Wooded sanctuary

My journey into the world of meditation is just as gradual and winding as my journey into yoga. When I lack the discipline to pure self-practice I seek out opportunities to either go to class or create a situation that "forces" me to follow through with a practice session.

Life is still moving at 300 mph (down from 500 a week or so ago). The difference this week is that the fall foliage is peaking here, and foliage waits for no one, not even stressed out women doing their best to keep their heads above water. So if I am to enjoy the beauty of fall (I happen to love this time of year), then I have to get myself out of the house; I have to get outdoors.

Enough said, this morning I took my second walk of the week. Huge gusts of wind greeted me as I wandered towards my wooded path by the stream. What I love about walking meditations is that I can't give up in the middle of a session. If I walk to my special tree, then I have to walk back now, don't I? And once I crawl into the shelter of the towering trees, it's like I've entered my own sensual sanctuary. The blustery wind can be heard in the swaying treetops, but like a huge comforter the trees offer shelter from the cold. The lazy stream stretches itself from around the bend. And then I reach "my" tree, the tallest one in the woods. So tall that it leans slightly forward, sort of as a giant would in order to greet someone much shorter than himself.

I stop in front of the gnarly trunk and place my hands on the rough, uneven bark. I move my feet back and bend at my hips until my trunk is parallel with the ground. After aligning my thighs, pelvis, abdomen, trunk, and head, I stand here in a modified downward dog as I lose myself in a wonderful sense of presence.

It only lasts for seconds, but when it's done, I am a new person.

J + P

An irresistible urge to go through a dusty box filled with old photos this afternoon led me to a card I apparently had given to my husband on our wedding day, October 11th, 1997.

Here's what was written in the card that I don't remember ever having bought, much less where I could have found it to begin with:

My husband, You are my forever love

Your friendship and love, and all of the wonderful things that they bring to my life, are like nothing else I've ever known.

My heart is complete with the love we share, and our love grows more beautiful each day...

As long as I have you, my husband, I have everything I need. Moments of success may come and go, and material things bring us momentary joy. But you are with me always...in a smile, a touch, a memory, a feeling, or a moment we share.

Friends enter our lives, sometimes only for a short time, but the friendship we share is deep and secure. Even if everyone else suddenly left me, I know I'd still have you as my best friend.

We pass through different phases of life with all their changes and challenges, and one day turns into another. But through it all, our love is constant.

You lend me strength when I need it most, and give me a precious gift each day by loving me just the way I am.

I don't know how you do it, but in your own special way you fill my life and heart with a wondrous joy that will always be present. You make my life complete, and I love you. - Linda Sackett-Morrison

To this day, I stand by every syllable.

Stupid pride & small blessings

Pride isn't always stupid. It's a great quality I wish more than anything to instill in my kids (along with compassion, empathy, and self-worth/love). Owning a sense of self-confidence is crucial if you want to get anywhere in this world, be it within one's work, lovelife, or journey towards self-discovery.

But I've noticed that lately my pride is limiting me. Since my pride whispers to my ego that I can do it all, I've been trying to live up to that myth, leading a S&M lifestyle (with more M than S), and now I can admit that the harder I try the worse things are getting. My priorities have been kids and work. I think I've managed those pretty OK under the circumstances. I haven't been as good at taking care of my self (deliberate splitting of word myself), house- and gardenwork, or my husband. There's simply no time nor energy left for that.

For years I scoffed at the idea of hiring a cleaning lady (or why not man in worn Levi's, barebreasted - no, wait, that's the poolboy fantasy - sorry...). Now, it's a no brainer. Just like paying for a babysitter tonight so that P and I can go out for dinner.

But those were easy choices to make since I a) had no other solution, and b) nobody has to know about them but myself (although I guess I screwed up keeping my inept weakness a secret now, huh?). It's hard sometimes to be honest, and writing this little blog forces me to scrutinize myself, both the good and the bad. I try my best to be honest (although it's not 100% possible to write all thoughts down for public cyberviewing) and include the good with the bad.

What's interesting is that when I reach out and humbly admit to my shortcomings, the responses I receive are always surprisingly positive. So by reaching out I gain strength, and sometimes it comes from the most unexpected sources. Instead of feeling weak and stupid, I end up feeling humble, warm, and like I matter. If I hadn't reached out, then no one would have had any way of knowing what was up with me, and I would never have gotten any reaction.

What greater gift is there than knowing that others care about little, old me?

Clarification

If there's one thing I have little patience for, it's modern day martyrs! I am not a victim. I have made conscious choices that have fortunately enough taken my life in a direction towards my dreams. Jobwise, this past half year has been utterly amazing.

But I guess even amazing comes at a price, which is why I am tired. And since I don't want to keep staying tired, I write down my thoughts in order to try to come up with some sort of plan, as well as trying to see what it all means.

Please excuse if anything I've written can unintentionally be seen as a self-indulgent pity party. That's just so not who I want to be...

Way out?

It's time to break the pattern. Like the radio ad says,"The wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead." If the hamster is my brain, then perhaps I'm not clinically dead, but I could use some serious life support at the moment.

Or maybe I'm the little duckling from my entry a week or so ago... But even though I got through the storms of September, I wasn't ready for the rapids in October. So while I don't have any huge projects pending for another few weeks, playing "catchup" while simultaneously holding down the fort is just not working out. I am fogetting things. Mind you, that isn't at all unusual for me, but usually I eventually remember the important things, even if it's often at the very last minute. Now it's like my short term memory has been deleted, erased, wiped clean.

I have a Yoga Journal magazine at home that's been been waiting to be opened for more than two weeks. I'm waiting for the perfect opportunity when all is calm, and I'm coherent enough to lose myself in it. But I'm not there yet.

Escape plans: 1. Call cleaning lady - DONE - she's coming to give us an estimate next week. At this point I'm like, "TAKE MY MONEY - just please help me out here!" 2. Don't forget the fabulous friends you have - DONE - had a wonderful evening with a girl who besides offering food, drink, and wonderful conversation, alway gives me an intellectual and creative vitamin injection as well (Tack, Jeanette!). 3. Consider backing off with teaching at the gym...this is a tough one, since teaching forces me to stick to some sort of exercise routine. However, this is where I've unintentionally been screwing things up since I haven't been able to be there on a regular basis anyhow - WILL DISCUSS 4. I have last month's issue of YJ in my suitcase - try reading it for 5 minutes before passing out on pillow - WILL DO!

After all, there's gotta be an emergency stop button somewhere on this damn hamster wheel, right?

Eight entries

How's your Cyprus presentation going? The TV's not working; can you look at it? Can you read to me? What's for dinner? Can you go to A's school for his appointment with the nurse? What's the square root of 81? What year did the battle at Gettysburg take place? What's the chemical symbol for potassium?

Eight entries. That's all I managed to write during all of September. I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life's high-paced tempo lately. Trying to figure out if something can be crossed off the list. It's probably not healthy to push myself like this. Eight entries. That's a sign that I've already sacrificed much of the free time that I usually use for doing NOTHING, seeing as how that's when I get a chance to reflect.

What's the payoff of having too much to do? The most obvious reward is that we make more money this way; and I'm really looking forward to our Florida vacation in December. On a more subtle note; since I have managed to keep my head above water and every project I've participated in thus far has been successful, well that means that despite my exhaustion I reap the rewards of satisfaction which makes my efforts seem worthwhile. I end up enjoying myself, as long as everything works out.

But eight entries. It's not only my blog, mind you; it's also a sign that literally, I'm not present. If I don't have enough time for myself, then I don't have enough time to just be there for my kids. Like this morning, for the first time in what seems like ages, I was greeted by my son who came into my bedroom (as I was writing this) to say good morning and crawl under the covers. With Mr. Meow on his tummy we chatted about the Tom & Jerry comic book we read last night. Soon he was off to play Playstation when my daughter stepped in and crawled under the covers for the same good morning procedure. Now she's watching cartoons.

Seeing as how no matter how much I plead, a day will for all of eternity only consist of 24 hours, I have to figure out how to make things work. And somewhere in the midst of it all I would like to eventually figure who I am so that I might finally gain some insight into how I should prioritize.

But for the moment, the plan is to enjoy long, leisurely paced French toast breakfast with my two angels.

The kid's a genius

I try so hard to not fall into the cliché of saying that I don't have the time to (choose one of the following): work out, blog, meditate, go for a walk, bake, clean, act like a sex kitten, etc, etc.

I think about a little thing I read in the newspaper years and years ago. A five-year-old was asked to explain what "time" was. He answered, "Time is time. Kids have more time than grownups."

Did I hear someone mention a Nobel prize?