I continue to be humbled and challenged by this 108 day cycle.
I have been keenly aware these past few weeks, that there is a committee in my head that talks regularly about where I want to be, as opposed to where I am. Or points to where I was and asks how I managed to mess up and lose what I had found there. The committee, in this moment, is focusing on how I want to be where I was this summer in terms of muscle tone, energy, and diet. Yet, here I am, in all of my imperfect glory with less muscle tone, less energy, and at times, less than supportive choices within nourishment. I am in what I like to refer to as a 'breaking out of the cocoon' phase. My body has been busy resetting itself, and quite honestly, my life has been in that same process.
The other morning I was able to separate out the voice of the committee from the voice of my heart. And here's what it looked like:
Committee: It's 5 AM. Get up and do your yoga. Otherwise you're going to feel terrible at work today. And then you're going to be flabby and unattractive.
Heart: It's 5 AM. I need to wake up slowly. I don't know if yoga is the best movement for me this morning. I am healthy. What matters is how I feel in my body. And if, right now, I have gained a few extra pounds, it is a sign that something else in my life is out of alignment - that I need ballast . . . or protection. I want to pay attention to that signal from my body. And right now, part of that signal is asking me to move slowly.
Committee: How long are you going to move slowly for? It's been long enough. You have to do yoga. You know that it works. Otherwise you're just going to slide into nothingness and be completely unproductive and useless.
Heart: I need something different this morning. I'm not certain what just yet. But I want to lay here and feel into it.
About an hour later I did pull myself from bed and wandered around my apartment for a few moments before sitting at my altar. Yes, of course I wanted to do yoga - I ache and long for how I feel after an hour's practice. Yet I could feel that something about it just wasn't in alignment for that morning. And after a few moments at my altar, it occurred to me to grab the coconut oil from the bathroom, and to spend some time massaging my feet - something that I used to do quite regularly when I was studying acupuncture and massage therapy. After ten minutes of this, I felt at peace, relaxed, and centered. And when it came time to fix breakfast, I reached for things that were deeply nourishing and balanced. Because I could feel that within my body. Because I was invested in maintaining that feeling. Because I had given myself the space to explore what I need.
I could have lived in the space that my committee was trying to create - the future or the past. Instead I chose to live in the moment. Like a garden - you can't water it in the future. You have to stand in this exact moment, and water the plants where they are now. Seedlings. Sprouts. Or even just dirt. Where ever you are in your practice, in your life, in your thoughts, in your body - give water to the here and now . . . and see what grows in this moment.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
The Body As An Altar
The past four days have been filled with expressions of headaches, sore throats, congestion, exhaustion, fever, and chills. I have been complacent, frustrated, bored, restless, and curious about these expressions. Often in my life, I have found that the timing of these types of expressions has much to teach me. Very often, expressions such as these become opportunities to shed what no longer serves me. I think of them as physical detoxifications with roots in my spirit. And so while I search to provide what I need on a physical level to heal, I'm also mindful of what might be alive under the surface.
In the midway point of all of this - two nights ago - I woke up in the early morning hours from a very vivid dream. In this dream I had returned to the weaving studio to pick up my final project. I was excited to see how it looked off the loom and how the colors and patterning would come together as a whole. (In real life I have apprenticed in this weaving studio, and do have a final piece waiting there that I haven't yet seen off the loom.) I walked into the studio and my teacher pointed me to the table where the weaving was to be found. As I walked closer to the table, I became very confused. What was there looked incredible different than what I had woven on the loom. It was smaller in size - perhaps only 3x4ft - and the colors were not bright and fiery - instead they were deep and earthy. When I looked closely at the pattern, I could barely see the patterning as I had known it and woven it - somehow the weave had become much tighter and the patterning I had known sat below the surface, covered over by a different pattern. And then as my eyes moved towards the lower part of the weaving, I saw the image of a white deer. I was perplexed as to how and why it had changed so much. And I examined it with great curiosity. To some degree I was sad because I had so deeply enjoyed the colors and the patterns I had woven. And to some degree I was intrigued at the changes that had taken place and the piece that had transformed itself. I wanted to know more of how it had happened, and what I could do in the future to better understand the transformation, when I would weave another piece. I wanted to know so that I could create with more intention and thoughtfulness. My eyes traveled back to the image of the white deer again, and I realized that even the materials were different from what I had started with. Overall, I could feel the hardiness and earthiness of the piece. It would be durable. It was rich in its tones. It could be passed forward for generations, it had come to me through generations.
When I woke from this dream, I didn't know what to think at first. But as the last few days have unfolded and I have watched my body move through this expressions of imbalance, I have more clarity.
These past few mornings actually - in the space of being sick, I have somehow found my way back to sitting with my altar quietly. I have gone through a few months of feeling fidgety and impatient, and slightly confused as to how 10 minutes suddenly began to seem burdensome. Now, in the space of my body demanding for me to slow down, I sit easily, lavishing in the connection. Feeling my soul in all of its edges and unrefined shapes and opening to the nourishment of that quiet space. This morning I was keenly aware of what I would refer to as the edges of my soul - the space of my deepest truths and knowings of who I am - alive and well - waiting to be given space to come forward. And I was aware of how different that space felt from that of my physical self which was riddled with a fever, sore throat, and tired to the trunk of my body.
Ah! There it was . . . the door opening to my understanding of the dream and of my body's current expression. The physical being that carries our souls through this world - our bodies - our altars. We decorate them with our clothing and haircuts. Shape them with our actions and the foods that we digest. Modify them with tattoos and piercings. And yet, no matter what we do, our physical selves move through the process of transformation inherent in the living - slowly moving towards its return to the earth. Our bodies serve as our altars - carrying our souls through this world. And it is how we attend to these altars that can help us to reach deeply into our soul - our heart - the generations of ancestors that come before us. And sometimes, those altars need to be wiped clean, rearranged, reorganized, to reflect our own shifts in the transformations of bringing the edges of our souls more deeply into immediate action and connection with the world around us. Sometimes it requires our bodies to be worn down to the edges, so that the path has less resistance. Sometimes it is the will of the universe for us to slow down from our modern life, so that our souls have more space and time to be filled, nourished, and to expand in our bodies and in the direction our lives are taking.
As in the dream - what I thought I was creating - was merely the outer layer to something much deeper, older, and wiser. And in the process of the weaving coming off the loom, the elegant patterns that I had created in the bright and fiery colors, receded to reveal something with far more sustenance and body. The altar found in sitting at the loom and weaving, combining shapes, colors, and patterns, was only the practice meant to open the doorway to the soul of the piece. What it was that was really meant to be alive and present in this world. What I was truly here to create and give birth to.
And so I realize as I ride these waves of fevers, headaches, and otherwise, that the food that I place into my body feeds and nourishes on a physical level, but truly is meant to reach into that deepest place within myself - to draw that essence out into the world. So the choices that I make need to match the vibration of that deeper self. Because the food, just as with the things that sit on my altar in real life, is the offering. The offering to the altar of my body. The offering to the divine spirit within and without.
In the midway point of all of this - two nights ago - I woke up in the early morning hours from a very vivid dream. In this dream I had returned to the weaving studio to pick up my final project. I was excited to see how it looked off the loom and how the colors and patterning would come together as a whole. (In real life I have apprenticed in this weaving studio, and do have a final piece waiting there that I haven't yet seen off the loom.) I walked into the studio and my teacher pointed me to the table where the weaving was to be found. As I walked closer to the table, I became very confused. What was there looked incredible different than what I had woven on the loom. It was smaller in size - perhaps only 3x4ft - and the colors were not bright and fiery - instead they were deep and earthy. When I looked closely at the pattern, I could barely see the patterning as I had known it and woven it - somehow the weave had become much tighter and the patterning I had known sat below the surface, covered over by a different pattern. And then as my eyes moved towards the lower part of the weaving, I saw the image of a white deer. I was perplexed as to how and why it had changed so much. And I examined it with great curiosity. To some degree I was sad because I had so deeply enjoyed the colors and the patterns I had woven. And to some degree I was intrigued at the changes that had taken place and the piece that had transformed itself. I wanted to know more of how it had happened, and what I could do in the future to better understand the transformation, when I would weave another piece. I wanted to know so that I could create with more intention and thoughtfulness. My eyes traveled back to the image of the white deer again, and I realized that even the materials were different from what I had started with. Overall, I could feel the hardiness and earthiness of the piece. It would be durable. It was rich in its tones. It could be passed forward for generations, it had come to me through generations.
When I woke from this dream, I didn't know what to think at first. But as the last few days have unfolded and I have watched my body move through this expressions of imbalance, I have more clarity.
These past few mornings actually - in the space of being sick, I have somehow found my way back to sitting with my altar quietly. I have gone through a few months of feeling fidgety and impatient, and slightly confused as to how 10 minutes suddenly began to seem burdensome. Now, in the space of my body demanding for me to slow down, I sit easily, lavishing in the connection. Feeling my soul in all of its edges and unrefined shapes and opening to the nourishment of that quiet space. This morning I was keenly aware of what I would refer to as the edges of my soul - the space of my deepest truths and knowings of who I am - alive and well - waiting to be given space to come forward. And I was aware of how different that space felt from that of my physical self which was riddled with a fever, sore throat, and tired to the trunk of my body.
Ah! There it was . . . the door opening to my understanding of the dream and of my body's current expression. The physical being that carries our souls through this world - our bodies - our altars. We decorate them with our clothing and haircuts. Shape them with our actions and the foods that we digest. Modify them with tattoos and piercings. And yet, no matter what we do, our physical selves move through the process of transformation inherent in the living - slowly moving towards its return to the earth. Our bodies serve as our altars - carrying our souls through this world. And it is how we attend to these altars that can help us to reach deeply into our soul - our heart - the generations of ancestors that come before us. And sometimes, those altars need to be wiped clean, rearranged, reorganized, to reflect our own shifts in the transformations of bringing the edges of our souls more deeply into immediate action and connection with the world around us. Sometimes it requires our bodies to be worn down to the edges, so that the path has less resistance. Sometimes it is the will of the universe for us to slow down from our modern life, so that our souls have more space and time to be filled, nourished, and to expand in our bodies and in the direction our lives are taking.
As in the dream - what I thought I was creating - was merely the outer layer to something much deeper, older, and wiser. And in the process of the weaving coming off the loom, the elegant patterns that I had created in the bright and fiery colors, receded to reveal something with far more sustenance and body. The altar found in sitting at the loom and weaving, combining shapes, colors, and patterns, was only the practice meant to open the doorway to the soul of the piece. What it was that was really meant to be alive and present in this world. What I was truly here to create and give birth to.
And so I realize as I ride these waves of fevers, headaches, and otherwise, that the food that I place into my body feeds and nourishes on a physical level, but truly is meant to reach into that deepest place within myself - to draw that essence out into the world. So the choices that I make need to match the vibration of that deeper self. Because the food, just as with the things that sit on my altar in real life, is the offering. The offering to the altar of my body. The offering to the divine spirit within and without.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
To Shed What No Longer Serves Me
To be better, to do better, to know better, to be more, to have more, to never make a mistake, to be everything to everyone. To fix yourself.
Reframe.
To be as you are. To do your best in any given moment. To learn from your experiences. To know that all you are is enough. To know that you have everything you need in this moment. To be curious when things turn out differently than what you had hoped. To know that nourishing yourself is necessary. To shed what no longer serves you.
Healing is not fixing something that is broken. Choosing to commit to a practice for 108 days is not about making yourself or your life better. It is about learning the gentle art of loving yourself, and shedding that which no longer serves you. It is the shedding process that allows you to let go of what is not integral to the core of who you are in this world. It is a process that allows your spirit to shine through to the world even more deeply. It is a process of liberation. It is an audacious act.
That is what I have been reminded of as I have cycling through my commitment again. Exploring the curiosity of why I am struggling to look in the mirror. While some of it, I have recognized, is an energetic imprint that comes hand in hand with choosing certain foods, I am recognizing that it is also the framing of the moment. If I look in the mirror and feel as though I am exploring food as medicine as a way to 'fix' myself, what I see is where my body is not perfect. Where I need to be better. On every level. But if I look in the mirror and reframe this process as shedding what no longer serves me - choosing foods that engage that shedding process, I recognize that my body is constantly in a state of flux and transformation, that I am empowered to support in each moment, and in each choice.
It is the mindset . . . or the framing that needs to be shed. Like the snake of the skin. So that I can arrive in this world in each moment, fully. Extracting every last bit of juice from each moment, and allowing my flesh and soul to sink into my life in this exact moment. Here in this moment, is what I have. Here in this moment, I choose to reframe. To shed what no longer serves me.
Reframe.
To be as you are. To do your best in any given moment. To learn from your experiences. To know that all you are is enough. To know that you have everything you need in this moment. To be curious when things turn out differently than what you had hoped. To know that nourishing yourself is necessary. To shed what no longer serves you.
Healing is not fixing something that is broken. Choosing to commit to a practice for 108 days is not about making yourself or your life better. It is about learning the gentle art of loving yourself, and shedding that which no longer serves you. It is the shedding process that allows you to let go of what is not integral to the core of who you are in this world. It is a process that allows your spirit to shine through to the world even more deeply. It is a process of liberation. It is an audacious act.
That is what I have been reminded of as I have cycling through my commitment again. Exploring the curiosity of why I am struggling to look in the mirror. While some of it, I have recognized, is an energetic imprint that comes hand in hand with choosing certain foods, I am recognizing that it is also the framing of the moment. If I look in the mirror and feel as though I am exploring food as medicine as a way to 'fix' myself, what I see is where my body is not perfect. Where I need to be better. On every level. But if I look in the mirror and reframe this process as shedding what no longer serves me - choosing foods that engage that shedding process, I recognize that my body is constantly in a state of flux and transformation, that I am empowered to support in each moment, and in each choice.
It is the mindset . . . or the framing that needs to be shed. Like the snake of the skin. So that I can arrive in this world in each moment, fully. Extracting every last bit of juice from each moment, and allowing my flesh and soul to sink into my life in this exact moment. Here in this moment, is what I have. Here in this moment, I choose to reframe. To shed what no longer serves me.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
To Be Sacred
It has been a curious week in the world of this 108 day commitment and in the space of holding myself as a sacred being in this journey. I have been riding the roller coaster of my best laid plans around food as medicine . . . and surrendering to what IS in my control and to the essence of my commitment.
I had made a 'plan' of what my 108 days would look like . . . and specifically what these days away from the comforts of my home and the usual routine of my life would be. And the 'plan' didn't fit the reality. But the essence of my commitment was still there. Food as medicine. Perhaps I wouldn't have the warm rice with almonds and kale that I had planned for . . . but I would have loads of fruit and plenty of water. Perhaps I wouldn't have the tasty chicken and root veggie soup that I had prepared . . . but I did have access to a beautiful lunch that filled my belly for the rest of the day. Maybe it wasn't all gluten-free AND dairy-free simultaneously . . . but I had the opportunity to really check in with my body to see what it was able to digest and what would not work. And maybe I didn't have my very favorite chocolate sweet potato pudding on hand . . . but the universe had provided a hotel that was willing to entertain my dietary restrictions for a sweet dessert at lunch.
The essence was food as medicine . . . the goal was to listen and learn . . . and I have learned. I could still drink the water I needed and had hoped to. And while my yoga and running routine did get blown out of the water for the first four days of this past week, I made a choice for where to stay based on the knowing that I absolutely needed to have space for these things - they are medicine to me - essential for the work I am engaging in. They were my compass to being realigned in the midst of the storm.
In the midst of this roller coaster, I became very aware of the moments when I wasn't holding myself as a sacred being. And strangely it wasn't my food choices that were highlighted. It was the moments when I realized that looking in the mirror at myself, had suddenly become a difficult task again. Where the old confines of what I thought I would see and what I didn't like about myself, were rising to the surface and pre-empting my capacity to see myself fully. My eyes were lowered, and there was a small sense of fear as to what I would witness if I looked in the mirror. Old stories. Old patterns. Old places where I didn't give myself love. Where I couldn't see how I was a part of this world - and deserving of the same love and respect that I so easily give to those around me, and to the natural world at large.
It has evoked curiosity within me. To listen more deeply to these stories that no longer serve me. To look for the spaces where I can expand a deeper sense of love for myself and for the perfection of my imperfections. And it has helped me to see a wrinkle in my path on the journey of what it is to be sacred. To honor and acknowledge that this life is a gift, and that who I am is what I have to share with the world.
So as I continue to walk this path, I will walk with more intention to look into the mirror daily and acknowledge that I am sacred. That food as medicine, movement, prayer, meditation . . . are all things being given as offerings to this altar found within. And that my movements and offerings to the world in the space of who I am, are the blessings to be fed.
I had made a 'plan' of what my 108 days would look like . . . and specifically what these days away from the comforts of my home and the usual routine of my life would be. And the 'plan' didn't fit the reality. But the essence of my commitment was still there. Food as medicine. Perhaps I wouldn't have the warm rice with almonds and kale that I had planned for . . . but I would have loads of fruit and plenty of water. Perhaps I wouldn't have the tasty chicken and root veggie soup that I had prepared . . . but I did have access to a beautiful lunch that filled my belly for the rest of the day. Maybe it wasn't all gluten-free AND dairy-free simultaneously . . . but I had the opportunity to really check in with my body to see what it was able to digest and what would not work. And maybe I didn't have my very favorite chocolate sweet potato pudding on hand . . . but the universe had provided a hotel that was willing to entertain my dietary restrictions for a sweet dessert at lunch.
The essence was food as medicine . . . the goal was to listen and learn . . . and I have learned. I could still drink the water I needed and had hoped to. And while my yoga and running routine did get blown out of the water for the first four days of this past week, I made a choice for where to stay based on the knowing that I absolutely needed to have space for these things - they are medicine to me - essential for the work I am engaging in. They were my compass to being realigned in the midst of the storm.
In the midst of this roller coaster, I became very aware of the moments when I wasn't holding myself as a sacred being. And strangely it wasn't my food choices that were highlighted. It was the moments when I realized that looking in the mirror at myself, had suddenly become a difficult task again. Where the old confines of what I thought I would see and what I didn't like about myself, were rising to the surface and pre-empting my capacity to see myself fully. My eyes were lowered, and there was a small sense of fear as to what I would witness if I looked in the mirror. Old stories. Old patterns. Old places where I didn't give myself love. Where I couldn't see how I was a part of this world - and deserving of the same love and respect that I so easily give to those around me, and to the natural world at large.
It has evoked curiosity within me. To listen more deeply to these stories that no longer serve me. To look for the spaces where I can expand a deeper sense of love for myself and for the perfection of my imperfections. And it has helped me to see a wrinkle in my path on the journey of what it is to be sacred. To honor and acknowledge that this life is a gift, and that who I am is what I have to share with the world.
So as I continue to walk this path, I will walk with more intention to look into the mirror daily and acknowledge that I am sacred. That food as medicine, movement, prayer, meditation . . . are all things being given as offerings to this altar found within. And that my movements and offerings to the world in the space of who I am, are the blessings to be fed.
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