alternative. One never knows: something exquisite may yet be created. I just have the humbling task of trying to discern what 'it' will be.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The End of Innocence

Somewhere back there in the dust, that same small town in each of us. I need to remember this. So, baby give me just one kiss. And let me take a long last look, before we say goodbye. Just lay your head back on the ground. And let your hair fall all around me. Offer up your best defense. This is end of the innocence. ~ Don Henley and Bruce Hornsby "The End of Innocence


September 11, 2001 began as a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The leaves on our large Maple tree were just beginning to turn. We could see the brilliant yellows and reds outside our kitchen window. I was still homeschooling my children, who were 9 and not quite 7 years old respectively. We were curled up on the couch in our family room, reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe". Josh and Caroline begged me to postpone their math lessons to just allow for one more chapter. "Aslan is on the move, Mom! We can't stop now!", they said. I realize that those two sets of beautiful brown eyes were both serious in their earnest request for more reading. I also knew it was partly a ploy to postpone multiplication tables. I was okay with that.




The phone rang just after 9:00 am. It was my friend, and fellow homeschool mother, Jennifer asking if I had the television on. Jen wasn't any more likely to be watching TV on a school day than I was. We took our jobs as homeschool teachers seriously. But, I heard the tone in her voice, and still couldn't comprehend what she was telling me. How in the world could a plane have crashed into one of the Twin Towers? It was with horror that the children and I watched the events unfold. What we thought must surely have been a terrible accident initially, clearly took on much larger meaning for the entire world.


It was the end of innocence for our nation, I've heard it said. No longer were terrorist attacks limited to unfathomable bombs going off in Israel or India. Our oceans to the west and east couldn't protect us with their natural barrier. We were no longer the citizens of a country who had to travel to foreign lands to protect ourselves. We needed protection here at home. Europe bears the scars of war from within the last 60 years. So does most of Asia. We had now joined the unwanted society of countries at war.


Because I'm not a politician, or journalist, or in the military, I can't speak for a world perspective. I didn't see the carnage first hand. I didn't lose a loved one or a colleague on September 11th. But, as a mother, I know what our family lost: its innocence. Until that time, my family flew several times a year with ease. My biggest concern was having enough items in my carry on bag to entertain Josh and Caroline for our trips. My only fear was that we'd run out of things to do and someone would melt down in public. After September 11th, our trips changed in tone. My children saw me pulled out of line and searched almost every time we flew. I explained that it was for all of our safety that folks were searched randomly. "Is it so that we don't hit a big building, too?", my daughter asked the first time this happened, "Don't they know you're a Mommy?". I tried to think about how to illustrate the concepts of fairness, equity and impartiality. It was hard to do when my children just wanted to go visit their Nana, and were afraid to fly.


As it turns out September 11, 2001 was an end of innocence for our family in other ways...in aspects that had nothing to do with the terrible events of that day. This was, ultimately, the last year I would homeschool the children. They both went on to doing extremely well in school. They loved their peers and were successful in their classes. They gained independence by leaps and bounds every year. I am exceptionally proud of both of them for their diligence and leadership, both in the classroom and outside of it. But, I still missed the sweet quality our days together had once had. It was the last year before I was diagnosed with cancer the first time. My life was never the same after my first cancer digagnosis. I would find myself revisiting this chapter time and again. I would come to the understanding that no matter how well I take of my body, it can betray me with illness. My husband was working in a job he loved, with people he admired, during this time. Although his career would take another decade to end, I look back on 2001 as the time in which my husband was working in a capacity he most enjoyed. 


Obviously, things haven't been all bad since that September 11th. We've continued to travel, to grow, to learn, to laugh, to cry and to explore. We have had outstanding years and utterly dreadful ones. We have known profound joy. We have experienced deep sorrow. Ten years is a long time, but it's also the blink of an eye. I am thankful for every day I've had since the terrible tragedy occurred. If nothing else, the terrorist attacks taught me to appreciate life all the more, to hold my children a little closer, to hug my husband every day before he leaves for work, to call my mom and tell her how much I love her.


Back on the homeschool couch, on September 11th, I used the remote to turn the TV off. I pulled a blanket over Josh, Caroline and me, and we read another chapter from the Chronicles of Narnia. Then, we read the chapter after that. And on, and on, until we finished the book. We may have skipped math that day, but I believe that time spent reading was vital. After all, Aslan was on the move.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Laughter through tears

"Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." ~ Dolly Parton as Truvy, in "Steel Magnolias".


There's an absolutely wonderful short film by European filmmaker Christine Rabette entitled "Merci". In this exceptional 8 minute movie, not a word is spoken. Emotions, however, are conveyed with powerful imagery. The scene opens with an underground rail system and moves into a Metro car. The riders are nearly colorless...bland, beige, drab and downtrodden. Every face has a frown upon it. Every eye is downcast. It's a gloomy, depressing scene. The viewer feels the degradation, the monotony and the bleakness of the lives of the riders.


At the next Metro stop a smiling, robust, jolly man steps onto the train. Despite his grin, no one meets his gaze. He begins to chuckle, at first. Then guffaws. The train riders look aghast initially, or even disgusted. Yet, his laughter is infectious. Before long, the woman next to him is laughing along with him. The serious, stern riders further away begin to smile to themselves. Within an instant they, too, are giggling. A moment passes and the entire train is filled with optimistic, joyful mirth. As the Metro pulls into another stop, The Laughing Bodhisattva departs. But he leaves behind a much happier car.


For the past few weeks, I've felt quite a bit like the discouraged riders on that subway. One situation after another has left me depleted. Once again, I'm unwell. Although we don't have a diagnosis yet, I'm in nearly constant severe pain and am suffering from other ailments. It's been extremely difficult to get a doctor to return  my calls. In the hospital, it was nearly impossible to find anyone to even really listen to me. They were simply too busy to meet my gaze. In a sense, those health care professionals were riding on this same sad Metro car along with me. Additionally, my husband just lost his job. More than that, he lost his career, due to downsizing. He's a well educated, hard working man and has always been employed. This blow has also been extremely demoralizing...not to mention that it's terrifying in this economy. My heart has been so heavy, it's been close to breaking for good.


Yet, I had my own personal Bodhisattva appear, in canine form, this morning. My dog, Dakota, is a rescue. She's a beautiful Shiloh Shepherd. She came to us with many fears and has slowly been emerging from her personal troubled subway ride. As Dakota has gained in confidence, a mischievous sprite has taken form. I woke up to find her snuggling with me in bed. This isn't surprising. Dakota is very cuddly. What was unexpected, at any rate, was that my entire bed was covered in toilet paper. Not only was Dakota wrapped up like a mummy, but my other dog, Murphy (a Newfoundland-Golden Retriever mix) also was quietly bearing the binds of his wrappings. My lamps were covered. My robe, next to the bed, was covered. Somehow, my Kindle was completely wrapped up in its own package, as was the remote control to the television. There was toilet paper from headboard to the end of my bed, draping us all in a cocoon. It was as if I woke up in a canopy bed made of toilet paper. Miraculously, none of it was really broken. It was all looping, long, entire rolls. And, I'd slept through the entire construction. My crimson and gold bedding was lost in a sea of white. Seeing through the curtains of toilet paper, I saw two beautiful, mirthful eyes. Dakota had been waiting for me to wake up.


Although Dakota couldn't begin laughing herself, I knew that this was her gift to me. Her sprightly, goofy antics were the medicine I needed. I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Dakota got up and rollicked around with the now destroyed toilet paper castle. She jumped. She whirled. She nearly pulled me out of bed with her merry shenanigans. I loved every second.


Are our problems solved? No. Do we have any answers to the fearful question we face? Also, no. But Dakota gave me a precious treat: the ability to look at the present moment with joy in my heart. When you think about it, isn't that what we all need?  Life isn't about the long term; it's about loving each day as if comes, finding the bright spots and steering your course towards them. It's also about laughter through tears. If we can't laugh during our times of trial, then we won't see the miracles that are right in front of us...even if those miracles are created by a dog with a penchant for toilet paper.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Bouncing

Life is not about how fast you run or how high you climb but how well you bounce. ~Vivian Komori


Blue jeans. Shorts. Bathing suits. My sense of balance. My energy level. My personal idea of self-worth. My health. My job. My fear factor and anxiety level. These are all areas that I've discovered are completely different than they were six months ago. My cancer surgery, to remove the Leiomyosarcoma tumor from my abdominal wall along with a good portion of muscle tissue, was half a year ago. And yet, those ripples of interwoven effect are still very much flowing through my life.  


Six months used to sound like a long time to me. I remember saying to a friend, who was an incredible scheduler and planner, than it was hard for me to look a week ahead, let alone six months. This pal was amazing! She'd have a calender of events for her family's life booked anywhere from six months to a year in advance. I was awed by her foresight. In my own life, six months was much too far in the future to fathom. During that time, my children might almost finish a school year, we might get a new car, we might take a trip...it was just a distant horizon. Given the nature of unpredictable, extenuating circumstances, I had an impossible time picturing what might happen half a year away.


The past six months, however, have moved along at a snail's pace. Even after I'd had my surgery, it never even crossed my mind that I'd still be recovering six months later. In my ignorance, I believed that I'd bounce back immediately. I thought my energy level would jump out and greet me with the enthusiasm of a Labrador puppy. I was confident that my body would retain its pre-surgical form. I not only thought I'd be back at work as a yoga instructor, but that I'd be an even better one. How foolish I was! I had no clue that six months is a drop in the grand bucket of time from cancer recovery. Every step, every time I'd sit up, every motion I'd make has been an arduous, laborous endeavor. Simple actions that I could have done blindfolded, such as moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer, have taken me intense concentration, followed by rest. Each improvement I've made has been the result of deliberate conquest.


Because so many of these achievements have been 'behind the scenes' ones, just like the laundry, I've felt guilty for not being 'back to my old self'. When my former boss was kind, but clearly frustrated, with my inability to be back to work in February, she hired another teacher. It was understandable. It was necessary. But, my feelings were hurt all the same. If I couldn't push a vacuum cleaner around without causing myself further injury and pain, I clearly couldn't teach the five intense yoga classes per week that I had taught up until my illness and surgery. I wanted to give myself a parade for being able to sit up in a theater. What an accomplishment! But, to the rest of the world, it simply wasn't a big deal. Everyone can sit up! Why was it a cause for celebration to me?


When I read today's quote by Vivian Komori, I felt as if I could breathe a sigh of sweet peaceful relief. I am bouncing! I may not be holding a Warrior pose for 20 minutes with ease. I might not be climbing Mount Katahdin. I'm still not back to my former career. But, I'm bouncing. I'm doing laundry. I'm traveling with my children. I'm cooking dinner for my family. I'm walking my dogs. I'm enjoying the beautiful sunshine. I'm not where I'd like to be, but I'm on my way there, bouncing as I go.


I've always loved water, and when I was a very little girl, my mom was concerned that my lack of fear about our swimming pool overstepped my swimming ability for a time. Rather than ban me from the pool, she taught me a practical skill: if I ever feel as if I can't swim any further, I need only bounce. I'd push myself down to the bottom of the pool and spring up forward all along the way back to the shallow end. It was invaluable. A few times I really did tire in the deep end. I'd hold my breath, propel myself down and then, pushing off the pool floor, hurtle forward always making progress as I ricocheted along. 


Life has been a bit like that for the last six months. I'll go down a bit and wrestle in the deep end of an area in my life and then hurdle upwards with a new spring in my step. Six months have come and gone. I'm not in the shallow end yet. I still have lots of areas that need attention and work. But, I'm bouncing. It may not be far with each upward movement, but I'm bouncing all the same.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

The Power of Kindness and Dreamcatchers


No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that itakes them kind themselves.
~ Amelia Earhart


Many years ago, I had an experience that would have a profound impact on my life. At that time, I was mothering my two very young children, and had only minimal time to myself. Parenting two toddlers can be overwhelming and stressful. I felt the need to be perfect; to have an immaculate home, clean and well behaved babies and elegant meals on the table every night. Because my husband and I made the choice that I should stop working outside the home, and focus on our children and house, I didn't believe that I had a "right" to outside interests. I felt that being a homemaker was my job and I needed do to it with excellence. I may have stressed myself out with my unrealistically high standards, but I did feel pride in my life. I believe that I had a good shot at success, until two major losses threw my world off its axis. The loss of my father, and of my 3rd baby a week later, were more than I could handle. I didn't know where my touchstone was. I couldn't seem to find 'center' again. I had no idea how to even begin approaching getting back there.

When these losses happened, I was somewhat shocked by the responses of a few people. While many were truly sympathetic, and others embarrassingly unsure of what to say, there were a few that were profoundly derogatory to me. One woman, whom I had considered a close friend, told me just days after my miscarriage to just 'stop being a baby and get over it'. She went on to recount her own losses, how much deeper they were than my own, and she was fine. Fine! Her comments, and others like them, said to me, "You are a loser. You have no ability to be a great person. If you can't, then you have no place in this world." Despite all the loving generosity I was shown by others, the effect of this false friend's words to me was staggering. I sunk deeper into my own despair and wondered if I really did not have what it took to be a strong woman, a decent wife and a good mother. I doubted my own beliefs inalmost everything, I doubted my intelligence, I doubted my faith, I doubted my ability to find joy again.

One place I used love to go, in the depths of winter, was a garden center's greenhouse. While the rest of the nursery lay dormant, under a blanket of thick white snow, the greenhouse beckoned, like a siren of Spring. There were tropical plants in full bloom, several water features that bubbled enthusiastically and even birds who flew about singing and delighted to have found an oasis from Maine's harshest days. I had struck up a pleasant acquaintance relationship with the greenhouse's caretaker, and we'd often chat, as we shared a cup of tea (provided by her little electric teapot) together. I never troubled her with anything heavy, with my horror at
my own inability to feel peace of mind. But, I did soak in her positive nature and her beautiful way with words. She often wore a lovely dream-catcher necklace that held small totem animals dangling from it. I had admired the way it reflected the light, and the intricacy of the design. Each part of the necklace seemed to have a significance I could only hope to guess at, and yet the piece of art it created was profound and moving, even without knowing what each item represented.

One day, I shyly offered my compliments about the necklace. I told this lovely gardener how beautiful I believed it was, my cheeks burning red from fear that I'd be rebuffed in my meek attempt to praise. What I was offering was not just my admiration for the lovely piece of jewelry, but also for this woman's unfailing, and unrequired, kindness to me. I was prepared to be rebuffed and sent on my way, as she tended to her other customers, all of whom were paying for plants, rather than just soaking in the womb-like warmth of the greenhouse. Instead, she smiled, took off the necklace and put it around my neck. I tried to protest, offering my hands up in submission to her overly generous act. But, she kissed me on the cheek and said, "You need it right now." I accepted with a sense of deep importance at the unprecedented beneficence.

I began to feel better. I started returning phone calls from well meaning friends. I started taking yoga classes. I began to eat right, exercise more and the power of feeling as if my center was returning, palpably weighing me back into balance. When I went to the garden center a month after the gift was bestowed upon me, the woman was gone. Her successor was a harsh older man who had little patience, and less understanding, for people wanting to picnic in the greenhouse without purchasing anything. I felt shock that "Eve" had been voluntarily left the garden. I also found that my beloved sanctuary was now off limits and tended to by a grumpy curmudgeon. Still, I wore the necklace almost every day for several years. I felt myself touching it often, absentmindedly and with a sense of grace. I wore it to church, I wore to yoga, I wore to the grocery store, to meetings and to the library. It was simply a part of who I was. I read about dream catchers, learning that they began as an Objibway Native American tradition, as a symbol of protection from harm. I enjoyed learning about the tiny totem animals on mine: the badger for healing, the bear for self-preservation, the eagle for divine spirit, the wolf for loyalty and the owl for insight.

Walking around the charming Old Port section of Portland, Maine one day, I looked down and noticed that my necklace was gone. In a panic, I raced around the cobblestone streets and historic brick buildings, retracing my steps. I went into every shop, recrossed every intersection and thoroughly searched the restaurant in which I'd enjoyed lunch, much to the dismay of the family currently eating at the same table. I was mortified at my own irresponsibility and felt as if I'd lost myself all over again. Despite a Herculean recovery effort, I had to admit defeat and returned home feeling very low. Still, my yoga classes were going very well, I was involved in several exciting parenting groups and had a busy, full and productive life. My slip was more into disappointment, and while still keenly aware of the loss of my necklace, I knew that life would not end because of the misfortune over its disappearance.

When I walked into "The Green Store", a healthy living center, in Belfast, Maine, a few weeks later, I couldn't believe my eyes; there behind the counter was the Gardener. I wasn't even sure she would recognize me....but she warmly greeted me and gave me a rich hug like a long lost sister. I stammered how much her necklace had meant to me, what a turning point it had been in my life and how wretched I felt when it was lost only recently. She smiled and told me, with wisdom in shining in her eyes, "You didn't need it any longer. Someone else will find it. She will pick it up and put it on, and it will make the same difference to her. It was time for you to let it go. Just do something kind to someone else someday, okay?" I walked out of the store, flushed, dazed and dizzied...having forgotten to buy anything on my shopping list. As I drove home, contemplating the Gardener's words, I wondered how I could accomplish her mission to me.

I discovered that kindness isn't hard to practice. We only need to smile at people who are having a bad day. We can hold doors for people whose arms are filled to overflowing. We can let someone go ahead of us in line. We can offer to watch a friend's child. We can bite our tongues when we want to bark out a snarky retort. We can compliment, when we feel like criticizing. We can try to work into understanding, when we feel antagonism. We can let old grudges go, when we secretly like the festering hostility within us. We can forgive, when we want to hold onto bitterness. The amazing thing is, when we begin to actively practice kindness, it's fascinating how the reactions to us can change. Although being kind doesn't mean being a doormat, repeatedly allowing ourselves to be in where we'll be treated horrendously, it can mean making a graceful exit from these situations. Additionally, kindness is easier than negativity. I have discovered that, on days in which I actively intent to be kind, my energy level is far greater. Kindness can provide a boost in energy, as well as in one's mental state.

I never did learn the name of the Gardener. I never saw her again after her final piece of wisdom to me. In some ways, I wonder if this episode in my life is a dream....a faraway fantasy of my own creation to get me through an insurmountable period of grief. Yet, I have photos of myself wearing the dream-catcher, so I have a proof that it did exist in reality, and not just in my imagination. I only wonder who is wearing it right now, and the impact it has had.


Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Hope Springs Eternal

Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never Is, but always To be blest: The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. ~ Alexander Pope

There are few public monuments that attract visitors the way a fountain does. In parks, in town squares, in front of public buildings and hospitals, these beautiful statues with running water seem to immediately calm us and fill us with a sense of serenity. City workers congregate at fountains to eat their lunch, more than at any other public venue. An increasing number of people are creating fountains and water features in their own yards. These people want to bring that multi-sensory experience into their every day lives. Fountains speak to our inner well being using most of our five senses: we can hear the trickling, burbling water, we can feel its cool refreshment, we can smell the fresh air that the moving water creates and we can become mesmerized, gazing at the rainbows, and patterns, formed by the water's path. As many mothers will say, shaking their heads, there have been more than a few toddlers who have tasted fountain water, as well.

Fountains simply relax us. We find the sound to be rhythmic and peaceful in a noisy world. The most popular sound, for people who use 'white noise' machines, is that of a light rain...which creates a similar effect in establishing a restorative mood. Considering that fountains date back to, at the very latest, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, we can understand that human beings have an innate need and response to fountains' beauty and healthful qualities. As long as human beings have been able to control water's path and direction, we have used water for calming purposes, in addition to watering crops and fields. Because of our attraction to the sound and magnificence of running water, we have used metaphors to describe our feelings of joy, of peace and of tranquility, all using fountains as their basis. We use running water as the way to best describe how we are feeling or what we hope to accomplish.

King David wrote, in the Book of Psalms, "For with Thee is the fountain of Life. In Thy light, we shall see Light." long before the new millennium. "Look within. Within us is the fountain of good, ever bubbling up when you choose to dig." wrote Marcus Arelius in the first century A.D. More recently, the beautiful Sophia Loren said, "There is a fountain of youth. It is in your minds, in your talents, in the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of those you love." Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Pope, Cummings, Twain and Wollstonecraft, among countless other of the greatest writers, use fountains as a metaphor for the way in which we live our lives. We speak of welling up, of springing forth, of bubbling over and of overflowing from joy, from sorrow, from hope and from delight. The emotions we feel can be thought of as 'polluted' fountains, if we are in despair, as polluted water can't be cleaned. However, if we are intensely and powerful joy-filled, we cannot contain our glee, just as if we ourselves are fountains bubbling powerfully.


As with many disciplines, Yoga has a number of variations. There is my own discipline of Ashtanga based yoga, as well as Kundilini, Restorative, Power, Bihkram (hot room) and Kripalu. There are as many styles of yoga practice as there are teachers. However, one element that is often consistent between instructors and styles is the Flow. In my own classes, as well as those I have attended, there is generally an actively moving time of asana work. Entire classes can be taught in the flow technique, allowing students to move in and out of poses as their own pace dictates. The flow sequence that feels nearly water-like to me, in its power and grace, and moving throughout the Triangle series. As the yogini moves from her right side to an upright position and then flows over to her left side, before moving back again, I am always struck by how much this sequence resembles a fountain: both in appearance and allegorically. We flow gracefully, traveling up and then spilling over our legs. It's one of the most elegant, and "watery" sequences in my classes. There is a strength and a rhythm to practicing Triangle in flow mode, rather than still.

Fountains are not only a part of literature, hymns, art work and gardens, they are a part of who we are. Whether we're standing under a steamy shower, or eating a picnic with a friend at a water containing monument, we are refreshed, restored and renewed by these fountains. Not only does the water inside us move, much like a fountain, but our spirits, our emotions and our thoughts can take on those same characteristics. Let's take care to allow all the hope, all the generosity and all the love possible flow from us...to those we love, and to those we meet every day. But, most of all, let's take the time to allow ourselves those moments of refreshment, inside and out, and sitting by flowing fountain can bring.