What I Learned from the Muppets Today

This morning, as I was driving to work, I started thinking about a song that Kermit the Frog used to sing on The Muppets.  I'm not sure of the name of it, but there is a line in it that goes something like, "It doesn't matter if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear.....sing, sing a song."  It made me think about how often I censor myself, feeling as if what I have to say is somehow wrong or inappropriate or unwelcome or uncool.  So much of the time, I only give voice to what I think is going to be met in a positive way.  How much energy do I invest in vetting my words for their anticipated popularity, and how does that undermine my desire for authenticity?

The answer to #1 is a lot.  The answer to #2 is a little more complicated.  I think it's fair to say that my desire for validation is an authentic part of who I am.  That desire has made me into a person who is often skillful with her words and actions, who is empathic and can anticipate and respond to needs quickly and efficiently.  But when I don't put words to a doubt or a criticism or even an observation, just because I am afraid of someone's response to it, my desire for validation is overtaking a number of other important priorities, like a weed choking out the flowers in my garden.  My agency as a human and my right to take up space are just as important as having someone tell me I'm right or funny or observant or sooo cool.

What's wrong with my voice anyway?

The answer to #3 is nothing, even when what I have to say may be critical or even wrong.

So, today, I'm going to try to sing my song.  Will you?

One om for each other, one om for ourselves, one om for the people who will never know freedom

That's how one of my favorite teachers, Livia Shapiro, started class tonight.   Then she proceeded to take us through a series of back bends, weaving in gems like "asana is both ecumenical and political."  She talked about our rights in being human, and how the rite of asana practice acts as a vehicle to help us exercise those rights.  She hit on social justice and the politics of our bodies at the same time that she guided us safely into and out of poses aimed at opening our shoulders, chests, hips, and thighs.  Suffice it to say that I fucking love this woman!  You can check her out at The Little Yoga Studio and the Yoga Pod in Boulder.  Seriously, she offers some of the most intelligent asana instruction that you are likely ever to receive!

Livia was subbing tonight for another favorite teacher of mine, so I wasn't expecting to see her at the front of the room.  And after class, in the process of thanking her for being willing to step in to someone else's class, she commented that she hadn't seen me for a while.   This triggered a brief episode of blathering in which I commented on the fact that I was the worst student ever, was working on it, and that I would begin to fall in love and then pull back.  She gave me a wry smile and gracefully told me to hang in there.

Wow.  WTF.  What WAS all of that?  After a good cry and a walk around the block, here is what I think it was.   What happens on the mat is also happening off of it.  My resistance to committing to a teacher, to accepting what she or he has to offer and at the same time submitting myself to the discipline of showing up consistently, this pattern is not confined to my yoga practice.  Afraid that I'll be disappointed, that I won't get what I want, or worse yet, that I will somehow be abandoned or humiliated, I don't open myself fully to experience, or opportunities for experience.  It's much easier to hold back, to remain skeptical and "impartial," than to give myself over fully.  For a long time I have been afraid to fall in love with anything and unwilling to engage in the work that falling in love requires.

I offer this bit of self-disclosure for two reasons.  #1, it's important for me to admit this about myself "out loud."  #2, I want to pay my teachers' wisdom forward.  I may be a reluctant student, but I owe it to those who have shown up for me to share what I've learned.  The next time I feel the urge to avoid when I know I should lean in, I'm going to notice it in a new way.   The next time I make assumptions instead of having the courage to ask, I'm going to pause.  And hopefully in the process of noticing and pausing, I can summon the courage to make a different choice.  And do you know where we get so many chances to notice and pause, and to lean in and ask?  On our mats.

Tonight, Livia asked us to make an offering, a prayer, of our practice.  This is mine, right here.

More on going through hell

So about action......here it is. It doesn't have to be big action. You don't have to believe that the action is going to change ANYTHING. It just has to make you at least a little afraid, a little uncomfortable. It's not going to feel good. Okay, it may feel a little better afterward if the outcome is good. But the point is to step out of the usual, the regular, the normal. Switch it up. If you can't own the change for yourself, think of the person or being you admire most, and do what he/she/it would do. The shakier it makes you feel, the more powerful the medicine.

And then do it again. And again. And again. Practice leaning into the sensation of difference.

And then watch what happens. Notice how new people appear in your life. Notice how the people you know have changed. NOTICE that you are one step closer to more fully embodying the perfection that lies within you. You will be different, and so will the world around you.

When you're going through hell.......

......just keep going. We've all heard this. My favorite analogue to is, "Ain't nothin' to it but to do it." These aphorisms are easy to toss out, but what does it mean to really live them? I'm a dyed-in-the-wool ruminator, and I like to think and talk about stuff a lot more than I like to do it. But change doesn't happen unless we act. I was reminded of this yesterday by a dear friend after she suffered through a rather melodramatic diatribe in which I raved about how stuck I was in patterns I wanted to be rid of. The bottom line is that nothing changes until we do. The setting and the cast may change, but we will continue to act out the same dramas over and over until we start working from a new script.

No matter how small or how tentative, action transforms.

I have more to say about this, so be looking for part II in the next couple of days.

Hello Again

Obviously, I haven't made good on my promise of consistency, but I am back with something of a journal entry. Just a few musings on how I would like to get along in the world.

1.) Ground down. I recently moved, but I am still working in the same job. This requires me to stay with some very generous friends for half of the week, with long weekends at home. Living in two places, or nowhere at all as the case may be, leaves me feeling like a leaf being blown by the wind. This situation brings home to me just how important it is that I make time for my practice and anything else that makes me feel anchored and connected.

2.) Stay open. The rootlessness that I am feeling right now is pushing me toward closing down in an effort to conserve energy and protect myself. I feel vulnerable. But that's no good for nobody. Keeping my senses open in these moments positions me to take advantage of all that the Universe is pitching me. I wholeheartedly believe that the closer you are to the edge of your comfort zone, the more you are offered; there's the "tough love" piece, sure, but also the opportunity for deep transformation and the support you need to make change. But these opportunities are not going to be coming from the directions we expect! That's why I have to stay open.

3.) Give thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So, to speak to my specific situation, I am thankful to have friends who are so generous as to open their home and their lives to me for four days and nights each week. They have integrated me into their schedules and been flexible with my odd comings and goings. I can't believe their graciousness in this regard. And I am thankful for my spouse, who patiently lives the single life while I am away, and makes sure that we have EVERYTHING we need to make this uncomfortable situation work as smoothly as possible. And I am thankful to have an employer that allows me the flexibility to work and live in different cities.

More generally, though, gratitude ripens us. It makes us more aware. And as a practice, it orients us to what we want. When we are thankful for what we have, truly madly deeply thankful, when we feel it in our guts, we becomed focused on the joy, compassion, and abundance inherent in life. Our senses become attuned to recognizing the good, the highest, in everyone and everything. And that builds our trust in the Universe, which is key for uncertain times. All this from just taking a moment to be honestly thankful!

These are my practices right now. They all require me to slow down, a real challenge when I feel anxious. But even when I am only partially successful in them, I can feel the difference. So I'm going to keep on keepin' on in preparing the welcome wagon for my wildest dreams, which I know are soon to come true.

Yama II: Satya

Satya is truthfulness. And as with ahimsa, satya begins in your own mind. We have to be honest with ourselves, first and foremost. We have to be authentic........

That was how I began my post on satya last Sunday. To be truthful, it sucked. Satya, like all of the yamas or niyamas, is not a "have to" kind of game. It starts softly and quietly, in the space where we can admit the truth about ourselves to ourselves. And that doesn't just mean me being able to say to myself, "you're a procrastinator." It also means owning what we love about ourselves and if we have trouble identifying those things, committing to finding them. Then we practice "owning it," as they say, first with ourselves and then with others.

Once we fully possess the knowledge of our truth, we can go about the process of living it. This is the hard part. Being honest with ourselves and others is a call to action. It requires us to step into conflict sometimes, and to make tough decisions sometimes. It can mean making ourselves vulnerable by sharing who we are with others, dropping the act of the role we think we need to play. But, if we start from the inside, nourishing and nurturing our truth internally first, then the process of living it becomes much easier.

Yama I: Ahimsa

This last Sunday, I had the pleasure of participating in an event organized by Vicky Peters, Yoga Day Laramie. It was a day of giving, with the proceeds going to benefit UNICEF, and the classes happened at Blossom Yoga. My contribution was a talk on the yamas and niyamas, which form the first two of Patanjali's eight limbed yoga. There are five yamas and five niyamas, and it occurred to me that I might want to write an entry on each one. So today, here is my meditation on the first yama, ahimsa.

Ahimsa is translated as "non-violence" most commonly and sometimes as "non-harming." When people think about ahimsa, often their thoughts go to vegetarianism and pacificism. These are excellent applications of this principle. But for me, the practice of ahimsa begins in a much smaller and softer way. It begins the first time I look in the mirror in the morning. When we engage in negative self-talk, we are doing very real violence to ourselves the likes of which we would never inflict on another person.

The yamas are all about how to be in relationship, and our first and most important relationship is the one we have with ourselves. If we cannot be peaceful in our relationship with ourselves, being non-violent in our relationships with others is going to drain us of energy over time. And further, practicing peace "at home" gives us the strength we need for occasions in which being non-violent is a challenge.

As I've alluded, non-violence extends beyond actions and back into words and thoughts. Most of us have learned the lesson not to hit by the time we enter first grade, but it can take us a long time to train our minds and our tongues to keep peace. So here's a practice for this week that I'll be doing. When an unfair, hyper-critical thought enters my mind, I will attempt to counter it with something positive. If countering it is unavailable to me at that time, I can label that thought as violent and take a moment to stop, take a moment to breathe. I can then use that space I've created to make a more skillful choice. So much violence in thought and word occurs because we don't give ourselves and others that space.

This week, I'll be taking a breath before I berate the circumference of my thighs or a coworker's tardiness to a meeting. And if I forget to take that breath before, I'll take it after.