It's getting close now...

Those were my 7-year-old son's first words on December 22nd. Being awakened by his enthusiasm towards the pending Christmas celebration was like being awakened by the first returning birds in early spring. I woke up with a smile.

Outside it was bitter cold, but the shock of getting hit with subzero temperatures was easily surpassed by the beauty of the sun shining on the crystalized snow. With strokes of pastels colors from sunrise still visible along the morning sky, I headed to the village church to enjoy the school's Christmas assembly. The snow crunched beneath my feet as my lungs were filled with crisp, clean air.

Inside the church I listened to the children's songs and sang merrily along to "Stilla Natt" and "Nu Tändas Tusen Juleljus". Throughout the entire procession I concentrated on enjoying each moment with warm detachment. For once I felt able to experience joy without the normal pangs of dreary bitterness upon the simultaneous realization that the Christmas festivities as well as that beautiful winter weather would soon be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Instead I walked back home afterwards feeling utterly content, thinking to myself that two days before Christmas Eve may very well be my favorite day of the year: we're close enough to the actual holiday that you can feel it in every cell of your body, yet there's no need to start freaking out about all that needs to be done seeing as there's still two days to prepare...

So, yes, I was content, even happy. Played Christmas carols on Spotify while wrapping the kids' presents.

That afternoon I received a phone call from a colleague/friend. Our mutual colleague/friend, the one who's been battling cancer for six years, had once again been hospitalized. This time there was nothing more that could be done. He died the next day.

We all knew that we were eventually going to lose him; yet he had fooled us by tricking Death out of taking him prematurely so many times before...that it seemed unreal. We had had our last conversation just a few days prior, and I had ended it abruptly because I had a another call waiting. How idiotic is that?!

Still, I know he didn't mind - he wasn't the type who would. And what would the point have been of knowing that this was the last time we would speak to each other? Maybe, at least I hope anyway, that it was just as well that we both enjoyed that last phone call just as it was, without worrying about the inevitable future.

Status report

I can't freakin' believe it's been 4 weeks since my last entry.

To be honest, I already have an entry in progress ("What I Believe"), but I can't freakin' figure out what to write.

And my thumb hurts...

That said, I'm feeling absolutely pathetic. My half-severed thumb (OK, grandiose exaggeration) is what I went to sleep thinking about last night. It was my first thought this morning. I have spent every freakin', waking moment incessantly thinking about it today. And I guarantee it will be my final thought before sleep blesses me with merciful reprieve.

Because that's what pain does. It takes over and takes no prisoners as it kicks your a**. It penetrates your psyche as it clouds your mental abilities, making you feel as though you've been cursed with a voodoo doll (complete with accompanying needles).

Simultaneously I find myself feeling so incredibly frustrated. Last year, when I turned 40, I was still recovering from knee surgery and longing for my mat. Last week I turned 41, and I joyfully went to my first Zumba class. Afterwards I swore that from now on, I would get back into including more cardio to my workout schedule. I was both excited and eager to get started (once again) with my "new" life!

And now that's all on hold. All because of a piece of thumbnail no larger than half a dime.

I'm not so self-centered as to not understand that my "trauma" is about as serious as running out of milk. I know that my life is still as rich and rewarding regardless of potential dangers lurking in silverware drawers. Yoga isn't about the physical practice. I get the message that radio station P3 is relaying with their 6-day "Music Help" sit in to raise money in the battle against child trafficking, which puts my petty ails in perspective.

I think sometimes that practicing equanimity (steadiness of the mind) simply means going with the flow, with neither too much thought nor attention. And I realize that in a couple of weeks, I will (yet again) be able to pick up where I left off. That is, until I hit my next speed bump...

Topic 7 - My Best Friend

What am I, 10?

Sorry, I'm 40.

Although I do wish I still had the kind of best friend one has when one is 10. Nothing beats juicy girl talk.

But finding die-hard girlfriends isn't easy for me. I used to have a handful, pretty good, mostly long-distance girlfriends, but after tiring of being the one who always called first, I decided that a sustainable friendship should be based on mutual interest and initiative.

The few that I have today, albeit not quite as intimate as in SATC, are ones that I truly value. At the same time, all I hope for is to enjoy them on a day-to-day basis, without expecting nor demanding too much. And that's OK as long as my life is OK. Should I end up in an emotional gutter, I honestly don't know who'd I would or could call.

So what else is there?

Naturally my husband is falls into the category 'best friend', as long as I'm not mad at him...

My cat is a really comforting friend, that is, if he's in the mood to snuggle...

I have some great colleagues, mostly guys, and while we laugh alot, there's a limit as to what topics we can discuss!

And sure, I'm lucky to have my four siblings, but they HAVE TO be nice to me!

What's left then?

Here's something I'll never forget; something my childhood friend's mother once sternly asked with (pointing index finger and everything) :

Friend's Mom: Judie Moss, who is your best friend?!

Me: I dunno...G?

Friend's Mom: YOU are your own best friend, young lady!

And that small piece of wisdom has stuck with me for the past 30 years. And the truth of those words are my mantra today.

Still, if anyone is interested in being a BFF, or a BF For Right Now, or just a F that feels like going for some latte, just say the word.

Topic V: What is LOVE?

I doubt I'm in any way qualified to answer this question. That is, if you want an answer filled with universal wisdom of any sort.

Still, it is an interesting question, and I've had a difficult time trying to come up with a coherent answer. To be frank, I still don't have an answer. But then I realized that I was trying to find a way to narrow down my definition until it was both airtight and waterproof, only to discover that I am not capable of pure, undying, and unconditional love. I feel that as a human, knowing how thoughts, feelings, and life circumstances are constantly changing, that even my deepest feelings about love can also suffer from impermanence.

Which is a drag, I know. At least that's what I was thinking to myself as I grabbed my mug to pour myself a cup of coffee. I grabbed my favorite mug, one with I [heart] NY printed on it, and I instantly thought, "God, I love this mug." Followed immediately by my thinking, "and, God, I LOVE my morning cup of coffee!"

My internal Swedish voice wanted to scold me for so flagrantly using the term love to describe how I felt in the above statements. That's one criticism Americans get from (some) Swedes: that we are superficial because we use words and expressions like "love" and "how are you" without genuinely meaning it.

The thing is, when I drink my morning coffee out of my favorite mug, at that particular moment I am as close to experiencing bliss as I can come. So I put a gag on my internal Swedish voice and wondered instead, "What else do I love?"

Instantly, a picture of Ben & Jerry's popped into my head (big surprise).

Lighting the candles in the lanterns I have hanging on my porch this dreary, rainy, November morning.

Silence.

Yoga, or rather, how yoga makes me feel after a session on the mat.

Ocean waves.

Hearing my children and husband laugh.

You see, once I broadened my definition to include anything that brings me joy instead of excluding everything that was less than perfect, finding a definition of love that I could live with suddenly became easy.

Topic IV - What I ate today...

For those who may or may not be keeping count, I skipped Topic #3: my parents.

Moving on...

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I eat the same breakfast just about every day, but since I had to hit the road early today, I skipped my usual soft boiled egg with caviar.

Otherwise, I drank a glass of freshly pressed orange juice to wash down my mulitvitamin, glucosamine tablets, and artic root tablet. While a pot of coffee was brewing, I poured some milk over my bowl of shredded wheat, müsli, and flaxseed combo. Usually I add a handful of blueberries from this summer's harvest, but since they're frozen I didn't want to wake up the kids by using the microwave.

Poured some coffee (light and sweet, just like me?) into my Starbuck's thermos to drink on my drive to Skåne.

I had clinical workshops today, so I bought apple-cinnamon cake for my customers and helped myself to a piece around 10:30 A.M. For lunch I only had about 20 minutes, so I'm afraid that Chef Ronald once again made my lunch: two cheeseburgers, Tropicana orange juice, and a medium latte.

Another small piece of cake around 2:30.

Then on my drive home I found a bottle of strawberry oat-drink that I had forgotten about - YUM. Also, I had bought two pouches of apple slices while at McD's that I washed down with a bottle of water.

For dinner, my kids were starved, so I made one of their favorites: smoked pork-pancake (more like an omelette made in the oven) along with cloudberries mixed with sugar. Drink: water.

Not my proudest day as far as my culinary habits go, but both honest and pretty typical...

Topic II - My First Love

I hope my daughter gets to experience her "first love" the same way I did. Oddly enough, I look more fondly back upon my first love, than I do the four-year relationship I had with the guy I was living with up until I met P.

I was 16. He was 17. There must be something about capricorns with a wry sense of humor, because that's what attracted me to this guy, and it just so happens that my husband shares those exact same qualities. Also, he was the strong, silent type, just like my husband.

We were friends first. So when it was time to take things to "the next level", I was emotionally ready because at that point, we were truly in love. I have absolutely no regrets.

The following year, I started college, and eventually I wanted to see other people. I was all about convention, and wanted to follow the plan mapped out for me, but my boyfriend didn't see his future that way. He followed his own path which I had a hard time accepting. That, and I was on my own for the first time in my life and curious as to what was out there.

And so what do I end up doing? You guessed it; I moved to Europe. So much for convention.

Thirty days...discuss!

Ok, a list is circulating on the web with 30 personal topics to blog about. I'm in the midst of a severe case of "Blogger's block", so I thought a challenge like this sounded like fun. You remember what fun is, right? I'm not sure I'll manage 30 days in a row, but I'm going to try!

Day 1: Allow me to introduce myself...

A woman with several hats: wife, mother, physical therapist, sales rep, clinical trainer, yoga student, yoga instructor...

...or rather, a woman who juggles between her different hats, hoping to one day figure out who she is so that she can go hatless, and still keep everything in motion.

I'm still in love. It was definitely lust at first sight way back in 1992. The best part today is grossing my kids out by kissing my husband in front of them.

My children are my oxygen; they sustain me. And yet I can't wait to see how they shape their own lives when they are no longer dependant on my husband and me. I hope I can help them to become happy and secure individuals as well as compassionate citizens. I hope they can look back on their childhood with joy.

I wish, however, I had more patience with my family. My hugest fallback is being overly sensitive. I could use lessons in chillin'.

I'm much better one-on-one than in groups, unless I have a leading role, such as teacher. Why? Because I'm basically a pretty shy person.

So I have very few close friends. I used to be the "nice" person who gave more than she took. Now I'm only interested in relationships that offer some sort of balance.

I've always been interested in staying in shape, but I am hopeless at getting my butt in gear. What to do? Find a profession that encourages me to keep on moving - physical therapy. And to really keep me moving I became a group-training instructor because that forced me to the gym, and later on, to my mat.

Yoga is my beacon. Yoga found me when I was ready for it. Yoga has been patient and met me where I am, and taken me to the next level when I've reached the point that I am ready to move on. My physical practice is still a big part of my well-being, but I find myself more and more drawn to using yoga to create inner peace.

My work offers me a way to "do some good", and it in turn I get the chance to feel good about it. And many times it teaches me perspective.

For example, I was mistaken in my previous entry. The young man with cancer whose father had written to me had passed away on November 6th. Even though pain is a relative concept, when I am once again reminded about life's fragility, it only makes me want to appreciate what I have even more.

And one thing I love about life is laughter. I love irony (as does my husband). As well asSNL from the 80's, which is why I had to include a picture from "Coffee Talk" in this entry.

Picture from Google

What to say?

Today I received an e-mail from the father of a young patient I met this past summer. His 19-year old son is dying from a brain tumor. When I was contacted by their consultant I managed to book in a wheelchair fitting just a couple of days afterwards.

When faced with a case like this, I feel utterly compelled to GET IT RIGHT. There are no second chances. If I manage to utilize my knowledge within my field to in any way ease this family's burden, then there is for me no greater satisfaction professionally. Equally important, however, is getting past the anguish attached to the gruesome combination of youth, cancer, and dying.

Very simply, I wanted to relay to them every ounce of empathy I could offer without becoming overbearingly sympathetic. I wanted to share with them my feelings of compassion without violating their integrity. Most of all, I wanted them to feel that they neither were on display nor were they to be shunned for having drawn the shortest straw imaginable...

The fitting went well. The tone was open yet unemotional. We focused on the problem at hand and worked our way towards finding a solution. They were able to leave the same afternoon with the wheelchair I had brought. At that time I had no idea how much time remained.

He's still alive. The father had sent the e-mail to thank me and to share with me a few ideas he had about our product. Overall they were still very satisfied with their wheelchair which gladdened me.

But now comes the tough part. I have been racking my brains trying to figure out how to respond to his e-mail, which really warmed my heart, without sounding either pompous or pathetic. Yet I want it to be honest.

So I started by hugging my kids a few extra times tonight. All day and all evening I had tried writing a reply in my head to no avail. That's when I decided to share this on my blog. And once again, just going through my thoughts and putting words to them seems to have freed the words I needed. The ones I believe (and hope) will appropriately answer sum up how I truly feel:

I am happy that the chair is working out for you, but most of all I hope YOU AND YOUR FAMILY are doing as well as possible.

Why is it so hard to be human sometimes?

Overwhelmed and obligated

I've written it before, that I prefer blogging when things are good as opposed to when things suck. My blog voice is many times influenced by my "silent" voice, you know, the quiet, introspective, wise one that (all too) often gets to play second-fiddle to my tempramentsfull, control-freak, hamster-spinning-incessantly-in-her-wheel side.

But here I am, alone at Arlanda airport in Stockholm. I have enough time to just sit at Wayne's Coffee café in Sky City and reflect. Because here's the thing: I'm in Stockholm to yoga all weekend. I'm sitting at a café with a huge, delicious latte. I'm wearing warm clothes and a knitted scart I got as a for-no-special-reason gift from a great girlfriend. I talked earlier to my loving husband and could hear my adorable son in the background. I got a text message from my daughter wishing me a good weekend.

When things are going this good for me, while there is at the same time so much need and suffering elsewhere in the world, the very least I can do must be to pause long enough to show my gratitude and appreciation?

Speechless

Funny, my mind is cluttered with endless thoughts. Constant bombardment, 24-7 actually.

Yet I can't seem to express them. Heck, I can't even identify them. Thus, I can't make any sense of them.

Maybe it's kind of a defense mechanism? To prevent overload.

Or have I short-circuited? God, I hope not...

It's surrealistic. My senses are in tact, yet it's as though I've "left the building". I'm aware that I'm observing, and I enjoy reading what others are up to with great interest, but I don't feel I have much to contribute for the moment.

I think I miss this blog, but I'm not sure if I really miss it, or if I think I should be missing it. The same goes for FB; before I had so much I wanted to share, but now...

I know I'm giving my thoughts too much power. They're only THOUGHTS after all. Still, there's a few hefty, pending issues that are monopolizing my mind. It's only temporary, I know. And hopefully some clarity will shine on through soon, too.

So I'm going to allow myself to continue carrying on in my quiet numbness for the time being.

Quiet revolution (or maybe even an evolution?)

It's no secret that I have issues with the (Catholic) God I was raised to worship.

So I'm no longer a churchgoer. And even though I feel at peace with my present faith, I'm still uncomfortable when it comes to prayer. I can't stand feeling helplessly feeble when faced with making requests (because, honestly, that's what praying is all about, right?). I find the powerlessness associated with placing one's fate in the hands of what will hopefully be a benevolent, supreme power disheartening.

I'm not talking about winning Lotto or finding a great parking space. It's about dealing with the heartwrenching emotions I experience when I hear or read about yet another atrocity of our so-called civilization. It's about desperate appeals expressed when witnessing a highway accident scene and seeing medics treat a person laid out on the asphalt. It's about desperately wanting to find the right way to meet with parents while fitting a wheelchair to their terminally ill teenage son.

I want so badly to be able to do something about, but I can't! And I can't see how my begging for things to be different will make any difference.

Or so I thought...

...for something shifted within me while meditating a couple of weeks ago. I was following Jack Kornfield's forgiveness meditation, and suddenly his words resonated with me. Forgiveness is a practice, meaning that it's not a permanent state of "either/or". Again, being raised Catholic, I know a thing or two about guilt and sin, which is perhaps why I feel incredibly inept at forgiving. But what this means is that I can gradually work at it, build it up, and when I take two steps back, I can try again.

And then it hit me - that's what all this softening-the-heart-stuff means! It's not about obtaining perfection or being otherworldly! So I'm like, OK, I can do that; that is, do what I can to the best of my present ability... And it was like a load was lifted from my shoulders.

It triggered a memory of something else I had read (not that I can remember where I read it). Anyhow, it had to with how our thoughts and feelings, the softening of our hearts, are powerful enough to change our energy. And, in turn, that energy affects the energy around us, and in effect, the energy of the universe.

So by "praying", I am not asking - I am doing! And even though I may not be able to personally solve all issues, heal others, alleviate pain, I can at least do my part by having the warmest of intentions. I can open my heart, and hopefully my feelings of compassion will reverberate to my surroundings the same way one candle can light a thousand others...

Accessibility

It's there, and it's not as hard to reach as you might think. It's not buried within secret rituals shrouded by ancient tongues. You don't have to have a master or even master it. Granted, reading some literature and practicing a number of times will most certainly guide you; still, it's something you actually, for real, can do in the comfort of your own home.

There's no one keeping tabs on how much or how little you do. No scales. No final exam.

I am finally getting more and more into meditation. My practice is still somewhat sporadic, but I sense that I am finally opening up to something - something larger than myself.

There was an excellent article by Sally Kempton in this month's issue of "Yoga Journal" with a brief introduction to various "core" meditation practices. Among these she mentioned the "self-inquiry" method, and my lightbulb lit up. That's the one where I ask my silence for advice! Kempton encourages us to find the type of meditation that suits us to use as a "core" practice, and then spice it up now and then by experimenting with the other techniques.

Yesterday, I set my clock half-an-hour earilier. It was raining, but still mild enough that I could sit out on the porch. I listened to the rain splatter against the windows and felt the hint-of-autumn's-arrival-breeze caress my skin. Since I didn't have any particular issue to ponder, I simply asked my silence, "What do I need to know?"

For the most part, I just experienced stillness. A couple of minutes before my timer was about to go off, a gentle gust of wind gently blew a couple tresses across my cheek. I thought I heard in that instant, "Enjoy life."

Wishful thinking?

Who knows?!

Does it really matter?

I decided that in whichever case, I was going to make an effort to utilize that small piece of wisdom.

Picture from Google

Bring it on...?

Here's a news flash - Life is insanely busy! Yeah, like, what else is new?!

So life is insanely busy, yet again. And the bottom line is that I'm getting exactly what I asked for. Every aspect that is demanding my attention is of my own making. Which makes me somewhat of a mad scientist, I know.

The solution? Other than falling into a coma - sorry, no Snow-White-apples or Sleeping-Beauty-spinning-wheels found on E-bay last I checked - all I can think to do is to suck it up and stick it out.

And prioritize. Keep the wheels in motion. Stay healthy (even mentally = HUGE challenge).

Accept living with things being "good enough".

Decide which attitude I'm going to have.

Break down and cry if necessary, just not in front of the kids.

I'm lucky to have so much to do. Certain things have recently arisen and come to me that go far beyond my dreams.

Will my tactics work?

I have no friggin' idea.

But, hey, that's life.

To my dear friend, C: I wrote this in my head before I read your entry today. Trust me, I know what you're going through. Jag hoppas att ljuset i tunneln snart visar sig för dig. KRAM

My thoughts on building a mosque close to Ground Zero

Here's what I think:

• The TERRORISTS responsible for the atrocities of 9/11 should be tried and punished to the fullest extent of the law.


• The actual Ground Zero site should remain as a symbol for our sorrow as a well as a reminder of the preciousness of life and our need for solidarity.


• Muslim fanatics do not and should not serve as representatives for Islam on the whole.


• While I agree that violent acts committed in the name of Islam are often reported in the media, I choose to believe (in an optimistic act of faith) that the vast majority of Muslims neither condone nor do they in any way wish to be associated with such acts.

In other words, I choose to believe that the vast majority of Muslims are not so different than anyone else. My children go to school with Muslim children. If these children were in NYC along with their families and decided to visit a mosque that happened to be in the vicinity of Ground Zero, I wouldn't see any problem in that.

Again, this is solely an expression of MY opinion.

Coerced non-violence

This is actually kind of funny.

For starters, I am a real-life yogi. That means that I have by no means transcended to an especially divine level of existence. That being said, I am the first to admit that although I naturally believe in the yogic principle of ahimsa, meaning non-violence, there are just as naturally some minor exceptions to that rule.

Yesterday when I rolled out my mat in my bedroom, I noticed a fly flying about. Realizing that this guy was only going to land on me the second I was still, I decided he best be on his way to the other realm before I got started. Since the fly swatter was upstairs I rolled up my issue of Yoga Journal (which I know is sacreligious!) and decided to flatten him once and for all.

First I couldn't find him. And when I finally did: A swing and a miss! *damn*

"Ok, screw it," I thought and got started on my session. Lo and behold he hung out on my white closet for a while before going back to buzzing around me. So I paused between sequences and tried to nail him again as he sat on my overnight bag that lay beside my mat. Strike two!

"Whatever!" So I go back to doing yoga, and I figure that before I lie in savasana for my final relaxation I better end this once and for all. At this point, however, he wasn't anywhere to be found.

"I surrender." At this point, I could honestly see the irony in my actions and could do nothing other than laugh at myself. Sure enough, as I lay spread out on the floor, Mr. Fly landed first on my leg, and then my wrist, and then my hand... I figured I could use this opportunity for some vispassana inspired meditation, where you allow all sensations to be a part of your experience. So everytime he landed on me I thought silently to myself, "Fly on ankle. Fly on wrist. Fly on hand." And so on.

Once finished, I got up to turn off my music, and all of the sudden there he was: right on my white nightstand table, next to my cd-player.

With a smile on my lips, I turned off my music and left.

Crossroads

The pendelum can really swing in lightning speed from delight to despair. I think I'm at a crossroads and in withdrawal simultaneously. Interesting combination (written with a thick dose of irony).

So what am I learning, if anything?

Time off from the computer and shopping is starting to open my eyes as to how I am really feeling, and it's giving me the OPPORTUNITY TO FEEL IT. Sometimes fun, like when you see the beauty that surrounds you in everyday life and realize just how lucky you are to be alive, but far from always. As I wrote in my last entry, FEAR uninvitedly made herself at home recently, demanding much of my attention, but she's gone now and has been replaced by a stone on my chest named DREAD.

Now that I've admitted to myself that mindless Internet surfing and impulse shopping are just a way of filling a void with a temporary, surgary fix, you know, the kind that offers instant gratification and a quick burst of vitality soon to be replaced by crippling lethargy and lacking any form of nutrition, I can't go back to doing what I've been doing. So even if the thought of creating CHANGE entails dusting off FEAR and DREAD from the back of my emotional closet and bringing them out into broad daylight, I don't feel I have any choice; HONESTY has also gotten a hold of me and refuses to allow me to continue fooling myself into believing that I need my fixes in order to feel good.

HONESTY has placed me in front of my closet, filled to the brim with gorgeous clothes (most of them worn on perhaps one or two occasions at most). She asks me what more can possibly be on the racks of any given store that will offer me any more satisfaction than that I already own? She demands that I remind myself of how pleased I was when I found the garments, as though I were freakin-Columbus-discovering-America-himself, the same garments that now are lying deserted and forgotten in piles of lifeless fabric.

So getting back to DREAD: right now she's made herself all comfortable as though she were propping her feet up with a tub of Ben & Jerry's on her lap at the start of a SYTYCD marathon; in other words - she ain't goin' nowhere.

Because I really dread the hard work that lies ahead while I figure out a new direction.

On the other hand, there's no way I'm going to let DREAD drain me of my will to live my life to the fullest. So my only option is to actually get started.

And for that I'm GRATEFUL.

Picture from Google

Feeling of the day = FEAR

I'm considering changing paths. For years I've toyed with the idea every now and then, but call it part of having turned 40, now more than ever it seems as though it's more or less now or never.

For the time being I'm just throwing out some hooks. But that alone was enough to send me into a near panic mentally earlier today. When I started the warm up part of my mat session, I felt completely numbed by FEAR. I had no idea that FEAR had such a stranglehold on me. Above all, it's my FEAR of sacrificing economical security that's paralyzing me from taking action. It's my need for 100% guarantees that I won't screw up that is keeping me prisoner.

I hadn't quite realized what a debilitating effect FEAR had on my actions. Naturally FEAR'S strongest ally is DESIRE who uses her siren-like power to distract me from trying to transform my dreams to goals.

That's why I think my exercise in not buying stuff is just what I need if I'm ever going to manage shifting paradigms. By not distracting myself, or rather, by not stressing myself with endless consumption, be it material or virtual, I am giving myself the opportunity to find fulfillment in other areas.

And if I'm somehow able to find out a way to earn a living while being able to maintain a practice that allows me daytime workouts, well then maybe it's time...

Picture from Google

Blueberry days/daze

Day 2: Got home last night from a short trip to Skåne. For the first time in years my husband and I had an entire evening, night, and morning to ourselves. Very good for the soul...

No real abstinence from avoiding the computer or shopping, but I notice how frequently some thoughts arise, things like, "...maybe I should just...check this...price that...", but aside from checking e-mails and blogging, I am still on the wagon.

Maybe by slowing down I am allowing myself to feel my discomfort (the word pain sounds too melodramatic - I'm not exactly suffering). But as soon as I'm not doing something, I feel as though I should be doing something. And when I do something, if it's something I'm supposed to be doing, like work or household chores, I don't feel like doing it.

Today I took to the woods to pick blueberries. I'm not even one who considers herself a blueberry-picker, but I felt a desperate need to escape outdoors. With my eyes to the ground in the shelter of the damp, scented forest, I experienced a nagging desire to find some deeper meaning in my actions, as though my method of picking (or rather, my non-method) could somehow manifest itself into a blueprint to success in life.

But the only blueprints to be found were the ones left by my stained fingers. I found the whole thought process agitating actually. I decided that I just wanted to pick some berries - period. No divine revelations needed for the moment, thank you very much. So I picked and picked, and moved in silence as though in a trance. Two hours later my husband called to say that our son needed to be driven to a friend. At that point, I could easily have stayed another two hours - at least.

So basically I'm not doing anything at the moment. I even skipped mat pratice today (I'm blaming it on a sore hamstring that doesn't want to heal). I just want to vegetate, and maybe that's what I need for starters. The same way an injured person might have to be sedated at first, until the body can get things under control.

The blueberries were gorgeous, by the way, a lot of them as big as marbles.

Picture from Google

A pause from chasing rainbows

The funk continues, and quite frankly, I'm sick of it. And I'm frustrated with myself for feeling the way I feel which is unfulfilled.

The problem is: I like nice things.

In other words, I like to go shopping, especially for clothes. Even though I thrive on finding great sales, I tend to follow the time-old addage: The more you buy, the more you save!

I like caffe latte.

I like taking courses and workshops.

I like being able to book vacations in warm places.

And so on...

In order to enable myself to lead this lifestyle, I at times subject myself to living in a hamster wheel. And it's spinning more and more. And I'm getting dizzy.

All the while I have the memory of my new year's resolution resounding in my brain, the resolution I really took great time and effort in forming - making what I have work. Although I feel sometimes tempted to leave my profession, that's just not an option. But in order to find some peace of mind I've decided to attempt a small experiment, effective as of August 1st, just to see what happens:

* No Internet (except for private e-mail and writing blog entries should the need arise) for 1 week.

* No shopping for anything other than bare necessities for 1 month.

This is because my willpower dissolves the minute I sit down with my laptop. I can easily disappear in a cyberic-stupor for 2-3 hours without blinking after a long, hard workday/-week. And when I'm bored, I start hunting for things that I "truly" believe might fill that void (but, really, who are we kidding?).

I noticed while sitting in my car for 4½ hours yesterday, how hard it was for me to maintain a single train of thought. Chaos of the mind, pure and simple. But I perservered and came up with a plan to create structure within my physical practice. And hopefully with the time I won't be wasting online or "in-store" for the coming weeks, maybe I'll be able to clean house and somehow start to excavate that joy that so many wise people claim we posess within our hearts.

I started yesterday with a 90 minute mat session at the studio I use. Through the gauze curtains I noticed the murals painted on the outside of the neighboring Thai restaurant. Although blurry, it appeared that the bird depicted in the paintings was just as beautiful regardless if she sat in a voluminous, leafy tree or alone on a naked branch. (I know it's not easy to see, but just trust me on this one.)

OK, it's not like I'm getting ready to join a nudist movement, nor am I about to abandon the material world and live in a cave (!), but perhaps I received a signal that I don't need all these nice things to be beautiful after all? Because all I can say is that I don't feel beautiful having them...

...because it never seems to be enough.

Wearing my nerves on the outside

Since there's something about the permanency of the written word, in combination with the vulnerable exposure that blogging entails, I make an effort to weigh my words carefully in every entry. My intention with this blog has been to find perspective in my own journey through simple, everyday happenings and hopefully allow my subconscious mind to guide me towards insight. My own form of do-it-yourself therapy (for better or for worse ;-)....)

I strive to maintain a positive tone. A humble, forgiving, been-there-done-that tone.

I don't want to taint reality, though; I want to be honest. Yet, since I firmly believe that whining gets me nowhere, and I feel the world has more than its share of self-acclaimed martyrs, I avoid my blog on days when my frustration levels peak. It's also a way of maintaining some balance between being personal without being too private. So just because I don't write openly about my personal crap doesn't mean I am leading my life in a rosy shimmer of denial.

Lately I've had a lot of days when I feel as though my nerves are sitting outside of my skin, without protection and without a filter. The slightest touch feels instead like I'm being struck by a million volts of electricity that lead straight to my heart. I'm in somewhat of an emotional turmoil - nothing demanding professional attention (at least I don't think I need professional attention...), but enough to keep me off balance for the moment.

Maybe it's because I've taken some time off this summer that bottled up feelings see their chance to get noticed. Maybe it's time for me to regroup and consider a new path. Maybe it's my old, inner demons who are trying to fool me into thinking that what I'm doing isn't right for me.

I honestly don't know.

Photo by Philipp Klinger, found on Google

Jukebox rescue

I haven't done much meditating this summer. Instead I've used my mornings for taking walks. And while walking can many times be likened with meditating in that it cleanses my thoughts, I just can't dig as deeply if there is something I need to contemplate on.

I'm in the midst of reading Jack Kornfield's "Meditation for Beginners" and was reminded yet again that we behold the potential to happiness within ourselves - that it's there for our taking 24/7. It dawned on me that I have been extremely focused on searching for contentment outside of myself, especially now that the weather's been so warm and so wonderful. When I'm not just sucking up every last morsel of summer weather, I am trying to figure out how to plan our next vacation so that I can get even more!

So when I finally decided to sit down and meditate today, I challenged myself. I asked my silence, "Is it possible for me to be completely content with what I have NOW (regardless of how NOW might look at any given time)?"All the while various thoughts came and went, dreams about Florida and Canary Islands popped up, begging for my attention, but, NO, I wanted an answer! How could I start pulling out the Florida sun from within? Why the resistance in letting go of, once again, all this desire???

My silence has a sense of humor, I'll give you that... When my timer ringed, it was as though someone dropped a quarter into my mental jukebox, because out of nowhere, of all the songs I have listened to throughout the years, a U2 track started in my head:

Better late than never!

As a 40-year birthday present, my husband signed me up for a weeklong summer course on Öland, appropriately named "Everyone Can Paint and Draw". The best present I've ever received. Despite this having always been one of my secret dreams, since I lacked the guts to back it up (because let's face it, I could very well SUCK at it), I would never have gotten around to signing myself up.

The question remained, however, bearing in mind the course's title: "Was I to become the exception to the rule?!"

The answer, surprisingly enough, turned out being: "Who gives a crap?"

OK, I would be lying if I didn't admit to wanting to be able to create something that didn't completely suck.

But the whole process for me was like heaven for a week. It started out by us having perfect, summer weather. Every morning I got up, went for a walk, ate breakfast, drank coffee (outside), before I got into the car and steered towards Ölandsbron, the 6 km long bridge connecting the island to the mainland. From the second my feet hit the floor, the day was all mine. At the school we sat in a huge studio with enormous plate glass windows from floor to ceiling. Through the windows we could see leafy trees, fire red poppies, and the sea a couple of miles from us.

Our teacher gave us enough tools for us to get started. And that jumpstart is what I needed make the transtition between dream and deed.

When it was time to eat, we were served lunch and dinner. Otherwise my focus was completely dedicated to the act of creating. I have never enjoyed every second of every day more than I have this week.

To have a week completely to one's self. Why in God's name hadn't I thought of this sooner?!

Rollercoaster

I'm feel as though I'm on the same rollercoaster one rides after the first kiss.

The intensity.

The thrill.

The ecstasy.

The anxiety.

The exhilaration.

The nervosity.

The aliveness.

The urgency.

I can't take anymore.

I can't get enough.

I don't want it to end.

Yet I know it must.

That's how I feel about this summer after the longest, snowiest winter I've ever experienced.

It's a struggle to not get caught up in the sorrow of its passing.

All the while my sense of gratitude and joy seem infinite.

Reminder

This week I attended a conference for work that was held at "Vildmarkshotellet" (The Wildlife Hotel) which neighbors Sweden's largest zoo. Glorious weather, astonishing landscape, fantastic food, indoor pool & spa, families with KIDS everywhere! And even though I tend to get nervous with mobs of children running around rampant like mini-maniacs, I got that; this place was kid heaven.

And then I passed the mini-movie theater while headed to the restaurant, and I spotted the wheelchair. Being in the wheelchair business, I have this "work-related-condition" that compels me to as discreetly as possible investigate any wheelchair I come across. Damn, I thought, a competitor's. Then I saw the thin, youthful looking legs. My eyes continued upward until I noticed that it was a younger woman quietly seated in the chair. But she didn't look like she was paralyzed; nor did she resemble someone with MS or some other condition that's common among wheelchair users.

That's when I noticed the scarf around her head, and my aching heart reached out to her.

It completely filled me with sadness to realize that this was probably a woman stricken with cancer who had most likely lost her hair due to chemotherapy. Later on, I couldn't stop thinking about her; I couldn't stop feeling sorry for her. Yet, somehow I doubt that pity does anyone any good. So I asked my silence, "What am I supposed to feel? I mean, I can't help this woman. I can't do anything for her young family. Is there any way to feel anything other than despair?"

That's when my silence reminded me, "You can be thankful for all that you have, just as I'm sure this family is making the most of the time that is given to them." So it's not like I'm saying, "Thank God it's her and not me!" But I am grateful for the reminder and for the much needed perspective (yet again).

And as I saw her young daughter crawl up into her lap the following morning with her slightly older son by her side, I silently hoped that their stay had been perfect, and I prayed that all would turn out well for them soon.

Happy Midsummer.

Don't try hard; try easy!

That's probably my all-time favorite Baron Baptiste quote. Sometimes more progress is made by not overdoing/overthinking everything. Sometimes just doing little things is enough. Not every day has to contain bold, new revelations to behold.

My favorite chore is mowing the lawn. We have a self-propelling lawn mower, so the tempo at which I move is decided by the motor. I am forced to move at a constant speed for roughly 45 minutes. We have a pretty symmetrical, flat lawn as well, so I only move back and forth, in straight rows.

Talk about an opportunity to just be in the moment. At the start of a new row, I lift my gaze to see the line I need to follow. Then I have to drop my eyes in order to follow my steps. A steady tempo. Senses subdued. I breathe, and I usually don't think about anything at all. The mower is heavy enough that I feel my body being comfortably exerted.

And when I'm done, I feel an immense joy to be fortunate enough to have a home in such a beautiful place.

It's Vicki's fault!

Yes, I blame Vicki. She just had to mention "fried dough" in an FB post a couple of weeks ago. Since then I have been aching to return to my hometown, the place where I grew up. I am even clandestinely pricing airline tickets. I want to see the bandstand. I want to go to the Village Fair Days (and smell that fried dough). I want to sit on a blanket by Candlewood Lake. I want to take a walk along Kent Falls.

So what creates this longing? It's not as though I don't like where I live today. On the contrary, a day doesn't pass where I am not struck in awe by the beauty that surrounds me. I mean, I live in a village outside a medieval town that borders the sea for crying out loud! So what is it that I am missing that lies embedded in my memories of my childhood? I have come up with a theory; here goes...

You know the cliché regarding old people who reminisce about when they were young with crystal clear details, but they still don't know what they ate for breakfast? I believe that as children we are so much more naturally inclined to practice mindfulness. And by absorbing our experiences into the deepest parts of our memory, they become molded into a part of our identity. Thus, we never forget them since they represent who we are. It's nothing we even deliberate over; we just are that way. We take our shoes off and run in the dewy grass (and don't care that we get dirty). We hold our hands up in the air to keep gnats out of our face so that we can play "Ghosts in the Graveyard" until bedtime (and refuse to let anything stop us from having fun). We catch fireflies in jars. We lose ourselves in the crickets' lullabies at night. We eat fried dough (without having the least bit of interest whether it's GI-friendly or not).

We live. And we feel as though we are a part of life.

I think that's the secret. By seeking out experiences, by removing our veils of shoulds/shouldn'ts, by just being in the moment, we are rewarded with a sense of belonging. And that sense of belonging brings with it the gift of security. We feel no separateness because within that security we receive validation as we realize that we are always welcome to actively participate in the universe's neverending dance, no matter where we are. And we meet the universe halfway by embracing the opportunities we are given.

So while I am not one to condone "living in the past", I think that by revisiting our past every now and then, we are reminded of how we could (should?) be living in the present. And yes, while there's a lot of things I wish I would have done differently as a child and adolescent, there's so much more we as grownups could learn from the wisdom of children.

Soaring in circles, without ever landing

Forget anything I've ever written about life being busy before. A regular stay at Club-Med compared to life right now!

The job change may be to blame, but changing jobs was a conscious choice I made in an effort to create a better life for me and my family. Implementing change alone, however, will not decide the outcome of that change. It's what I bring to the table in terms of intention, attitude, and strategy that will ultimately determine whether I succeed or fail (or end up somewhere in between).

Time is of essence. It's my currency. I read somewhere recently that time represents modern man's poverty. At least it feels that way. The true challenge (I think) lies in finding the delicate balance between work and play as well being able to recognize the difference between rejuvenating rest and ineffective idleness. So I'm feeling the heat because I really don't want to screw this up. I find myself constantly searching for inspiration and guidance, in books, blogs, and practice. Yet, I can't seem to attain that sense of gut-felt confirmation that what I'm doing is right. Naturally I'm being way too categorical if I limit myself to only two alternatives: right or wrong. Seems pretty adolescent. Still it would be such a comfort if I felt that there was some kind of order to my plans.

For that to happen, then I guess I need a plan, huh? A vision. A future goal that won't overshadow my need to be here and now, experiencing the present. Now if I could only find the time... Where should I get started? Instead of grounding myself I seem to be flying around in circles.

Maybe I should just google "secret to life's riddle" instead...

Picture from Google

Small lessons

Just as I wrote in my last entry, the difficulty I have in taking initiative (in combination with being incredible talented at procrastinating), leaves me in desperate need of finding ways to get myself going. Yesterday, for example, I had rolled out my mat to do a 90-minute "flow" practice, yet I found myself, or rather my-ego-self, doing the old put-it-off-two-step: Aren't you too tired today? You don't want to overdo it. You know you're hormonal, and it's already late; you could easily do it tomorrow instead... Wouldn't that be better???

I'm so sick of arguing with myself. So instead I offered a compromise: Why don't you at least TRY doing some yoga and see how it goes? Not even my stubborn ego could argue with that! So I started, and it went spendidly. For once, it felt good the entire time; I felt energized. Before I knew it, 90 minutes had passed. Perhaps someday my intellect will understand that my doing yoga is hardly a chore and that it gives more than it takes.

The fact that I managed to persuade myself so easily to do the right thing has largely in part to do with a blog I just recently started following: The Happiness Project. My sister had told me about it, and immediately I knew that this was what I needed. It gives me practical how-to tips so that I learn how to tackle my demons, thereby helping become the person I want to be.

Take this entry where the message was in fact the point of making it easy to do the right thing. By giving words to not only solutions, but rather to the small patterns that we lock ourselves in like hamster wheels, you know, things that drain of us energy without getting us anywhere, suddenly my eyes are at least a tad bit more opened. I feel as though I'm being offered keys to unlock the door to a mind shift.

As I was driving through the farm landscape of Southern Sweden this week, everywhere I looked there were acres of blooming raps, blossoming fruit trees, and scores of birches with their baby, lightgreen leaves. It was breathtaking. Earlier years, the taking of my breath was more like a tightening of my chest, as I knew that this was only temporary, that winter would eventually take it all away, how could I make this moment last even longer? So basically, I tainted the experience by fretting over the inevitablility of change. This year, I saw the same spectacular beauty and thought to myself, "I'm so happy to be a part of this moment."

And that's exactly what I felt, if only for a brief few seconds: Happiness.

Who IS she?!

The best line from the best movie ever, delivered by Sally (Meg Ryan) in "When Harry Met Sally". Said with an overtly corrosive combination of distaste and disbelief, and with emphasis on the middle word, "IS", those three small words have forever been etched into my memory.

And suitably enough, that particular line comes to mind when I see my tired reflection in the mirror. There is no word that I am more tired of than the word T-I-R-E-D. I am always tired. When I think about it, I have been tired for as long as I can remember. Not only is it the cross I exhaustingly bear, it's an enemy I must confront every single day. And since that means me fighting myself on a daily basis, let's just say the the tired side has a pretty sizeable home-field advantage. And since it reigns over such a large portion of my very being, while at the same time creating my greatest obstacle, I can't help but wonder what part of my existence this being is?

This condition controls my primary instincts, so whenever I embark on a project, I must always first muster up enough energy to overcome the urge to just lay back, put it off, and zone out. Even as a child, I was a good student, but incapable of applying myself. Basically, I got by. As an adult I find it difficult to even do the things I enjoy most because of this ogre that resides within me. This is why I chose to become an instructor: that way I wouldn't have to bargain with myself every single time I needed/wanted to work out. And I love working out!

Even this morning, after having slept soundly through the night, I woke up wanting to meditate, LONGING to meditate. The voices inside me began immediately with their plea-bargaining. Just ten more minutes. You have all day to do it. Why not do it tonight? Your husband is probably going to come in before you're done. Or else you know the kids are going to wake up and start running around. You don't want to wear yourself out. Pace yourself...

Who ARE you, annoying, debilitating voices? Why must you torment me like demons with nothing better to do? On all other planes I see myself making efforts that lead to progress, but with you, I am getting nowhere, no matter how hard I try to bridle the beast.

A passionate a-ha moment

This week I had the opportunity to yoga for Ulla Lundgren, certified Anusara Yoga Instructor. It is awesome to be given the chance to learn from those that have dedicated their lives to the art and philosophy of yoga. In comparison I can barely call myself a novice. I'm more of a dabbler, gathering thoughts and ideas where I come across them, and then returning to my ordinary life comprised of family, home, and work.

So when Ulla introduced her theme, icha shakti, asking us what we were passionate about, I was temporarily stumped. Icha shakti is the power of will or desire. It's what drives us towards the direction of becoming God. In other areas of yogic philosophy one is taught to strip oneself of desire in order to create true non-attachment. But this is different. This wasn't about hot and heavy romantic passion. Nor was it about eternal access to bottomless tubs of Ben & Jerry's. It was about connecting to the deeply rooted love within us in order to use its power to ignite and propel us in our practice.

Which is easy, I suppose, if you have a clear picture of what you truly love. So much of my energy goes towards "getting through the day" or "going through the motions" on a daily basis that I initially had no clear idea as to what the heck I was doing there. Because if you're not passionate about your practice, really, then what's the point?

Anyhow, two images came to me. The first was a cloudlike fog (OK, I know that fog is per definition cloudlike, but this was more like the clouds you fly through with an airplane than London-when-you-know-Jack-the-Ripper-is-on-the-loose fog). And in the fog resided peace in its purest form. That's my secret dream - to be able to attain that sense of peace in meditation, something I sense that I am really, really far from at the moment. The other image was my children. Yes, I love my husband, but I think there's an additional aspect of unconditional surrender in the way I love my children that engulfs my entire being. It renders me powerless while at the same time empowering me to the point that I could walk through fire for them.

There's probably a lot more there that I should be more attuned to, but this is what carried me throught the next 2½ hours of matwork. The highlight of my evening, aside from getting my insight tickled, was me actually doing a handstand-split against the wall. That made me feel like a kid again.

When is silence golden?

One of the many things Facebook offers is the opportunity to speak your mind and let others know how you feel. Among my Swedish friends the opinion barometer is much like the Scandinavian temperament - stabile. My American friends, however, are more polarized than I ever imagined possible. For one who finds herself constantly contemplating the balance between truthfullness and diplomacy, I am, to say the least, challenged on pretty much a daily basis.

Case in point: Someone writes in her status box that she supports same-sex marriage. Among the comments a friend writes that he, too, supports same-sex marriage, but he feels that its legality should be decided by state government. Yet another friend questions the previous comment, wondering why all individuals can't be treated equally? The reason, according to the first friend, is that laws should be defined by the people of the state and examples such as laws banning father-daughter marriages as well as sibling marriages are used to support this argument.

I happen to belong to the category of people who believe in allowing two, consenting adults to enter marriage regardless if they are hetero-, homo-, or bisexual. I didn't add my own comment, but I was tempted to write something to the friend who believed that state governments should decide who gets to marry whom, something like: Then if I understand you correctly, you wouldn't have anything against not being able to marry your wife, should you happen to live in a state that banned heterosexual marriage?

But instead I got to thinking about WHY I wanted to write something? What was my true intention? A person who is against same-sex marriage is hardly likely to get me to change my view, so I'm assuming that the same goes for him as well. What's the point of beating a dead horse? On the other hand, maybe by letting people know my point of view, it would be possible to sway opinion enough in the direction towards change?

Maybe by speaking out I am being egotistical? Or is it perhaps by remaining silent I am simply a coward?

What would the Buddha have done?

A new kind of prayer

I remember from my when I guess I was about ten, that my mom was going to go on a retreat by herself. Curious, I asked her what one does on a retreat? She explained that it's a quiet place you go to so that God can talk to you. Upon hearing that, I so wanted to be able to go, too. Imagine God talking directly to me! That would make life so much easier!!

I grew up in a Roman Catholic family. You went to church every Sunday, without exception. We learned to recite prayers, and most of our evenings ended with us reciting them together before going to bed. I really yearned to find some sort of sprituality, already as a young child. I read bible stories, got involved in youth groups, participated in church plays. Yet I did most of it out of duty, because we were taught that sinners when to hell.

Prayers were either about wishing for something I didn't have or asking forgiveness so as not to end up on St. Peter's "naughty list" should we unexpectedly end up in front of his pearly gates. We were taught to do as we were told without question. Even after moving to Sweden I felt compelled to at least go to Christmas and Easter mass.

My turning point came about 15 years ago, while seated in a pew towards the back end of the dome catherdral in Kalmar. It was Easter mass, and the priest was offering his prayer to the Lord, proclaiming that we were not worthy of Him. That's when my cup runneth over, and I left. I haven't been back since.

Now in meditation, I realize that I am in fact praying, praying to my silence, as I call it. Nowadays my prayers consist of requests for guidance, tools to aid me in my quest towards the divinity within my soul. At first I thought I was just alone with my thoughts, but now I tend to believe that there actually is a universal benevolence with limitless love and intelligence. It offers me answers.

For the first time in my life, I feel as though God is talking to me.

With all due respect,

I don't mean to step on your toes. Unless, of course, you feel that I am addressing YOU.

It happened again at yesterday's yoga class, which, by the way, was a great class. There's something about certain students who have practiced other types of yoga. Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe all yoga is good yoga, but I do have a problem with students coming to my Virya class without any intention of practing Virya yoga.

What I, in turn, see, are students who lack all form of reflection in their poses and who disregard the purpose I am trying to convey. They tune out completely, self-absorbed in their own little (Do your practice and all is coming?) bubbles, and don't even show the least bit of interest in learning the biomechanics of the positions and transitions which are vital to a healthy practice.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, if you want to freestyle and/or do it all your way, don't come to my class and disturb the other students. Or rather, don't selfishly steal the focus from the rest of the class who have an amicable agreement to practice individually-together in a peaceful decorum.

Now that I've agitated a number of yogis who would beg to differ, I may as well continue while standing on my soapbox because yesterday evening I broke what is for some a huge taboo: I yoga'd to music. No, correction: music and lyrics! I've always had a secret urge to do it, and, yes, there are a lot of renowned yoga teachers out there who use music in their practice. You all know that I love being ironic, right?

Anyhow, I am a self-admitted Body Balance nerd. So yesterday I played the soundtrack to Body Balance release #30 during my own mat practice and loved every minute of it. I am, at times, somewhat of a technique freak, and the beautiful tones, beats, and rhythms I heard unleashed within me a true sensation of flow. Just as the music felt as though it ran like currents through my veins, I could sense my prana coarsing through my nadis.

Even if I don't do it every time, I'm definitely going to do it again.

An alternative to the ugly cry

To start off, my life could be so much worse. My life could be plagued with tragedy and distress. That is so not the case. But since I tend to adapt very well to "having it good", when things get imbalanced, needless to say it effects my mood. The past month has been, for several reasons, more trying than the months prior.

I have always been a crier. I can cry at a drop of a hat. I hate it. I wish I could cry on demand, like an actress, but I can't. But when I am overcome with the urge, and that black, hard cloud forms in my throat, it is almost impossible to stop and seems to come when it's least convenient. The last time it happened was a few weeks ago, and it craved all my willpower to swallow my tears, that which was bound to turn into an "ugly" cry, and the clump proceeded to land like a lump of coal in the bottom of my stomach. It has stayed there since. It disturbs my sleep as well as my digestion. My threshold for stress is almost non-existent.

Yesterday's weather suited my mood hand-in-glove. It was gray, dreary, wet, and windy. It was spring at its ugliest, to be frank. I had to go to my sauna-on-the-sea. I needed the 180 degree heat (80 degrees C) to sweat out my frustration. And when I couldn't stand it anymore, I walked outdoors and submerged my clothesless body into the 40 degree water (5 degrees C).

It's like when someone who's gone into cardiac arrest is given those paddles, and a medic yells, "Clear!"

The shock of the cold literally froze my tension and cracked it open like a clamshell. The intense sensation of going from one extreme to the other purged my seemingly pointless, blackened emotions. I reminded myself as I afterwards rested my head against my propped up hand in the heat, staring through the window over the gray, choppy sea, that pain and suffering are an essential part of life's all-inclusive package. And the amount I've been dealt out thus far isn't even close to being unbearable.

Even so, that, too, will pass.

Terminal escapism

This is how my mind (re)acted while reading a yoga magazine the other day:

Me: Hmm...a yoga and meditation retreat....

Mind: I wanna go on a yoga and meditation retreat!

Me: Oh, look, a guru's going to offer the participants "shaktipat"...

Mind: It's not fair; I want SHAKTIPAT!!

Me: Interesting article about Ayurvedic treatments...

Mind: I want, no, I NEED Ayurvedic treatments!!!

It reminds me of how I used to fantasize my escape from whatever stress or frustration I at times found myself experiencing. I pictured myself impulsively packing my bags and passport, followed by me arriving at an airport terminal where I could study the departure sign in search of an exotic destination - ANY exotic destination. My so-called reasoning resounded itself like a mantra in my thoughts, "If I could just get a break, a chance to rest and recharge; that's all I need..."

I learned eventually that just as the term "terminal" in a medical sense means in essence a dead-end, this type of daydreaming was getting me exactly nowhere. But while I may have made some progress intellectually, it seems that my mind is still trying to lobby for my ego's desires. Just as you can see by reading my mind's "comments", it is simply trying to delude me by wrapping up my self-centered desires in pretty, seemingly soulful, yogic packages. *Sigh* I thought I was past this!

One thing is for sure: I am still searching, always searching. In meditation this morning I started out by asking my silence, "What am I searching for?" But I quickly reworded my question to, "What should I be trying to find?"

I was somewhat surprised by the speedy reply:

Silence: Happiness

Me: Is that all? What about everything else, the retreat, shaktipat, and stuff like that?

Silence: Seriously, do you need anything other than happiness?

Me: No, but...

Silence: (says nothing - typical(!))

Me: OK. When you're right, you're right.

So freakin' obvious - and just as brilliant as it was simple.

"Silence is a great teacher"

I wish I could credit myself as having said that, but once again I am only quoting something I read this morning. The owner of this piece of wisdom is yoga expert Sarah Powers.

I need all the wisdom I can get right now. A new, stressful period filled with big decisions seems to have engulfed me. I've been hypersensitive which in turn makes it oh-so-much-easier for me to fall into the chip-on-the-shoulder-I-dare-you-to-push-my-buttons trap. So I did. I messed up.

Parallel to this I have been (slowly but) steadily increasing my meditation practice. It's small scale, but I have formed my own, little routine: 60 seconds preparation, 5 minutes alternate-nostril breathing, 10 minutes meditation, 30 seconds awakening. The other day my focus was a loved one's health issue, that I seem to worry about more than this particular person does. I asked myself silently, "What if she dies?" The answer from within my silence came immediately: "Then she dies." Morbid, perhaps? Not really. More like dead-on true (forgive the pun). Life is finite. Sooner or later we are all going to die, and even if I were to get this person to behave as I would like her to, that's still no guarantee for a long, happy life. The follow up message from my inner self was that how I carry on with my life is ultimately up to me, and that I have the capacity to deal with life's hardships without succumbing to fear.

Feeling somewhat relieved at that thought, I found myself turning back towards silence today when I found myself filled with equal portions turmoil and regret. The same wise voice returned and proceeded going through the following inquiries: Did you apologize? Yes. I totally own my bads. Had you messed up? Yes, but making mistakes comes with being human, right? Well, sometimes, yes...it happens to all of us...anyhow...What more can you do? Well, aside from promising that I will not make the same mistake again, I think it's up to the other person to see what she does with my apology? Go on... I guess I should just try to be patient and focus on staying calm; you know, stop playing the self-righteous tapes over and over again about how provoked I was, or how wronged I was - like I usually do in a situation like this. Does that seem like a good plan to you? Actually, yes.

And once again I felt a little more at peace. I hope it works.

Photo from Google

You can't handle the truth!

Well, maybe I can, but sometimes it does catch me off guard.

Two scenes from my life, both having to do with me grappling with the "truth":

At the hairdresser's
Me: (said with 50% sincerity) Let me know if you see any gray hairs...

Hairdresser: Hmm, no, I don't see any gray hairs....

Me: (silent sigh of relief)

Hairdresser: No gray hairs, but here's a white one!

Me: :-P


Talking with my 6-year-old son at breakfast this morning
A: Can I jump on the trampoline today?

Me: Oh, I don't know. It's still a little cold, and your socks will get wet and dirty.

A: (pauses) Yeah, but that's simple. If my socks get dirty, I can put on new ones when I come inside, and we can wash the dirty ones.

Me: I suppose you're right. (At the same time admitting to myself: Like, DUH!)

A: It's easy.

Me: You're absolutely right, A. I'll ask Pappa to help me pull the trampoline out on the lawn later.

A:(after a minute) You couldn't think of that yourself?

What can I say? I'm still a work in progress, trying to see the truth beyond my at times distorted perceptions. I'm just grateful for the times that life lessons contain a healthy dose of humor as well.


Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend. Kram/Hug

Hold that thought, one moment please...

In my mind I've written probably 25 blog entries this week. On the computer - nada. I thought I could put off putting my thoughts down for just one more night, but I couldn't. Thought bubbles bounce around inside my head like some twisted bubble machine at the prom-from-bubblehell. As soon as I think I'm able to complete a thought, and thereby solidify it, it crashes into another and *POP* - it's gone. About as easy to grasp as one's shadow.

My initial reaction is to shut down mentally as to avoid a meltdown. I think actually that that can be a pretty good strategy to start with, but what happens is that the fabric that holds my everday life together quickly starts to fringe. I told my husband last night that the only thing that I can honestly say that we've succeeded in doing this week has been taking care of the kids so that they got food on the table, clean clothes to wear, and were taken wherever it was they were supposed to be. Everything else: cleaning, exercising, personal "piffing", and just plain "sit down and converse for God's sake, us being married and all", took a back seat and was replaced by constant fighting to stay awake until the kids got to bed.

At this point I could just say, "Screw it," and not give a damn. But luckily being unproductive is for my wellbeing super-counterproductive; basically, it really gets on my nerves. I become pretty irritable, yes-siree-bob. It's not like I even feel like escaping on some exotic vacation. I just want to get my groove back, at least to some degree. If I could just get things started, make a little progress, then maybe the activity in my brain could translate into actual energy.

So yesterday I started off by doing laundry and making cowboy soup. Today I meditated before breakfast, and later on I took a long walk with my daughter (wearing my MBTs for the first time this year). Afterwards I popped my favorite yoga dvd in our portable player for a short but sweet mat session. Did some more laundry. Put together a jigsaw puzzle with my daughter. Put fresh sheets on our bed.

And while this week's setbacks may have been due to a major hormonal imbalance that has finally started to release its grip, for whatever reason I can gratefully say that I am finally not-so-exhausted-that-I-think-I-could-faint, at least for the moment.

I was even able to complete an entire entry now...for real.

U.F.O. (Unidentified Female Object)

Yesterday was International Women's Day. Front pages and headlines woke us up with diagrams and statistics all illustrating the grim reality of modern-day female oppression. Am I the only one who doesn't feel like she fits into that (media) image?

Naturally the plight of women who are denied their human rights based solely on their gender is something that should be addressed. But is that really the case for women like me, born in the U.S. (or Sweden) during the latter half of the 20th century? Is the fact that no women are represented on the board for a local lumberyard any reason to yell, "Discrimination!" The article that presented that information in yesterday's paper failed to mention how many female candidates were even eligible for a post there.

My career choice in the health care field is in a sense pretty typical "female". I guess it's because of my maternal nurturing instincts. I knew going into physical therapy that the salaries weren't as high compared to other professional fields, but it was still my choice to become a P.T. Other choices I have made are having kids, moving, and switching jobs. Maybe I am an alien, but basically I have plotted out my own career path. Putting the family puzzle together is an ongoing (neverending) activity my husband and I tackle as a team effort.

Am I lucky to have been able to do all this? You betcha! That's exactly my point; I'm not a victim because I'm a woman. I am not in any way anti-girlpower, but I want my daughter to belong to a generation where a girl's dream does not have to be tainted by diagrams and statistics and demands for gender allocations. I want her to believe that she can determine her own destiny based on her own individual merits.