right here, on this mat

My favorite yoga instructor, a lithe little man named Larry, likes to guide his students into breath awareness by saying things like this:

Concentrate on the exhalation. Do not worry about the next breath. Do not hold it in. Push it out and trust that the air will rush back in. Don't be greedy. This is the way of yogis. In their old age, when it comes to the end, they are not selfish with their breath. They exhale, and when the air does not rush back in on its own, there is peace.

Be here, right here, on this mat. It doesn't matter what has happened this day, or what you have to do for tomorrow. Be here, in your body, in this space.


These days I cannot afford to attend classes, so I spend the last moments of most days practicing asanas by candlelight in my apartment. My back and shoulders now tell me when they have not stretched sufficiently, and I know how to listen to them. I catch myself holding my neck tensely while I teach and think, "Why am I choosing to hold onto this stress? What have I to fear?"

Last night, as I stretched to the sky and brought my hands, as in prayer, to my heart-center, I focused my gaze on my fingertips and was startled. They were to me as an infant's, new and clean. My hands were not tools, not pretty or ugly. I was present in my body, not judging it, not wishing it to be anything else.

Whatever yoga does for my posture or my muscles or my breathing, if it can bring me back into the present and into myself, I am thankful for it.

free day

One thing I've learned about being healthy as a teacher is that I must build big high walls in places between schoolwork and my life. And school is not welcome at all on Saturdays.

This Saturday has gone as follows:

I woke up at Emily's apartment, teeth unbrushed, after a raucous movie marathon with some of her girls - The Great Debaters followed by I am Legend. Let the record note (and my brain internalize the fact) that I am not and no longer wish to be a college student. Midnight is just not my cup of tea. On Thursday night, I was dead to the world by 8:10. I wish I could say that was an exaggeration. Be that as it may, rabid zombie people screaming at the screen kept me effectively awake until midnight. I had my hands firmly pressed over my ears and my down coat covering all but a few inches of my face, but still the zombie screams came through. Eek!

Anyway, after driving back to Fort Wayne this morning, I plopped on my couch and read Far from the Madding Crowd. Then the general scumminess of my skin/teeth/face became overwhelming, so I read for another hour or so in the bathtub. Then I got pruny, so I read for another few hours while eating lunch on my floor in front of the windows.

Basically this has been my day. I have also tried to sneakily put down my book and turn my torso ever-so-slowly as to catch the birds feasting at the feeder, but alas, they're speedier than me every single time. Drat. But you know, if I imagine myself as a zombie and the birds as Will Smith, I can empathize.

In an hour or so, I will go eat Indian food with my sister-in-law. Until then, it's back to my book.

Happy Saturday to all.

a useful exercise

I read a lot of blogs. One of them is by a woman I've never met named Andrea. I stumbled onto her blog by chance a few years ago, having been searching for a certain Anne Lamott quotation and having been too lazy to find my book. 

Anyway, Andrea is doing this year-end roundup ritual she calls Mondo Beyondo, asking people to respond to the following prompts. I did so and found the process empowering. I'm sharing it here, even though I worry that it might be too personal for this medium. Be that as it may, you might find this helpful, too. What about you? How would you answer? (You can comment anonymously if you want.)

1. What do you want to acknowledge yourself for in regard to 2007?
(What did you create? What challenges did you face with courage and strength? What promises did you keep to yourself? What brave choices did you make? What are you proud of?)

This year I gave myself to students. I graded hundreds of papers and encouraged dozens of budding writers. Almost single-handedly, I started a school newspaper for said writers. I resisted the impulse to cut and run when things got tough. I wrote dangerous words and read them aloud. I drew and got a beautiful tattoo. I began a yoga practice. I taught in China. I fell for someone. When he broke my heart, I told him I forgave him (even though it wasn’t true yet), and walked away with my head high. I forgave him.

2. What is there to grieve about 2007?
(What was disappointing? What was scary? What was hard? What can you forgive yourself for?)

I forgive myself for letting a friendship implode, for not seeing it sooner or being able to change myself enough to fix things. I forgive myself for letting the Gilmore Girls ooze into all the empty spaces that three-dimensional friends should fill. I forgive myself for letting my garden die.

I grieve that I am alone and that so many people’s lives seem to move on without me, and I forgive myself for feeling guilty about that.

3. What else do you need to say about the year to declare it complete?

2007, you have made such little sense to me. You’ve broken hard and fast across my back and I don’t appreciate the bruises. I’m still here, though, and I declare you complete.

Here’s to 2008, a year of moving outward.

Jen has beautiful brains and an awfully cute baby.

Jen & Annalyn Dakin met me halfway between their home in Kenton and mine in Fort Wayne. We did lots of fun things. We visited a coffee shop and then a diner-like place where nobody uses menus. Afterward, we found a small eye doctor's office and Jen tried on glasses. Annalyn mostly sat there and cooed and utilized her diapers and stared at me while I snapped dozens of pictures of her.

We ended our afternoon together at this phenomenal library inside what looked like a castle. I'm not sure if I drooled, but I definitely skipped. Man. If my eight-year old self even knew that library castles existed, I'm pretty sure that would knock all the curl right out of her hair. In all, it was a delightful way to spend a Friday.

Aren't they beautiful?

If you'd like to see the whole photo set with Jen & Annalyn, I've added it to this set. I've also finally posted pictures from Japan and China on Flickr, so if such things are of interest to you, check them out. Visually, I think the China pics are better.

home again, home again, jiggidy jig

I'm back home in my very own apartment. I made pumpkin spice muffins and red tea and watched this Human Tetris video. You'll like it:

Peoria

My mother's family is spread all over the country, but we congregated on Dec. 27-28 in Peoria, where two of her sisters live. Here are a few photo highlights.

here and there and back again

Shepherd me, O God,

beyond my wants,

beyond my fears,

from death into life.

The past year is one I would not wish to repeat. There has been too much crying and not enough sleep. I have a job I love and incomparable family and friends, but broken bits have forced my gaze inward, and I have seen things in myself and in others that I wish I had not.

Shepherd me, O God,

beyond my wants,

beyond my fears,

from death into life.

But how could I beat down my own selfishness if it went unnoticed? How could I learn to seek out connection if I had never shivered in isolation? What would my trust mean if it had never been disappointed? How does anyone know life without a little death?

Shepherd me, O God,

beyond my wants,

beyond my fears,

from death into life.

May this year see life spring up all around. May wounds heal and may hope be restored - for all of us.