In a yoga practice we often find ourselves in downward facing dog during a sun salutation.  The instructor might say “walk, step, or hop to the top of the mat.”  So what is all that hopping all about?  Well, it is the jumping, or springing forward, of yoga.  It takes a lot of core strength (I refer to it as the engine or the “gas”) and it takes something else: you must shift your gaze to see where you are going.

In my life at the moment I’m kind of treading water.  I haven’t committed or made progress in a few areas because I am waiting for puzzle pieces to fall into place, or I might not have exactly scoped out what I want the next step to look like.  It’s pretty common, I’m sure you can relate.  But the elements of a jump forward on the mat also applies to our lives.  Most importantly, the internal gaze forward.  We are so very busy and otherwise consumed that we often don’t give ourselves permission to look up, look forward, and see what it is that we’d like to pounce upon.  It’s a very important step because we want to be poised for the jump and need to ask ourselves some hard questions.

Once you fully engage the core and commit, the jump isn’t hard to do….also not unlike the moving forward and onward in your everyday life.  They say luck is at the intersection of preparedness and opportunity.  Finding the internal gaze, your next step, sets you up for the opportunity when it arises.

Happy springing!

GREAT JOB, EVERYBODY!!

The Yoga Tribe well exceeded its goal and raised over $1,300 for the Milton Residents Fund Holiday Gift Program.  Helping our own right here in Milton and making the holidays just a little more merry and bright!!

I feel a little like Buddy the Elf…..YOU DID IT!!!!

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!

Many of our yoga poses stem from Hindu deities.  The Hindu goddess Shiva avenged someone by creating the warrior Virabhadra.  And so we practice warrior poses (named after the warrior, Virabhadrasana), not to honor acts of violence but to find a way inward, or introspection in our practice.

A yoga practice will normally have many warrior poses sprinkled in.  They can be intense longer holds in the range of warrior poses (think lunges, moving and holding your body in opposite directions) or they can be sped through at a pace that requires precision and determination.  In any case these warriors requires steadiness, strength, determination, and getting comfortable in your discomfort.  They also require a response to that discomfort–they ask you to meet yourself with some grit, but also with some softness.

True warriors on the battlefield are keenly aware of the uncertainty of war.  As yoga practitioners holding warrior poses we, too, understand the uncertainty of not just our practice, but also our life.  “Life as you know it” can turn on a dime and we are all intimately familiar with the experience of loosing the footing of security and peace.  So our mindfulness practice of appreciating the moment, maybe even luxuriating in the goodness or lightness of the moment, is critical not only on the yoga mat but out in the world.

Most of all, the practice of warriors gives us another way inward to understanding ourselves on “mind, body, and spirit” levels.  As we move through the practice your mind may be racing and asking if you are doing something just right, your body is reminded of its strengths and limitations, and with any hope, on a spiritual level you are meeting yourself with kindness, acceptance, compassion and the friendliness you would offer any dear friend.  It is as much a practice of getting to know yourself both on and off the mat.

Coming back to stillness.  That is what it all about.

We unrolled our mats.  For many of the people in the room it was the first time they had done so all summer, others had kept their practice up; different for everyone.  Tall seat, eyes closed, tuning in to the inner self, the breath, being still.  The summer with its beauty keeps us on the run, as we try to leverage the bounty of the season. And getting kids settled into school can feel like it’s as much a new start for us as it is them.  So sitting quietly is a welcome respite from all the movement, planning, details of our lives.  As we come out of doing and into being.  Welcoming ourselves back home to ourselves, and to our mats.

Hurricane season is in full force.  So many storms are creating fear, fleeing, devastation.  So much chaos and energy.  As I look at the radar images of the swirl of the storms I am reminded of the swirls of our minds.  All the details and engagement in our lives can create our own mental swirl.  Sprinkle in a little stress or anxiety and who knows what category storm you have!

So you sit, you breathe, and you quiet the winds of the mind.  It’s the foundational element of your practice, both on and off the mat.

Guided Svasana:

No wind.  I walk like a sleuth out to the end of the dock and roll out my mat.  I get myself settled into a sitting position and briefly close my eyes.  Opening a moment later just to soak it all in.  The beauty is breathtaking.  Tall pines surround me at the edge the lake. It feels as if I have just sat down in a quiet, still cathedral.  Giant inhale, even bigger exhale.  Blessings being counted, feeling lucky to be here.

And so the day began, with my daily “dock yoga” as I call it.  People often ask me what my personal practice is like, so I thought I would share a glimpse into my practice while on my respite in Maine.

Back to closed eyes, centered breathing.  The water is so still that you can hear fish jump nearby and a loon calls to break the silence.  Must be time to move on to some gentle warm ups.  A little cat/cow, some lunging, twisting, longer held planks, and of course, downward dog.  Right leg wrapping around left–is this even yoga? I think to myself–well it feels good and I’m finding areas that are stuck–and I float into a side plank.  As my arm reaches high I feel like one with the trees, reaching tall, strong, yet bending, moving.

As I progress through the practice I am reminded of the days as a young child when I would visit my grandparents in the Bronx.  We play hide & go seek with our cousins in their basement, hiding in cupboards, under tables, anywhere.  On the mat I might suddenly find a spot–found ya–and hold it for longer, explore it, wiggle into something that feels like the perfect key to what is locked.  It’s an untamed, not always symmetrically balanced, practice that is my own exploration, a hide & go seek for my body.  And as my body is different every day, so is the practice.

In the quiet of the practice I find myself grieving the loss of my father.  I see the loon coming closer and think, “Dad, is that you?”  I feel tears trickle down my face.  Wiping them off, I carry on, “come back the breath” I tell myself, and I gently nudge myself back.  Moving through the emotions is part of the practice, so I embrace this as a sacred moment, a hide & go seek all its own.

After a few warriors of various types, I find myself in a wide-legged fold.  The world is upside down.  The lake is so calm that the reflection of the trees looks, from this angle, that it isn’t upside down at all.  Which one is real and which is not? Another game to explore…

Down to the mat for some deep hip and core work.  The intensity keeps me firmly planted in my body and I welcome the brief svasana I give myself.

Mind, body, spirit.  The practice never ceases to deliver, and on some magical days on the dock, even more so.