Shoveling Snow

Before Enlightenment chop wood carry water, after Enlightenment, chop wood carry water.

In my case, shovel snow. Yesterday afternoon I ventured forth, with a reserve of energy built up during a morning of watching British crime drama on the telly, to shovel the driveway and sidewalk. My neighbor was out with his snowblower working overtime on the heavy, wet slush. He soon put the burned out machine away and applied some elbow grease to clearing his own driveway and walk. That stuff was heavy! Soon I was working up a sweat underneath my wool coat, hat and gloves. My neighbor took off his coat and was shoveling in only a plain white T-shirt. I liked the work out, feeling my back muscles hug to midline, guessing the right amount of thrust to get the piles from the shovel to the right spot on the sidelines. I varied my technique, sometimes shoveling and tossing, sometimes snowplowing sodden heaps to the edges, forming an icy embankment. My moodiness of the morning had been nothing a little physical labor couldn't cure.

I was thinking about a paragraph in Rebel Buddha I had read:

"Our journey becomes our life itself, and our practice is relating with everyday situations as they manifest and play out in our minds and emotions and in the minds and emotions of others. When you operate on such a fundamental level, there is a natural flow of communication between you and your world. When you talk to your neighbors using the language and experience of everyday life, they will understand you."

I was taking it a bit out of context as I shoveled, wondering about this other human out there who lives just a stone's throw away and with whom I doubted I'd ever had a conversation. I'm a bit shy by nature, you see, but that's no excuse. So as I worked and sweated, I thought of a few ice-breakers--pun intended.  My neighbor finished his walk before I finished mine and came across the street to offer his assistance and the conversation went a little something like this:

D: Do you want some help with the rest of your sidewalk?

J: Sure, if you're looking for a workout. Great way to build up a sweat.

D: Yes. That's been one of my goals for this week, to work out, so yeah.

J: Awesome! (Awesome is one of those words I say habitually as a 2nd grade teacher. I'd like to wean it from my vocabulary, but it keeps sneaking in.) Thanks!

D:  I'm Danny, by the way. I've met your husband, but...

J: Yeah, I'm Jen.

D: Jen?

J: Jen.

So we nodded, smiled, and, as they say in Mormondom, put our shoulders to the wheel. I'll be damned if Danny wasn't a little bit shy himself, but gathered up his good will to help out a neighbor--and a heathen neighbor at that. It was a nice exchange, a natural flow of communication between me and another. Made my day, truth be told. We finished up, talked about the density of the snow and how it nearly killed his snowblower, then he was off to the warmth of the interior of his house, and I was soon snuggled inside watching another episode of "Wire in the Blood."

Funny enough, it wasn't an hour later when the wind picked up and I was looking out the window at white-out blizzard conditions. My driveway was covered again in minutes. No matter. Before enlightenment shovel snow, after enlightenment shovel snow. Ain't no big thang!

What Condition is My Condition In?

Woke up to snow and dull emotions. I'm tired of listening to my own thoughts but don't see any way around that. This state of being tired, disconnected is part of the game, too. How do I do this part of it?

Those were my words at 6:00 AM. Here's how I did that part of it. First, I plugged in the SAD lamp I bought Chris for Christmas (convenient gift-giving at its best) and let the 10,000 lux (whatever the hell lux are) hit my retinas for about 30 minutes. I gave myself over to half an hour of informal meditation and just checked in to see what condition my condition was in. It was hunkering down, in case you're wondering, keeping the lid on a number of other feelings I didn't want to face. Nothing earth-shattering. Some disappointment over things as mundane as having eaten too much food yesterday to something a little more chronic like wondering why I don't see things more clearly than I do, why I'm not better, above feeling angry or jealous or human, or anything other than what I am. That kind of stuff.  In a way this dead week between Christmas and New Year's brings this sort of shit out into the open. I'm not so tangled up in business, work, and just keeping things together that I can't slow down enough to see what's really going on.  In this light, I could look on my disappointment as a blessing of sorts--one of life's wake-up calls. But waking up to what? Not to a sense that I need to DO something about this quick! That's more running away. So, instead, I sat there in the bluish glow of the lamp and let those feelings be.

I've been reading Rebel Buddha this week, too, so I'd be lying if I tried to convince you I'm free from any influence there. I'm enjoying the language and my surprise that this guy who started out his education in a Tibetan Buddhist monastery can speak to my contemporary mind as clearly as he does. I checked out his web site after the SAD lamp had run its course. The site seemed a little lite and carnivalish, but on the other hand not meeting my expectations may be a good thing. I bookmarked it and will check back from time to time to see wha's up. The idea that sunk deepest from last night's reading was that of embracing our neurosis. Let's see if I can clearly communicate what I understand by this. First, our minds and hearts are full of confusion and neurosis that suffers, mistakes things, clouds up reality, and waking up doesn't mean you suddenly get a new, improved model. It's the same mind that wakes up. There is no other. I don't get to choose to get to know any other mind than the one I've got. It gets even more interesting when my confused, neurotic mind relates to other confused neurotic minds. In an open, honest connection this is it--and this is enough. It allows for compassion and authentic connection. I'm falling into relying on quotes now, so here goes:

"We can touch another heart, another life, only with our own heart and life. We may be the ones to benefit most; you never know what will happen or who will end up liberating whom. When we reach out, we're offering to let go of our own preconceptions about "who I am," "who you are," and what could or should happen. A meeting of minds or hearts is never about just one person; it's like a chemical reaction, an alchemy that can transform both."

(I swear I used the word alchemy in this blog before reading this)

"Our appreciation for this crazy, confused world comes from realizing that we can wake up with the mind we have right now. This more positive perspective toward our thoughts and emtions doesn't mean that we indulge our habitual patterns, but that we make the best use of them."

 So I went on to read a little more before slushing my way out to my car, dragging my ass to yoga class. Russ taught a really sweet modified primary series that hit the spot. My sluggish body woke up bit by bit as I gazed back between my legs in down dog at the snow falling on a bare-branched tree outside the window. That's cause and effect. I had to work at this practice today with what I had. The starchy foods and extra two pounds of weight notably stole the lightness and ease that I sometimes experience in yoga. And yet this was still a good practice. I know I'll be going back and burning off the excess, waking up and waking up again. Just as I can only wake up with the mind I have, I can only practice yoga with this body and mind. No alternative--no way 'round but through. I drove home with a quiet alertness and an idea about cause and effect of which to be aware. That is, it will be worth paying attention to what wakes me up and what lulls me back to sleep. Yoga, as effective as a double hit of espresso.

I'm not especially satisfied with how this post is turning out, which most likely means it needs to sit awhile. I'll post it, but it's a work in progress as am I, and, as I suspect are you.

Listening

Sheesh! After 30 days of non-stop talking, it felt relieving to take yesterday off to listen, and there were some mighty fine things to listen to. The day began late with Sunday Yoga at Yoga Sun. Six yogis--seven if I count--a new playlist that Chris put together as part of my Christmas gift, and some very nice asanas. I indulged by joining in with the Sun Salutations. After Saturday's eating extravaganza, the movement was vital. The sound of my ujayyi breath combined with the other yogis was music to my ears. An extra long savasana accompanied by FC Kahuna made me happy to be there. As uncomplicated as the lyrics are, the element of irony, apparent in the video clip, only makes it that much better.

The day was quiet. I picked up my kids from their annual cousin sleepover, heard their giggles and stories about cats, movies they were making and movies they watched. The background soundtrack was some leftover Christmas music at the grocery stores I entered on a quest for tempeh. I had a craving for some buffalo tempeh--a spicy vegan version of hot wings. However, none of the traditional grocery stores carried this and my usual health food haunts were closed for Sunday. I'd have to settle for some guacamole and a smoked tofu sandwich.

The sound of rain punctuated the afternoon and I figured my good friend's already-once-postponed Solstice bonfire would be cancelled. However, the event was to continue indoors or out, and I was pleasantly greeted by no rain, a popping hot fire to warm my cheeks and fingers, and some wassail with brandy for the inside. This was the loveliest listen of the day, another event where the alchemy of who showed up created the magic. I could have listened all night to Sue's and Sonny's tales of beekeeping and their posh chicken hotel complete with a Barry White crooning rooster and henhouse chandeliers. Often in these settings I get all worked up about what I can say, but I let that go and sort of melted into the talk. I came home to a good night's sleep.

Turning my thoughts to a new year--and knowing nothing really changes on New Year's Day--I look forward to listening more in yoga, meditation, my classroom, nature, garden, and the company of others with an openness to what is.

Paz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KK6sj0XfkY

In the end, I'll wrap up this exploration of Christmas feeling with something sentimental. Why not? It IS Christmas, after all. Have a merry one, friends and faithful readers : )

Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon...

Couldn't let the season pass us by without a contribution from Bob Dylan. He's got other Christmas favorites out there in YouTubelandia, but this is the one that inspired this string of holiday tunes and blog opinionating. My kids used to get so excited about Santa coming, and this year now that the cat's out of the bag (it's been out awhile), they say it just doesn't feel like Christmas SHOULD feel--which means not as exciting, I gather. They do enjoy the time to slow down and be with family, as do I. But why should you hear it second hand from me? Today's guest writer is the clever K--my oldest daughter, Kayla Madsen. She's been a writer and editor for her school newspaper and published several editions of the Madsen Gazette for our reading pleasure. I'd like to add a disclaimer than any characters vaguely resembling myself are purely fictional. Just kidding. Here's the K:




Christmas is different at our house. We don't read the Christmas story or put on the nativity (we go to grandmas on Christmas Eve for that). We don't really do a Christmas dinner either, instead, we have christmas Brunch with all my grandparents, hosted by my mom. This year we decided to do crepes, yum. 
I think Christmas is the only holiday we really decorate the house for. My mom used to collect theses santa figurines, so now we have them all over the living room along with our two Christmas trees and garland covered banisters. We never get this fancy during Halloween, or Easter. We're usually not really home around those times anyways so, why bother?
Anyways, Christmas may be a little different at our house but that's our tradition and we're sticking to it!


Oh yeah, I gotta get on those crepes--vegan with cashew cream and sweet blueberry sauce. So there you have it, we make our own traditions in a way that is relevant to us. My kids enjoy presenting the nativity, so we're lucky to have Grandma and Grandpa to fulfill that need. We'll do Solstice dinners and Christmas brunch buffets. I'll put out the old Santa collection that I gave up when collecting the jolly figures lost its allure. Tradition for tradition's sake? Eh, I'll pass. I'll opt for a living tradition that grows and adapts to our times and conditions.  It's OK to outgrow Santa.


Have a happy Christmas Eve full of living tradition with people you love!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8qE6WQmNus

A Mensch, a Virgin, and a God

"Aside from managing to survive until we're put in a nursing home by our children, what are we doing here?"  --Dzogchen Ponlop, Rebel Buddha

I'm joined this morning by the lovely, inimitable Brynn Madsen, one of two children who will be putting me in a nursing home some day. We're co-authoring today, live from the Coffee Pod. Brynn, tell our reading public what you see around you.

Well mom, I see this cute little coffee shop. It has a nice homey feel to it. Small, but nice and peaceful.


I see. And how's the muffin?


Oh, the muffin! It's like bitting into a....... MUFFIN! 


But I've never had a muffin. What is this muffin of which you speak?


LIAR! you have had plenty a muffin! >:(


OK, but not in a long, long while. PLEASE!! Refresh my memory, for perhaps another muffin will not soon cross my lips. What's it like? Bitter? Soggy? I want all the sordid details.


Fine then. Have it your way. >:P The muffin has a sweet blueberry taste to it. I like blueberries. It is not the best muffin ever, but tis good.


Fair enough. OK, here's what I see--er, first what I smell. That bittersweet espresso steaminess that kind of enveloped us as we walked through the door. Across the street, in the fog, two people stand at a bus stop talking with their hands and probably their voices. The UTA pulls up and carries them away into their gray pre-Christmas Day. There's a few more customers here now, sipping hot drinks, surfing the net, chatting with the barista. There's a totally cute girl sitting in the booth next to me drinking a decaf maple mocha. I figure if I buy her the mocha now she'll choose a really good nursing home for me some day. Your turn.


Well mother, if you must know what I think of this day then you shall know. I think that the world is weird. Everything on it, in it, and around it is odd. Like this morning I was awakened by my big poop of a kitty Argus and saw that his face was oddly human. I kid you not, a human face on a cat. Some may say that I am a high little girl, but I know that it is indeed the cat that is high.


Curious experience, sweet child. Now, you chose the holiday hit for today. Rufus Wainwright singing "Spotlight on Christmas." Do you have an opinion of Mr. Wainwright and his singing? This song bugs you? The one we're listening to right now piped through the espresso steam, "O Holy Night?" Fine. It bugs me, too. But tell me, what of old Rufus and our song du jour? 


I think that Rufus Wainwright has a very unique and interesting voice. I like the song we chose because it tells of the true meaning of Christmas without bringing religion into it.


Hmm. Interesting response. Unexpected. His voice does have a melodic--wait, let me check the thesaurus--sonorous quality to it. He can be a bit melodramatic at times, but how good would "Shrek" have been without his haunting rendition of "Hallelujah?" But yeah, this song gets to the heart of the matter, unconditional love, without taking itself too seriously. I also like that he characterizes Jesus, Mary, and Joseph as renegades running from the law. Rings true to my ears--I LIKE the rebel Jesus--the one who stands up to the law and to B.S. But that's just me. I also like spending this morning with you, and I think that's part of what it's all about--what we're doing here on this planet. Thanks for joining me this morning.


This is Brynn Madsen signing off. Now back to you  Katie.


Love you, kiddo.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHO_9TmPZbY

From Pine to Oak

Looks like Solstice went off without a hitch. At 4:38 Utah time, the exact moment we rounded the bend, I was moving a coffee table with Chris, careful not to break the leg off as so often happens if you try to move this coffee table by yourself. Are we ready for another trip around the sun? I enjoyed the evening last night with my sister, her husband and kids, Chris' sister and good friend Brian. The guests were kind enough to eat tofu (hey, I liked it) and spend a couple of hours with me and my family, talking and laughing. The girls had a good time, though they might not admit it. Brian went home and came back with his new pet, a rainbow boa.  Mira and Brynn overcame their archetypal fear of slithering things and by the end of the evening were asking when and where they could get one. Brian said if this snake ever has babies...

So I guess it was strange, too, but that's what I like about throwing these kinds of parties. I plan and prepare, but it's always the unexpected that makes them memorable. The alchemy of who's invited, who shows up, what's on their minds, can make or break an event. Last night was a good mix. Thanks, guys, for being there.

Only three more posts to go in this holiday blog spree. It's been a challenge to write daily and given me some insight into both writing and myself. If I continue after this weekend it will be with clearer intention. I can hastily click something off in a reactive, heat-of-the-moment strong emotion, but that's a little self-indulgence the world may be better off without. I want to be careful with my words because I'm seeing that once I throw them out there into the pool I have no control over the ripples. I'm worried careful will mean boring. We'll see. I see little value, though, if I'm adding to the confusion and suffering in the world. There's enough of that.


I'll play the Tori Amos today. I've listened to it a little too much, but it might sound new and fresh to you. The idea of moving from pine to oak, rebirth, clean slate, ahhh, do we ever tire of that? There's hope for you, wrapped in ribbons of gold for the whole world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdOQJAryIsc

Chris, Denise, B.R., LeAnn, Brian

Mira, Heather, Brynn, Kayla

Life

Sun Stands Still

I think I share my Swedish ancestors' anxiety today that the sun won't come 'round this time unless I appease some capricious god with a sacrifice. Science has its comforts, but I may have to sit up well past 11:38 tonight just to be sure Earth stayed in orbit and her axis will be tilting in our favor this time around. You can thank me later for making sure all is well in the world.  Nah, but that moment--Solstice really is just a moment, less than a moment even--is something to consider. It's all there is, all there ever is, and the universe seems to march on like clockwork.

We think we're smarter than those heathen ancestors of ours, but I wouldn't count on it. Same anxiety, new face. I've been out of touch with the news lately, figuring it's either all bad or all manufactured or both. It feels like we're heading into a long night, though, doesn't it? Life cycles through days, nights, seasons, birth, death whether we pay attention to it or not. Cultures come and go and it feels like ours is ripe for cataclysmic change. So here I am, no better off than my great, great, great, great grandmother hoping for a return of the sun.

My plan for the past week or so was to play Tori Amos' "Winter's Carol" for Solstice. It's a pretty tune, and I like it, but not this morning. Something light and simple, like the warmth of the sun, to shine on my face. I know life's rarely that uncomplicated, but sometimes we just have to let it be. Stay warm!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qy4_uoFc0Xw

Be Happy

This is a sweet song from Annie Lennox's Christmas Cornucopia, and brings to mind the sentments of goodwill of this season and the Buddhist Metta Sutta. There's a part of the Sutta that talks about caring for others the way a mother would care for her only child. I hope that kind of love is possible; it seems so when Annie sings about it. 


It's Monday. I will practice yoga. My kids will go to school, my husband skiing. We're having friends over tomorrow night for a Solstice dinner. Today I'll get my house ready to welcome them, and I'll enjoy doing it. We'll have good food, spirits, and well wishing.  There will be a full lunar eclipse visible in Utah beginning at 10:27 PM tonight. I'd love to step out and witness this, if clouds permit. In the spirit of simplicity, I wish you the same I wish for myself: Be happy. Pass it on.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nInCpOvDC8

Miracles

"People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle." 
— Thich Nhat Hanh

 I'm the kind of person who makes the same mistake twice. More than twice, sometimes, not even knowing it's a mistake until there can be no mistake about it. On the bright side, it's this propensity for error that fosters a sense of compassion for my fellow human beings. Truly, we're all in this together, folks. I'm at peace with this humanness this morning, sipping a brew that's half coffee half cacao with a little evaporated milk because I was out of coconut milk creamer and in spite of the fact that I still intend to consume less dairy and doubly in spite of the fact that consuming dairy is the least of my faults. It was a tough call on the video clip for today. I chose Tom Waits in part to carry on with the edgy "Christmas in Prison" thing I had going on, and also because it felt right for the moment. I know, I know, at first glance it seems harsh and contradictory to the "true" meaning of the season, but look again. There it is, the beating heart of another human being just as trapped in his/her illusions as you and I are, reaching out to Charlie like we reach out to Jesus, yoga, Buddhism, or the listening ear of a friend. Now I've gone and made it all too serious. Sorry, Tom, to have done that to your brilliantly crafted performance.  I wish I had your light touch.


Yup. I'm at peace this morning, listening to the rain and a few cars slooshing by in the dark. My daughters fell asleep on the couch last night watching, I think, episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress." Dreaming of their wedding days? Where did that come from? I've tried to be a good feminist mom and encourage pursuit of abilities and inner strength and independence, but I'm looking at this in dim light, I suppose. Maybe the real desire in their hearts is connection and relationship. I could wish for nothing less than the same for them. Kayla is full-fledged teenager now and my relationship with her is complicated. It brings up fears and a feeling of lack of control in myself that I did not anticipate. There's a place to devote some daily attention. Sometimes compassion is easier with strangers and mere acquaintances than with those closest to me. I hope to look at this in the next two weeks where I don't have the refuge of work or other demands to my time--to look at her, her, her. 


All right, this is most likely the last paragraph for today, so how do I tie all this together, the quotes, the song, the musings? Miracles are nothing special and for that reason we fail to see them. The miracle is in Kayla becoming who she is and not who I projected her to be. The miracle is in the mind of a talented performer reminding me of my common humanity with hookers, drug addicts, corporate crooks, but maybe also the likes of the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa. The miracle is in making the same mistake a thousand times but not succumbing to despair. Rather, I learn compassion and patience for THIS human being. It's the only way I'll wake up.  I'll give myself a B+ for this effort at wrapping it all up. It's OK, and the bow makes the present look pretty, but the best ideas are rarely so contained. 

"It is a miracle if you can find true friends, and it is a miracle if you have enough food to eat, and it is a miracle if you get to spend your days and evenings doing whatever it is you like to do, and the holiday season--like all the other seasons--is a good time not only to tell stories of miracles, but to think about the miracles in your own life, and to be grateful for them." Lemony Snicket, The Lump of Coal (Perhaps the best holiday book of 2010)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12qBoy2rhVw

Christmas in Prison

I was beginning to feel the well was running dry and I wouldn't find enough Christmas tunes I could stand or laugh at intelligently to see the project through, but I think I've hit a mother lode and worry I won't fit them all in now. Only seven more to go. I've been recently introduced to a rich vein of holiday blues beauties, and I had completely overlooked the likes of Mr. Prine. Creativity and life are a lot like that. You start to run dry, but as long as you're still running, you're bound to find fertile ground again. Sometimes you have to run a long time, though. There's no guarantee.

John Prine sits high on my list of songwriters I couldn't imagine the world without. He's simply genius. I could take this ballad in several directions. I could focus on the loneliness and longing, tie that into the universal experience of loss. We like that, singing about sadness. Takes the edge off, and next thing you know you're smiling again in your here and now. Things ain't so bad. We'll get by somehow. Then there's the angle of we're all in prison, stealing a line from Albert Einstein, limited by our narrow perspectives and limiting ourselves to our immediate pleasures or aversions. Plagiarizing Bob Marley, I could suggest we emancipate ourselves from mental slavery. That's a good direction, too. But I don't know, today, I'll let the song do the talking, let it take you where it (and you) will.

Bon voyage!

P.S. One more thing I gotta say about John Prine, as one YouTube commenter points out, you can't get too melodramatic with him. That is, no wallowing in your loneliness. There's always a crack of humor that lets in some light on the silliness of the human condition. Like I said, "Genius."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G28ApRNb-7U

Grace

I know this isn't a holiday hit, but it's what I need today.

We humans--me--I--this human, fumbles through life, feeling up at times, feeling down. Sometimes mitigating the suffering around me--able to find compassion. Other times I take that tone of judgement that Jackson Browne sings of, ignorant of who those around me are, what they experience. This is human. Every once in awhile I get a wake up call that announces I've been distracted, neglectful, self-absorbed. I understand that need for grace, for a personal savior who can lift me out of that--forgive me, hug me, send me on my way. I have the need, just not the belief. I get the kind of hope this season represents for so many. The darkness of winter isn't only literal. We're all looking for some of that amazing grace, some of us just have to look a little harder. How do I clean the slate, begin again (and again, and again, and again?)

I'm wearing pajamas to work today. The schoolwide Christmas sing-a-long is this morning, and dressing up makes the day fun for the kids. In the afternoon we're showing all 2nd grade the movie version of The Polar Express. This is my least favorite movie ever, to put it lightly. Its underlying message is that you must believe to receive not just Santa's magic, but also grace. I  hope my students will enjoy it and just have fun watching it, but I'll not try to impress them with any deeper message. I'll be there in my costume, putting on my happy face for the day and do what I can to be open to compassion, grace. I need a little of it myself, so maybe the getting is in the giving. Why not? Human kindness is overflowing, and I think it's gonna rain today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjQgN-PhBEU

Hey, Hey, Hey!

A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. The true value of a human being is determined by the measure and the sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to survive. (Albert Einstein, 1954)

Yay, Albert! I like his Buddhish, Paganish pantheism. I remember the rumor floating around when I was in college that Einstein believed in a personal god and so therefore it must be so. I'm no genius, but this doesn't sound exactly like the proof the rumor touted.

On another note, I'm feeling the tiredness associated with bleak midwinter and with getting up before the godawful break of dawn. Enough that I've started shopping around for SAD lamps to trick my body into thinking it's getting more light than it does. By evening I'm dragging my feet and keeping my eyes open with clothes pins.  My kids, too, look like racoon-eyed waifs. Tomorrow is my last work day and I really think I shall crawl into my den and sleep off the holy/holly season. See ya February 2nd!

I had the chance to be inspired and enthused about my chosen profession yesterday. Tim Rasinsky of reading fluency fame came to talk shop with the 2nd grade teachers of Alpine School District. He was dynamic and a champion of authentic, enjoyable learning that embraces the arts, poetry, and inspires kids not just to be good, fluent readers, but decent human beings as well. This is where I want my focus to be as a teacher, not on pumping out good little workers for some freakish world economy of the future. It's poetry recital day today and my students are ready to pull this off with aplomb! Parents have been invited. Cookies and apple juice are on hand. Some of my most struggling of readers recite their verse with feeling and inflection. I can wake up out of this pre-Solstice sleepiness for that. Then one more day. Yawn!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzq-tZ17a-Q

Magic's in the Learnin'

Can't we all just get along? I prefer to go through my adult life without a label. The closest I've come is to say I'm 'ish which to me only means under the influence, but able to choose. Anyhow, I like this song. This current experiment in pluralism has had interesting results. We've had back-to-the-dark-ages fundamentalism rise up, but I hope also more open-minded and open-hearted humans looking around to see what's really up.

Didja notice the snow this morning? Right on! I can't wait to get me a pair of snowshoes and head for the hills during my upcoming two weeks off. Get me to some trees! But the snow today feels mighty nice. It hushes everything down, covers up holes and weedy looking wounds. It encourages that urge to hibernate, which is only natural this time of year. Yes, the Solstice bells will ring, but we still have at least 'til Groundhog Day to hang out in our burrows, tidy up our inner lives, and live off the fat we'll store up over the holidays.

Have a good one, friends. I lied when I said I only write for myself. I write to be read--for readers. I'm grateful if you'll listen to me even if you don't share my worldview, and even if the thoughts end up on the page a little unpolished. I'll even return the favor.  Ain't it fine that only pumpkin pies are burning this time of year?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_KiHRHwaAs

Axial Tilt...

...is the reason for the season.

What? Not inspiring enough for you? Really, it is miraculous that this blue orb wobbles and rotates its way around a star, carrying billions of sentient, conscious beings with it. We wee sentient beings experience the cold, dark of winter; trees sink deep into their core for the duration, and on December 21st at 11:38 PM that all changes. Days ever so slowly get longer, brighter, making way for spring. What's not to celebrate? 

On the drive home from work in these shortest of days the sun sets almost due South. My eyes are drawn to that, and also to the trees that line the freeway (fewer and fewer of them on account of current freeway construction). I've always had a thing for trees. Their quiet stills me, awes me, rocks my world. Last night while buzzing around the internet on a Solstice search, I read about old tree worshiping lore from Scandanavia.  I'd have made a good tree worshiper, designating a guardian tree in the yard, rolling around at its base for fertility--not now of course. I have no desire to be fecund at this point in my life and with current world populations exceeding natural limits. But, a guardian tree? Yes, indeed. Mark my words if I don't just plant one this spring.  This morning, I'll find myself in vrksasana (tree pose) and dream a little dream of the Oak King's return.  

In the meantime, here's a little Jethro Tull to delight your ears. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3woM079L_4

Comfort and Joy

How about a little Annie Lennox today? Voice, presence, soul--she's got it. I love this clip for its near perfect blending of Christmas and Pagan traditions. Jesus' birth, traveling minstrels, kneeling before angels with an ecstatic expression, openly accepting those glad tidings of comfort and joy, the Holly King and sun symbols, too.  I have nothing more to say than just enjoy the carol. It's a fine performance.

Oh, and as predicted, yesterday's plans were a little too elaborately conceived. The day had its own ideas how to unfold, and honestly, those ideas were better than my projections. I'm happy today and think I'll find it easier to keep my plans to skeleton outlines of intentions and allow myself to be open to surprise and the unexpected.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlsJD8RlhbI

Tin Ears and Untrained Eyes

I just checked ksl.com and no snow in the stars for us today.

Early Sunday morning. The cats are fed, my coffee is steaming in its cup, and I've plugged in the Christmas trees. It's been dark now for over 12 hours and the urge to hibernate is here but the required sleepiness is not. Tomorrow I start a run of pagan-inspired melodies and tune my senses to the natural world looking toward Solstice. I've rounded the mid-way point for this merry blog endeavor. So many hits, so little time. Tom Waits and Bob Dylan are in the queue as promised, but they'll have to wait until the days get a little longer.

Today I'm writing about nothing special. Just a run-through of the mundane details of yesterday and some of the merely practical thinking going on in my noggin looking ahead to make a day out of the next 13 hours or so.  Most likely I'll try to infuse these details with meaning. It's what I do--what humans do. Sue me! Yesterday, Saturday, I taught two morning yoga classes. The first at Yoga Sun before sunrise. I was able to heat the small room to a toasty 80 degrees which felt lovely. I had a sequence in mind that had evolved from all the classes I taught this week. The asanas came together in a way that made sense to me and I tried to watch the faces of the yogis in class to gauge their rightness for then and there. There's a fine line between yoga bliss and exhaustion, but I hope I found middle ground for the ambit of ability present. I took the same sequence to the community fitness center class which takes place in a larger, colder room. I had one student there entirely new to yoga and a pretty broad fitness range. There were perhaps too many chaturangas for this crowd, but many took my suggestion to skip these and hold a down-dog. I have regulars now who keep coming back and I see them getting stronger and more aware of their own proprioreception.  Yoga gives to me, and I give a little of it back. Aw, I knew I couldn't resist interjecting some value to my observations.

I'm spending more time with pranayama at the end of my classes lately. I was concerned about doing this at the fitness center because these are local, salt-of-the-earth people, many devout LDS who might think the breathing and meditation components of a practice are a bit too new-agey, but I do them a disfavor by thinking this way.  Me and my prejudices.  The effects of breathing exercises are immediate and accessible to every human being.  I gave the gym yogis as long of a savasana as I could and take it as a good sign that more than half of them wanted to linger even longer as corpses, appearing to savor that complete restorative relaxation that follows working hard. My own insecurities arise when the class, all quiet from such an internal close to their practice, silently roll up their mats and drift out of the room. However, a few spoke to me and asked when I teach again, so I take that as a sign that my class gave them something good. An older woman commented that my class is so much harder than the other teacher's. Is that good? Bad? Just like a tree pose, I take the feedback and make subtle adjustments to balance.

Following yoga my youngest daughter and I bravely ventured to that behemoth edifice of capitalism: the mall. Brynn had a specific list of ingredients she needed to purchase for some snow globes she is making for gifts this year. A thoughtful giver, that girl. We laughed  and said we were putting on our protective bubbles of peace before walking through the doors into the madness. Brynn said that if anyone tried to break her bubble she would kick them in the astronaut. Funny, too, she. We floated through the crowds in our balloons of bliss and stopped to marvel at the head massagers, the Samurai swords, and other strange items that emerge this time of year. The long line of kids waiting to sit on Santa's knee was perhaps the most hellish aspect of the mall. No one looked happy. Brynn and I ended up at the lone coffee shop at the end of the line and I ordered a sugar-free mocha. Brynn got a Mexican hot chocolate. We told the barista to call out Special Agent Oso when our elixirs were ready, and she did. Tee-hee! The good time with my daughter is proof enough that gift-buying can be more than mere crazy Christmas consumerism.

Ah, an hour later and still dark out, and quiet. The coffee's drunk and I'm wide awake now. Here's what my brain does: It makes plans. Plans that will set a trajectory but that will most certainly develop differently in reality. My Sunday yoga gig is coming up. I can keep a similar outline to the class I taught yesterday, but tweak it some. I've been playing around with Sun Salutation B, taking longer lunges and hip opening variations in place of the warrior 1's. I think I'll keep that. Maybe this group would like a bakasana or a pincha mayurasana. I'm not sure where to focus--maybe on attention to alignment in chaturanga. This is a posture that everyone wants to muscle through before they are ready. If I can get folks to take the modifications as they build up solidity in their core and shoulders, I think they will benefit more. That might mean a focus on humility--lovingly accepting what is and working there.

The afternoon I'll spend with Chris in Salt Lake. There's a Crafter's Sabbath at the library today--local artisans peddling their wares. We hope to find unique handmade tokens for those on our gift lists. I haven't gone off in this blog much about local, sustainable, organics, green, food politics, any of the stuff I could get really preachy about. And I won't do it today, either. But beware, it just might come up later. I'm looking forward to spending this afternoon this way. We'll find a place to eat something good and vegetarian (hard to find anything more than a salad or a frozen veggie burger in Utah County restaurants). We'll sign in at the College of Massage Therapy to put our names on the waiting list and bemoan the fact that it's a two-for-one weekend. The long wait will give us a chance to visit the fair, though, and make it back just in time to get the knots worked out of our shoulders. We get so busy in our careers and kids that time to make a personal connection between us feels rare. We'll probably spend some time pretending to be keenly interested in the details of each other's life in the work world. We'll disagree on what to buy the kids for Christmas, trying to keep it simple, balancing out our habit for consumer behavior with other values. Do we give them the bedroom makeovers promised or buy cans of non-hybrid seeds and a survivalist backpack?

Conversation will get a bit depressing when we begin to wonder about the future on a big scale, swapping opinions on the consequences of passing peak oil production, and surmising about a collapse of the government. What will people do if things break down?  We are sometimes dooms-dayers, sad to say, but it does appear the writing's on the wall. Thinking we humans are plucky problem-solvers and full of ingenuity will temporarily quell our anxiety. We tightrope walk between getting by in the economy and capitalist society we have and wondering how to adapt should things drastically or suddenly change. Strong local communities or extended families could be vital. Chris is considering switching careers which could have large-scale consequences for us financially.  We'll surmise and fret some over that, then muster up our sense of everything will be fine, better than fine, the best. Looks like we're going to have to find something to laugh about, too, or we'll never want to speak to each other again. Tough call between comedy and tragedy, isn't it? This is how the day looks in my head in this moment.  Mundane and ordinary, the stuff that most days are made of. It is as unspecial as a brown and gray Christmas, but only to the untrained eye.

That's an awful lot of writing about something that hasn't happened yet. And that's how I handle looking at big world problems. I get carried away for a bit, then remember that right now I'm breathing and that ain't bad--there's a juicy strawberry somewhere nearby. For now, I'm shutting off the computer, closing the book on dreaming of a white December 12th,  and soaking in a little silence before moving off the couch into the moments to come.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvF233fW4cI

I Am Dreaming

I show up to write, but where's the writing? And where's the snow for that matter? Forecast says 30% chance today. Let's see if Bob Marley and the Wailers can bring it down. Maybe they can bring down some inspiration for this blog while they're at it.

It seems I write a lot about accepting life as it is, and I focus on flaws, imperfections, and confess to many of my so-called failings. This is because I think any other philosophy or spiritual teaching that promises freedom from these things is bullshit. However, I need to add today that at my very core, I am happier every day than I ever was when I tried to believe in things.  There is joy and beauty always.  And yeah, frustrations, anger, sorrow. The difference in my life before and my life now is that it is about experience rather than faith. I've said it before and I'll say it again, it's simply about paying attention. Not that I always do (another imperfection), but there you go.

You've all heard the well-known Buddhist story about the man being chased by the tiger. No? Come on, the one where he runs and runs to get away and ends up jumping over a cliff? Well, imagine that below the cliff are jagged rocks and certain death, but the man manages to grasp a root and hang on. Exciting right? There must be hope. So up above the man is the hungry, pacing tiger. It's not going anywhere soon. Below him, certain, pointy death. The root he clings to begins pulling out of the earth, and his grip won't last forever. No way out, right? Hopeless. Then the man looks around and sees a strawberry plant growing improbably, beautifully out of the side of the cliff, and it has produced a glorious, red, ripe strawberry. What does the man do? He reaches with his free hand, plucks the berry from the vine, and savors its juicy sweetness. I always imagine the juice running down his chin and he doesn't bother to wipe it away. I love this story. It's the kind that I think would be relevant in any circumstance.

It is in the spirit of this story, and inspired by Bob Marley improbably singing about Christmases NOT like the ones he used to know, that I wish you all a red, ripe, juicy Yuletide season.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEfGeOcQiQM

Let us Pray

Capow! Quote of the day from this month's Catalyst: "I no longer believe myself capable of fundamental change. If I could have overcome my grumpiness, my self absorption, my untidiness, or my tendency to talk too much--to name just a few of my more minor faults--I would have done so by now. At this point I'm more interested in consciousness than perfection." 


The author was beginning a regular column in which she will explore the young Ben Franklin's 13 virtues and the 7 deadly sins. She's taking an awareness approach rather than a self-improvement one. Apparently Franklin also learned later in life that he had been unaware just how many flaws he had. I have to say that this is what makes consciousness a hard sell. Who wants to wake up to discover that what they are is HUMAN and not too likely to fundamentally change? On the other hand, what choice is there? I had just such a chance to pay attention to my own reactive mind last night. Functioning on only a few hours of sleep and having spent the day surrounded by cute but loud 8-year-olds, a family issue came up. I will spare you the details, but confess to reacting with defensiveness and anger rather than acting. Which means I didn't really pay attention to what was happening until after the fact when I was left with the emotional detritus. And so it goes. Graduating from the self-help aisle to the Zen section of Barnes and Noble is natural, I think, but letting go of the idea that I could become a perfect being is taking some time. 


2nd Quote of the Day: "To sweat is to pray, to make an offering of your self. Sweat is holy water, prayer beads, pearls of liquid that release your past. Sweat is an ancient and universal form of self-healing, whether done in the gym, sauna, or sweat lodge. I do it on the dance floor. The more you dance, the more you sweat. The more you sweat, the more you pray. The more you pray, the closer you come to ecstasy." - Gabrielle Roth. This was posted on a fellow yogi from my White Lotus teacher training's Facebook status. Sweat is my holy water and I've had far to little of it this week. I returned to yoga classes but had to work on regaining ground I'd lost in my healing hiatus. I had to modify anything that involved my hands. Today is a full two weeks following the impaling and my hand is much better--only a very faint tenderness now. Let us sweat. Amen!


 It's Friday, and all I want to know is where's the snow? Enjoy the tunage.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=299jCVPX4lM

So This is Christmas

That's a good line: So this is Christmas. Kind of suggests looking at it clearly, with new eyes. I consider that a balance to tradition. It's the only way to keep tradition or anything repetitive alive and fresh. So this is it--and what is it? So far this year it's been a drizzly end to the year. That I can wear my Tevas to yoga class without losing any toes is interesting. I'm thinking I'll add a slew of "White Christmases" to the line-up as a sort of snow dance, invoking a good blanket of the white stuff to cover up the ground and create a blank slate for this Christmas season. But if it doesn't snow, then that's Christmas, too.  Days are definitely shorter, darker, if not too much colder. So this is Christmas.

I've been up since about 3:15. I haven't had this kind of insomnia in quite awhile, and I don't have any particular stimulus I can think of to attribute it to. Must be this blog, which, by the way, I do for no apparent reason other than I like doing it. The challenge of putting together some semi-coherent thought from the chaotic soup of recycled chunks in my brain feels good. "How do I know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it." Thanks Mr. Faulkner. That rings true.

So I chose the Boy George, Antony Hegarty cover of Lennon's tune today. The YouTube clip images are heavy on the sentimentality; the war images of the other clip might have been more moving, but this is the only holiday tune I could find with the provocative voice of Antony. I don't know what to make of the "war is over if you want it" refrain. It is hopeful. I'd like to think it's that easy, but admit I don't really know. I did a dilettante's perusing of Wikipedia on the theories behind why we have wars. The usual suspects were there: it's in our genes, limited resources, a need to dominate. There were other stories out there about societies that are not warrior like. I put some of the authors' names on my reading list, but I don't know if I'll ever get to them. I believe our current war is of the perpetual resource-grabbing keep the masses under control variety. I don't buy much of the ideological excuses given for it. Someone out there is beating the drum and profiting nicely when most of us start marching to it.

I want to believe that we humans can evolve past this--that we see when we create suffering for others we create suffering for ourselves. Still, Buddhism's been around for thousands of years and suffering continues. And yet, I'm a tempered optimist. Surely the majority of us can develop our empathy and compassion, and can come to be aware of the energies that pull us toward violence and ignorance and refrain from acting on them. On a personal level I'm learning to let go of some attachment to my thoughts and emotions--learning that they are important functions of my brain and body, but not always indicators of ultimate reality. I hope I am learning to step back, at least some time, and view a bigger picture. At the very least, we may not be kittens who give hugs to rats, but we can recognize our own self-interest in having a stable, sustainable world both politically and physically in which to live.

My alarm clock just went off.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0lEy-duuIg

From a Heathen and a Pagan

This is it. This is the best clip I think I'll find, and I'd be well advised to simply post the lyrics and let the song do its own talking. God, it's beautiful. But what kind of blogger would I be if I did that? There are covers of this song out there by The Chieftans and the McGarrigles, all good. The hero Jesus of my childhood was champion of the poor, illuminator of hypocrisy, simple truth teller. Sometimes the obvious truth is not politically expedient.

I could interpret it as synchronicity that in the catalog of Buddhist books that came with the latest arrival I found the next book on my reading list:  rebel buddha: on the road to freedom. The synopsis states I'll learn how to connect with my inner rebel--the part of me that instinctively seeks out the truth, regardless of the falsehood that's all around. Sounds good, right?  But that's the Jesus (and Buddha) I'm talking about--archetypes of human possibility for enlightenment, for truth. George Orwell writes, "Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows." If you've ever bit your tongue because you were afraid you might "get the same as the Rebel Jesus," this one's for you (and me) to take heart.

Christmas is full of irony and paradox. I've considered posting a version of John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (war is over)" full of actual images of war's devastation and the worst of human suffering (caught on tape for your viewing pleasure).  It makes one stop to think, at least, how we get on with our petty worries in light of it. Our petty worries are also the stuff war is made of, I guess, on small scale. It's difficult enough just to fathom our capacity for violence let alone change it. What is possible here? Awareness of who we are, of our reactive nature, and our capacity for doing harm, are essential, but also feeling free and happy, at least having our basic needs met.

          But please forgive me if I seem
          To take a tone of judgement
          For I've no wish to come between
          This day and your enjoyment.
          In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
          There's a need for anything that frees us.
          So I bid you pleasure and I bid you cheer
          From a heathen and a pagan
          On the side of the Rebel Jesus.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEC7d5jbAbo

Of all the Charlie Browns in the World

I secretly hope Charlie Brown grew up to be a morose, but thoughtful college student who gave up on the little red-haired girl and found true love in someone a little more unconventional. Could be he took a road less traveled. Maybe he practices zen or reads beatnik poetry on open mic night.  Chances are he works a 9 to 5, but still pauses to look and listen when he crosses that bridge on a snowy afternoon. You go ahead and be sad, Charlie Brown. It's a valid human response to conditions in the world.

On the other hand, perhaps the truly subversive act is to be happy anyway.

My new zen book arrived in the mail yesterday: Waking Up to What You Do, with a foreward by Charlotte Joko Beck. I know I'm mentally with my people when I read a line like:

We all must engage in events as they unfold in our lives; we have a choice, however, to do this with either intelligence or ignorance.

If yesterday I started out doing a little Snoopy jig, today I'm more of a Linus. I handed out the poetry pieces to my students with great enthusiasm, modeled expressive reading, opened up the meaning of words like "coursers," "shutters," and "sash." The students were excited, but I'm beginning to doubt my original vision of this happy, shining, performance. I'm curious to see the difference between the originally conceived idea and the final outcome. That's an unchanging truth: things rarely unroll as you plan.

Last year I found a clip of an inner city music teacher who taught his chorus of kids a version of Tori Amos' "Winter's Carol." Wow. What did he do to pull that kind of emotion and expression out of a bunch of young people? Surely more than practice. Though there must be practice, practice, practice. And I, the teacher, need to be one step ahead. I have to see what we need to practice, then I have to help the kids in a way that gets them excited and feeling good about it. I'll practice with my students, but there's something else that I think has to do with, dare I say it again, really seeing these kids for the people they are. Engage in the teacher student relationship with intelligence.

Off to yoga for real. Have whatever kind of day your're going to have, but be awake for it. I'll do the same.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPG3zSgm_Qo

Do a Little Dance

Monday. Again. Oh, wait, that was yesterday's post. Nice sunny day that was. The Sunday yogis crawled out of the woodwork for some breathing, bending, being. I love this gig, this li'l community of nuttin' better to do on Sunday than sweat out a hangover or just sweat period. Mmm-hmm. Makes me feel like dancing, so today's snack is a nostalgic look back at what used to be our first clue that Christmas was on its way: The Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

After yoga, my time was wrapped up in writing a paper on repeated reading for fluency instruction--dreadfully engaging. I have a good idea, though, for a grand 2nd grade holiday poetry recital full of speed, automaticity, accuracy and prosody. Now that the paper's finished the rest of my month feels to be like a breath of Peppermint Patty. While I wrote, my husband and daughters decked our halls. I trimmed the tree a wee bit then sunk into the sofa to absorb the light through the pores of my skin.

Just before bed I took a quaff of my latest kombucha batch--delicious and effervescent as a Snoopy dance. Simple pleasures. Tonight I'll bottle it up and get another batch a'brewing. I should have an scoby to share in about a week if you're interested. (Note: It may not be a good idea to drink kombucha tea just before bed.)

Holy Shiva! It's 5-freaking-30 right now. Yoga time. **But I just tried out my hand through a chaturanga push-up and it didn't feel right. I'll give it one more day. In the meantime, I'll get to work early and get a head start on that poetry performance extravaganza idea of mine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBPcoI4OE9Y

Again?

We had a little birthday party for my youngest daughter yesterday. She's 12. My mom mentioned that it seems like it was just Christmas, and now she has to think about pulling that old tree out of its box. Again. Christmas time is here. Again. If the Beatles could sing that line just one more time, it might sink in.

We could say the same thing about every day, and maybe we do. It's morning. Again. Here I go to work. Again. Back on the yoga mat. Again. Sinkloads of crusty dishes, unmade beds, it seems we all share in Sisyphus' punishment. That is, if we choose to see life as punishment. I couldn't tell you how many times I've found myself in downward facing dog, the quintessential yoga posture. There are days when my down dogs are merely depots where I anticipate a more exciting train. The best days, though, are those where I really find myself in downward facing dog, not with a sense of "Oh, this again," but experiencing this familiar bodily shape with new eyes. Each time, whether I'm aware of it or not, I'm there with a new body, a renewed mind. It is in every way a new experience, and only an illusion that it's mere repetition.

The puncture wound in my hand is still healing. The skin has closed, leaving a pink scar. The muscle can bear a little more weight, flexion, and extension than it could before, but there's no way down dog will be the same old, same old this week. I can bear some weight on my hands, but I haven't tested supporting a full body load of it. I've stayed away from studio classes that are heavy on the sun salutations and arm balances, sadly, though I did get a little extra sleep and some early morning blog time. Yesterday I walked through some standing sequences in preparation for a class I was to teach and I'm ready to be back on the mat, even if it means walking instead of jumping up to my hands from down dog and seeking out alternatives to the handstands everyone else will be doing. The injury only makes obvious what is true every day: I practice yoga with a new body, with new awareness, always. Even two adho mukhas in the same session are not clones. Each one is an opportunity for inquiry and discovery of who I am. That's the beauty of it, eh?

So Christmas time IS here (and now) again. I'm a third of the way through this blog project and a little closer to seeing how I make my own meaning for this time of year and allow myself to celebrate it without hesitation. All holiday symbols that come to mind: the birth of Jesus, oil burning brighter and longer than it should, earth rounding that point where its axis points we folk in the northern hemisphere  toward sunlight--all these remind me to pay attention to the ways life is new in every second. Pay attention!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4vE5DnFWV0

A Snowflake's Hope in Hell...

...is about as much chance as I have to strike a balance in this blogging project o' mine. This clip was too damned funny to pass up, though, so here you go.  The game is afoot. How can I use this material to launch a thoughtful or just clever piece of writing out into the virtual universe? I first look for a clue as to how this ditty captures something of the essence of the human experience.

Oh, I can't help it. It's both funny and tragic how our stories boil down to whether we get what we want or not. That's the small of it. I may be reading too much into things, but I think a little burlesque like this can actually give us perspective. That is, we recognize the joke and can step back and take a broader view of this condition we're in.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-eslNwGXrI

Sandy Claws

Considering the trauma parents are willing to inflict on their young'uns in the name of holiday spirit, is it any wonder so many of us feel ambivalent about this time of year as adults? Santa is, after all, an acronym for Satan. But James Brown love you.

Hey, it's Friday, folks. Have a good one!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1b0bFQG2QY

River

Oh, soulful Joni. Here's a familiar holiday refrain: the blues. Year's end brings to mind all other endings. Short days, long nights, nothing to do but look back at life's losses and wonder what could have been. I'm sometimes tired this time of year; disappointed, maybe, not to have done more, been more, risked more. Ironically, I judge myself for not being enlightened yet, for still having bouts of insecurity, for fumbling through teaching, parenting, friending, practicing yoga, for being human. So I'll listen to Joni Mitchell, breathe a little, look around me, pick it up, live with my choices and their outcomes, and find joy in that.

At one time I was considering a perky little post about digging deep and finding inner reserves of strength, the kind of thing I might say to a group of yoga students shaking their way through round five of navasana. Instead, I'll write about the same thing, only doing it when you feel tired and defeated, or you've just realized you're only human, susceptible to all kinds of silly human illusions and pitfalls.  I'm talking about getting out of bed on the day before Solstice when all you have to look forward to is the longest night of the year. Even then, we still have to show up and make the effort. I don't want to do an extra push-up in my sun salutation, but I do it anyway.  I agree to put up Christmas decorations this weekend and bake a pecan pie for Brynn's birthday.  I get up and look at my lesson plans for the day and go to work. I write a blog entry because I committed to myself to do so. There is no promise that any of this will pay off, but I breathe through the fear and loathing and act. The pay-off is in the action itself. That's life, and I'm pretty sure it beats the alternative.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GpFudDAYqxY

Festival of Lights

What did I sign myself up for? I'm afraid my capacity for witty or insightful banter is waning. Can I dig deep? Do the double chaturanga push-up? Make the effort? Bleh! Well, here goes. It's not Tom Waits. I'm saving that for later. No, I give you Orrin Hatch. My apologies to anyone celebrating Hanukkah today. I don't know much more about Hanukkah than what I can read on Wikipedia. I teach second grade, and today I'll bring up some basic facts, maybe draw a Venn diagram, and find a picture book in the library to read to my students. This is fine, this curiosity, opening vistas, discovering a bigger world out there. But what's up with Orrin? Do you find this as strange as I do? My only explanation is that this is religion, politics, and money-making opportunity in bed together caught on videotape: holiday porn. I might be a little kinder if the poetry were better.

Ok, ok, I'll rustle up a genuine musical treat for you tomorrow. And Happy Hanukkah! The story of the oil that wouldn't burn out is inspiring. I can use that in getting through days. Light a candle, string up some LED's, sunnier days are just ahead.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XND3Naa6N5o

Jimmy Buffett + Yoga + Christmas What's Not to Love?

Hell, I just wanted an excuse to talk yoga and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a clip from Yoga Jo's of Ogden, Utah, no less, and funny folk in yoga gear. A couple of cats are thrown in for good measure.  Toss in some Jimmy Buffet and nirvana's but a breath away.

I injured my hand over the holiday weekend. Walking through an icy patch with my hand in my pocket, I fell and one of my keys punctured through the fleshy muscle of the heel of my hand. That's a strange sensation. I walked over to an urgent care facility, conveniently located across the street from the condos where we were staying, checked in, waited 45 minutes without being seen, realized I didn't need to be seen, and walked out. The wound itself doesn't look bad, but it's deep, and yesterday was the first day since Saturday that I've been able to make a fist. Just tried down-dog. Fugeddaboudit.  Dammit. No, but in truth, I've been fascinated by process of healing that began almost immediately following the injury. Once the bleeding and throbbing stopped, I removed the bandage and watched water seep from my cells to clean out the area. Each day it hurts a little less and my muscle can handle a little more. The skin regenerates and the slit begins to zipper closed. And so it goes. A friend of mine calls it "lovingly accepting what is." What else is there to do?

I taught a class last night at OFC. I wasn't able to demonstrate as much, which actually was good for me. A new guy showed up, pretty fit and muscular, but stocky (a.k.a. tight, inflexible). Having missed his spinning class, he thought he'd give this yoga thing a try. It didn't feel like my best class, but this kid came up after completely enthused about yoga and the possibility of becoming flexible. Ah, yes, the yoga high.  So supposing he didn't push himself too hard and is feeling the pain today, I think he will return. Yoga converts are the best. What do you know about yoga? Would you like to know more? I'm not kidding when I say it is for anybody and every body. I'm also not kidding when I say that just about anything you do can be your yoga if done with that loving acceptance of what is.

What this all has to do with Jimmy Buffett, however, is anyone's guess.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K28vtJ6md1o

Shopping, Shopping, Shopping

Let's just get this one out of the way, it's so obvious a target. For all the griping about shopping not being the true meaning of Christmas, there's still an awful lot of it going on. I'm going to play devil's advocate for a minute and say that's just all right with me. Generosity is lovely. Keep it up, western world! But let's strike a balance between generous helpings and gluttony. Overindulgence is an aspect of the holidays I could do without. It leaves me feeling sluggish, sleepy, slow. I end up having to overcorrect by making outlandish New Year's Resolutions I won't keep anyway. My advice? Bag the bingeing now! If the economy depends on folks like you and me digging our financial graves and adding an unecessary five pounds to our waists then it ain't much of an economy worth supporting anyway. That's all I've got to say on the matter. This wasn't my favorite clip, but it's funny enough, and it's all I have time for on this first Monday following a holiday. Enjoy your day, friends!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ZveAyEMWJ0

Some Children See Him

I've always loved this one. Am I wrong in thinking it's tucked away inside "The Walton's Christmas Special" I last watched all those years ago? Maybe, but I remember hearing it on some such program and was moved. I also really love the Wainwrights who come together to create a little Christmas magic for us.

I do think about Jesus at Christmas time. The ideal projections he stands for still resonate: peace, non-judgement, compassion, maybe even sacrifice, though that's a charged word. I get a little confused when he's used to justify some of the wars we've gotten ourselves into or when folks invoke his name while seeking political power. That's not the same Jesus.

                                       O lay aside
                                        Each earthly thing
                                       And with thy heart
                                        As offering,
                                       Come worship now
                                        The infant king
                                       'Tis love
                                       That's born tonight.

In short, this season brings to mind our hope for peace and love. This song urges us to consider what is human and essential beneath all superficial differences.  I can't be cynical about that, though I recognize the flip side of being human is also to project our fears and anxieties onto others, demonizing them. There must be some way out of here (said the joker to the thief), some way to evolve.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1lPek1zY2M

Happy Existential Holidays

Lighten up! It's the most wonderful time of the year, right? This carol, straight from The Magnetic Fields, puts a smile on my kisser. Thanks, Stephin Merritt. I can't overlook the existential underpinnings to this ditty. Whether you're awaiting Sandy, Guffman, Godot, or simply pining away for that one thing that will end your suffering once and for all, welcome to the human condition! Stop mumbling and cheer up!

Here's how a girl who practices yoga and looks at experience through zen-colored glasses observes a season dedicated, at least in name, to Jesus. (I'll get to my respect and admiration for Jesus in episodes to come--you can pull the girl out of Mormonism, but not the Mormonism out of the girl entirely). It's also a season dedicated to light--easily word-played into enlightenment. I don't know what enlightenment is, exactly, but I suspect it's an awareness and acceptance of life as it is. Anyway, as Solstice approaches, we're also all awaiting the return of the sun and more enlightened daytime hours. That's ample symbolism and meaningfulness for me. Oh, and if you're out in the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping, all I want this year is a vial of laughing gas perfume, OK? Cheers, all!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8R9QTv6rngc

Tommy Doesn't Know What Day It Is

Oh, Reader, I've gone back and forth and back again on this holiday hit parade thing. I had a silly slapstick clip of an a capella choir and a sincere post on Frenetic Friday shopping all ready and written, but I think Ill kick off my little project of seasonal  melodies with  The Who instead. The Who? Yes, The Who. I won't  comment, philosophize, or even apologize too much today, though I can't promise to refrain from doing so in the future. I'm not sure how this exploit I've taken on will unfold. I have a few clips in the line-up, some sincere, some absurd, some hopeful, others ironic. Let's look at it more as an exploration of the edges of ambivalence and yet attraction for this season of winter holidays.  As an adult, comfortable with her choices, I still feel a sense of loss having shed some of the religious convictions of my childhood. I mean no disrespect to those who still have them. This will be an inquiry into what I can retain and what I can reclaim about the meaning and relevance of the season.

If you stumble across anything interesting you think might spur on an epiphany or even a mildly keen insight into how to celebrate or observe Christmas, I take requests. That's what the comment box is for.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPmijD6jqHs

'Twas Brillig

Beautiful day in Park City, a good place for Thanksgiving with the extended family. We can come together to share a meal, a bit of conversation, and then retire to our own condo for privacy. The highlight of the day was a brisk walk/run in the powder. A few brazen magpies laughed at us (with us?) as we bounded downhill. I felt like a moonwalker in the cushiony powder.  Snow kicked up over the lip of my boots and iced my ankles, but it all felt good--the running, walking, barely warm sunlight on our skin, and  cold air passing through our nostrils. We got a couple of pictures on Chris' phone, not too clear, but you see the quality of sunlight in the aspens, and the long, slanted shadows. It was dark by 5:00, it seems, Solstice is still three weeks away.

I'm a blur, but the light was exquisite.

Chris' shot a bit clearer. Check out that sky

It's close enough to midnight I could post the first installment of my holiday hit parade right now, but I won't. A promise is a promise, and I refuse to play even ironic Yuletide tunes while it's still Thanksgiving. Tune in tomorrow. I hope your day was full, memorable, and touched by a bit of beauty to boot.

Hey, Rocky, Watch Me Pull a Yoga Class Out of My Hat

Whew! Tonight marks the end of strange moods. I was carrying a bit of funeral funk with me today, dragging my feet toward the yoga class I had to teach.  I'd had a long day with my 2nd graders trying to find the balance between their need to yak and learn socially and mine to live without a headache. Yes, even yoginis get the blues. But I looked at the faces of the group that had shown up on their mats tonight and shifted.  Magic, right? That's yoga for you.

Did I mention my 91-year-old grandpa is getting married? Optimistic to say the least. And why the hell shouldn't he? He's marrying the postmaster of my childhood. Bless their hearts. (This is my paternal grandpa. It was my maternal grandma's funeral this weekend, just in case you were wondering).

Here's a little ditty to sum it all up:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZACwVOJXpn0

Changed

We would rather be ruined than changed;
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.
~W.H. Auden

I've always been puzzled by the conundrum this poem presents. Is it foolish of us to die in our dread, or is there something heroic in human beings that we can hold on to our dreams and illusions in spite of the reality of the moment? I lean toward the first conclusion, but not without reservations.


Shortly after midnight the wind picked up, waking me from a new, light sleep. The chimes on the deck were ringing and in my subliminal state of mind I had the impression of alien space ships moving in, or some other cataclysmic occurrence taking place. I've seen one too many movies. It's funny how these things that spring from someone else's imagination can set a pattern for my own perception of reality. I spent the next ten minutes working to erase the preconception in order to hear and experience the actual windstorm outside my window. It was enough that I could feel the draft reaching its icy fingers under the crack of the french doors next to my bed. I watched the patterns of shadows shake with life on the window curtains. Eventually I fell back to sleep and didn't think about it again until standing outside the church where my grandma's funeral had been held. The small group of family stood outside the chapel door while the pall bearers escorted the casket to the hearse. The wind served as a second reminder to release expectations and see past old patterns to the actual experience at hand.


Here is what I saw at the viewing and funeral. Grandma was laid out in her casket, made up to look natural and less frail than she truly was. Her hands were folded across her abdomen. Her fingers, long and knobbed with arthritis, looked like slender chicken feet, and her skin was thin. And so I say she was frail, but also a tough old bird who did not go gently into that good night. Funerals can be glossy affairs, remembering the good times and perhaps exaggerating them. So much talk about being happier now and in a better place causes my brain to flatline with the irrelevance of such words. I'm not angry about it. I just accept the fact that death is the end as we know it. I find all this pretending that we know what happens after annoying. My grandma is dead. What lives on is in the DNA in my cells, my siblings' cells, my children's cells. And don't tell me personality isn't in DNA. Those traits--the reserve, nearly stoic, language patterns, a look, a way of looking. My uncle, whom I only see at funerals, is a quiet man. We know each other, recognize and somewhat distantly say hello and good-bye. My Aunt Mead says "bless their hearts" like Grandma did. She adopted my sister's cat today. And so it goes.


Don't let my stoicism fool you into thinking I didn't love Florence, but I don't want to remember only a rosy picture of her. She was a complex woman, capable of deep compassion for others, but also able to hurt others. I feel there is a legacy passed down from mother to daughter to granddaughter. I can love that more fiercely than a perfect illusion of a grandma that never really existed. My sister Kate gave a heartfelt and accurate eulogy, recalling her relationship with Grandma and highlighting all that was human and memorable about her. I had forgotten that Florence had a place in her heart for homeless people, and had cared in particular about one man, Pete. She always looked for him in the streets of Salt Lake. That she loved us is unquestioned. Was she annoyed by us? Selfish at times? Selfless at others? The wind blew again through the cemetery in Fountain Green, that reminder to take a look at what was actually happening in that moment.  Following the graveside ceremony, talk centered on the roses on the casket, to who was going to meet to clean out Grandma's house, who would get what treasures or knick-knacks. Housekeeping. Physical business. The need to take care of the present.


We drove from the cemetery to Santaquin to spend some time at Mom's, and as I usually do when entering my childhood hometown, I looked to the house where I lived from age 5 - 12. That landmark had been burned, just today. The entire house had crumbled into the foundation and was smoldering, parts still burning. I made Chris pull the car into that familiar driveway so I could get out and stare dumbly at a place that had set an early pattern in my psyche. The small front yard that once seemed vast was soaked, wet maple leaves from trees that used to seem larger glued themselves to the short sidewalk. The porch had collapsed and the cement foundation had been sledgehammered toward the center of the charred guts. If I dream about my childhood, it is often in the rooms of that now non-existent house. I found out later that my grandpa had sold the house to the city and the fire department had used it for a practice burn. It's a bit surreal to learn that a piece of my childhood has been cremated. 

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.  ~Anatole France

I really couldn't tell you if that quote is comforting or disconcerting to me at the moment. Is the life we are about to enter any better than the one we're dying to? Really, who knows? However, as sad as we may be to see a chapter end, a loved grandma die, a childhood home go up in smoke, what choice do we have but to grow up, be melancholy for awhile, then move ahead?  I'd love someone to chime in and prove me wrong or at least give a compelling enough rebuttal that I would have to reconsider this position. For now, I will enjoy this glass of merlot, shut off the computer, and see what I can make of the rest of this evening.