The Song of the Chickadee

 "If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand, rejoice, for your soul is alive".

Eleonora Duse

On my mat this morning, I heard the sound of the wind whipping the leaves of the trees outside, and the rain hitting the window pane. The clouds were so gloomy, and I felt a bit gloomy myself.

Then suddenly I heard the unmistakable sound of the chickadee. This sweet bird has a number of songs, but the one I heard today was 'Fee Bee'- strong and clear and so uplifting.

It made me smile. and this yoga post took shape.

Yoga invites us to bring ourselves to the mat just the way we are. Whether we've had a challenging day, or are dealing with an injury- it really doesn't matter. It's about embracing where we are in our lives- physically, mentally and emotionally. And bringing compassion and kindness to all of it.

What I have also found, is that even if I am going through a difficult time in my life, yoga offers me the opportunity to come home to myself- to quiet my mind through the breath, and to hear and see and experience the unexpected, delightful things that are also available to me. Things like hearing the chickadee outside my window- imagining that little bird balancing on that windy branch, singing it's heart out.

Moments like this lift my own heart, and help me remember that joy is always available to me in those tiny beautiful every day moments-even during the dark times.

So I invite you to come to the mat - however you might be feeling- and to embrace it all. And if by chance there are any challenges you might be facing, to know that there is also the invitation to open to joy- to hear the sweet song of the chickadee on rainy, blustery day in April. And who knows..maybe you'll even hear the song in your own heart too.

Namaste. _/l\_

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shQHdkYMWQA://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shQHdkYMWQA

All to the Mat

On the days that follow the recent death of my mother, the yoga expression 'bring it all to the mat' plays over in my head like a soothing mantra.
Bring it all to the mat..

This continues to be one of the most meaningful aspects of yoga for me as the years go by. The idea that no matter how I feel at any given day, hour or minute, I can bring it to the mat. I don't have to be brave, or witty, or full of joy to come to my practice. I can bring my grief, my sorrow, my stubbornness and my guilt. I can flop down and cry if I need to, or push myself harder than I thought possible. I can stop in delight to listen to the song of the cardinal outside my window,  or stare with wonder at the pink sky as dawn announces the new day.

I can close my eyes and feel my heart beating inside my chest, and the rise and fall of each breath as it enters and leaves my body.
I can simply... be.

Contrary to the ads where beautiful bodies and serene expressions seem to define yoga, I believe it is far, far greater than this. Rather than rising to an impossible ideal, for me it is about bringing my authentic self to the mat- no matter what that looks like. It's about having a safe and accepting place to welcome myself home, about being curious when challenging emotions arise, or noticing how one emotion can change into another. It's about inviting my body to show up- no matter what age I am, or size I am, or shape I'm in. It's about bringing my whole big beautiful messy self to the mat and celebrating it with a wide open heart.

Imagine the possibilities that could be born from that? 

So today, as I unroll that long piece of rubber and take off my socks, I offer my practice to all that is- the unfolding of this perfectly imperfect self, the blessings of each moment, and the incredible mystery that lies beneath it all.

Namaste. _/l\_

The Guest House

The end of a quiet week. I'm grateful for that.

Last Saturday was the funeral of my dearest Mom, and it has been, and will continue to be a time of coming home to myself as I let this sacred journey unfold inside of me.

Grief has no rules, nor knows no road map. It seems to take us where we need to go, in it's own time. For now it's still fresh, and cloaked with soft numbness. But I'm sure that will change into something else.  In fact, the only thing I can be sure of, is that it will change.

Deeply personal, we each experience loss in a our own way. There are no right or wrongs, nor should there be.

For me, this poem 'The Guest House" by Rumi is a tender reminder to welcome all the guests that come knocking at my heart as I take each tentative step forward. To embrace each one with humility. And above all, to be grateful for their presence as I do believe that each has been sent to help guide me down this path.

Namaste
Namo Amida Bu. _/l\_

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

Rumi

A Smile is Just a Smile. Or is it?

I was on a morning walk recently, and not feeling too great. Tired, back hurting. Just a little blah.

But then, without really thinking about it, I started to smile or say good morning to everyone I met on my walk. My husband does it all the time, but I’m a bit shyer, so it took some courage. It was interesting. Some people didn’t see me at all, some looked surprised and even wary. But more than a few smiled back. I loved watching this happen. It was a transformation before my eyes. Their faces became radiant, full of light. Even the old man plodding along with two canes looked up and returned a smile and firm nod.

Sometimes we don’t think about the small things we can do in a day. Like giving someone a smile. It may be the only smile that person receives that day. It may lift a heavy heart. It may even change the course of a day. It’s a wee gift, but it reminds them that someone sees them, that they matter.

I love Mother Teresa’s quote: “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

So maybe a smile isn’t just a smile. Maybe it’s a little piece of love that connects us all.

Namaste _/l\_

A Little Help from my Friends

"What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me...?"

For many years, I was an elementary school teacher and when I retired, the idea of teaching yoga appealed to me for lots of reasons. I'm so thankful I took this path, as it's been more rewarding than I could have ever imagined.

However, it's also been a humbling journey. Over the course of the first year I spent hours and hours of preparation for a one hour class, wondering if anyone would even come. The anticipation was intense, and I felt like I did years ago fresh out of teacher's college- excited but full of nerves! I also set my own bar high, so the learning curve was often full of angst for me. I was impatient with my awkwardness and lack of confidence. Many times after a class I wondered if I should throw in the towel, and try something else. Yes, humbling for sure.

Yet underneath it all, what kept me going was a deep love of yoga, as well as the unending encouragement of my family and beloved teacher.

And two very special students.

Every Wednesday the door would open and Bill and Sandy would bring their smiling faces and good hearts into the studio as they cheerfully threw down their mats. I would teach my carefully constructed lesson to the best of my ability,  and always hoped they would come back. And back they did come. Time and time again.

Their loyalty and dedication to that Wednesday night class meant everything to me. They gave me the opportunity to hone my skills as a teacher, an essential and necessary part of growing and staying on that learning curve until it began to feel more natural. Their steadfast presence slowly convinced me I did have the potential to be a good teacher, and to just keep learning and growing. Gradually I realized that I wasn't teaching from my head anymore. I was teaching from my heart.

Over time, more students came and stayed, and we now have a precious little kula, practising our love of yoga and enjoying great camaraderie together. It is the most wonderful feeling to be a part of this community, to grow along with my students and to witness their journey alongside mine.

We can't always believe in ourselves right away but when others hold the space for us until we are ready, it is a gift like no other.

Thanks Bill and Sandy for holding that space for me. I am forever grateful.

"We get by with a help from our friends."

Yes we do. We sure do.

Namaste. _/l\_

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vf7MrwldawY

A Letter to my Kula

Dear Students

When I got back from vacation, I wasn't surprised to hear that the teacher filling in for me had thoroughly enjoyed teaching you all. She commented on what a committed group of yogis you were, and also how supportive and kind you are to one another. She called you a 'kula', which is a Sanskrit word for community, often referred to in the yoga circles.

I wholeheartedly agree. You are a special group that embodies those traits, and I've always felt grateful for having the opportunity to share this practise with you.

When we come to a yoga class, often we speak of the internal process, the inquiry into one's own experience. But when interaction also extends outwardly to one another, then it blossoms into something even bigger. You are an example of that 'blossoming' where a positive atmosphere of good will elevates the heart and spirit all around.

So thank you for offering yourselves to others with friendliness and good humour, and being such an example of what kula is all about.

Namaste _/l\_

Ode to 60

I’m turning 60 in a few days. I laughed at my husband a couple years ago when he was ruminating about his 60th birthday. He looked over his glasses and said - 'just wait'. How right he was. No doubt about it,  I've had my share of angst over mine too. But lately there's something else that's shown up too, something quite unexpected.

Today I was in the gym and happened to go into the activity room where they hold classes. It was empty but I could pick a video of a class and 'do it yourself'. "Great!" I thought. "Love the idea- a whole studio to myself"! I walked up to the machine, picked a dance class, (one I used to be quite good at, I might add :)).  A big screen rolled down and it began. The intro music filled the room, I felt excited, ready to rock! And then...

Oh-My-God. Where did that woman go who could dance with the best of them? Along with Elvis, 'she had left the building'. And who was this imposter, flailing around, completely out of sync with the music and movement- tripping over her two left feet?!  I tried to convince myself no one was looking through the windows into that room and laughing, but let me tell you, I was well OUT of my comfort zone.  After a good try I turned the damn thing off, grabbed my stuff and whatever dignity that remained, and headed for home.

Now, before you start feeling sorry for me, here’s the flip side. I SHOWED UP.  I might even be back, and who knows, maybe even get a little better with practice.  No, I’m not the dancer I once was, nor the runner, nor the writer, or philosopher. My ass has gone south and it ain’t coming back. I have all kinds of weird health stuff going on, and I do the stupidest things, way more than I’d like to admit.

But what I’m determined to do, is keep SHOWING UP. I don’t know what that’s going to look like in the future, but for now- I’m going to shake my booty to that dance video, and dream about all the different things I love to do- or have yet to do. This is such precious time and more than ever,  I want to embrace it. 

Yes, being 60 has many rewarding qualities that I wouldn’t trade for that firm little butt, or smug confidence. But it also reminds me that I will never be younger than I am today, so I better take this able body into the next decade with gratitude and joie de vivre.

 Now- where did I put those sky diving lessons? I need to find my glasses first.

Namaste _/l\_