The Misadventures of a Voluptuous Yogini

Ask and You Shall Receive....

2011-07-27T10:50:00.000-07:00

or How I Manifested Two Gin & Tonics.

A few years ago I held a workshop on the movie and book 'The Secret'. Part of the workshop involved creating a Vision Board. Vision Boards are tools to help you manifest things you want in your life. The idea is that if you can see it with your eyes, then energetically you can pull it towards you. Might be bullshit, not sure.

On my board I had photos of the beach, healthy foods and dream homes. It was covered with sayings and quotes of uplifting messages. I pasted words like LOVE, DREAM, MONEY all over my foam board. The last thing I put on it I did so as a whim. I cut out the words 'Yoga Journal' off the cover of an old magazine and then cut out the words 'On the Cover' from the index section. I pasted those two together. I had absolutely no expectation or or even distant, hidden hope of it ever coming true. It was more of a feeling like, "How fun would that be?!?".

So every day I would look at my Vision Board in my office and try to imagine living in one of those wonderful homes on the beach, eating that healthy and delicious food with money to spare. Instead of imagining, I felt wanting. I could feel desperation and grasping. I could feel guilt about not being worthy of these things that I was trying to manifest in my life. It was a hard exercise and felt futile most of the time.

Well, about 5 months after the 'Secret' workshop, I got a copy of YJ in the mail. (Here's a little known quirky fact about me; I read magazines from the back to front like in Japan) So I open up the magazine and in the back there were a series of advertisements for Kripalu and lo and behold one of those ads featured my name! Holy manifestation, Batman!

This was the first time that I can recall a manifested idea so clearly since I have stepped onto the spiritual path. I'm sure this has happened to me in the past, but none so blatant and exciting as this episode. Even if it wasn't 'on the cover', how many people can ever say their name was in Yoga Journal?

Of course, here is where the exploration piece steps in.....

How does this happen? How do you manifest your dreams?

The obvious key to my example is clear. When there is no longing, grasping or attachment the Universe graciously and gladly provides. When you hold something so tight in your wanting that you break it, the Universe says, "Umm, not quite yet Little Sister."

In Yoga, attachment is referred to as the Yama of 'aparigraha'. Swami Kripalu said that working with the Yamas and Niyamas was like picking a garland of roses; pick up one bud and the rest will follow. When I began Yoga many years ago, I picked up the Yama of aparigraha. I have been working on letting go of my attachments to ideas, things and people for nearly 9 years and as I loosen my grip I'm finding that I'm able to manifest ideas more swiftly and pretty precisely.

Case in point, a few months ago my cohort, KWB, and I were invited to a leadership retreat in Lake George, NY for the green energy company that we work with. Before the trip, our home office emailed us and asked if we would mind sharing a bed as all of the rooms with two beds were taken. I mean, I love this girl, we are often roommates, and there have been a few times when we have had to share a bed on business trips...but this was our first leadership retreat at a beautiful resort, COME ON! So before we left, I resolved that I was going to manifest not only a room with two beds, but a suite none-the-less. In the car on the way up there I told Kat that we were getting a suite and she readily agreed that we could manifest this blessing. When we got to the resort I went to check us in while she caught up with friends. After the front desk clerk gave me my keys, I walked up to her looking like a cat with a bird in my mouth. She looked at me not knowing what to think. I burst out, "I did it!" We ended up with a beautiful, two bedroom suite, right on the lake, with a gorgeous bathroom and kitchen to boot! Boy, did that feel good! I do have to admit that there might have been a little bit of wanting in that wish, but it really wasn't that much. It didn't matter either way and there were no feelings of unworthiness.

These are truly the keys to unlocking the manifestation doors: Do the work. Forgive yourself. Feel worthy. Be grateful for whatever you have. Don't be jealous of those who have more. Keep envisioning your dreams. Be okay with 'not now' for an answer. And spread all the Love you can around.

Last weekend as Kat and I were on our way to yet another business meeting I asked her if we were having drinks afterwards. We both decided it would be too late after the meeting and since she is cleasing (again) she couldn't drink anyway. Well, there ended up being a high school reunion in the room next to our meeting. The reunion folks kept trying to register at the table that we were working and when one guy realized his blunder, he said "Is there anything I can get you?" I replied as a joke, "Yeah, if you have an open bar in there I'll take a Tanqueray and tonic!" When he brought it over, Kat looked at me and said, "You just manifested that, you do realize?"

Ask and you shall receive, X two....

Me with my first T&T, ;-)

I'll Get You, My Pretty!

2011-07-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

or, 'Surrender, Kristina!"

I had coffee with a possible future business associate a couple of weeks ago. He'd grown up in Connecticut but moved to LA and lived there for quite awhile. When he moved back he was shocked that CT still 'is the way it is'. I said, "Welcome to Puritanville...."

Growing up in New England is like growing up in a different country. There are certain things that we know as if by osmosis. For instance, we know how tobacco is dried. We know why there are spigots attached to trees at the end of winter. We know how cranberries are harvested. We know how basketball was invented. Weird, quirky trivia. Useless unless you live here.

But there are other, darker knowings that are ingrained in our cells. Anyone I know, my age or older, won't go to a circus in a tent. We're fearful of ice storms. We have nightmares of bridges collapsing under us as we drive through the night. But the biggest and darkest fear that's never, ever spoken of is being accused, especially if you are a woman, of practicing witchcraft.

Drama Queen, I know. But when you really examine it, it's true.

In February I received a 'Theta' healing from my friend and gifted healing moderator, John Odlum. He immediately tuned into my debilitating fear of 'being persecuted for standing in my full power'. This struck a cord with me and has stayed with me since.

Women who stand in their full power are called witches and bitches. Women who stand in their power are frequently ostracized from friendships with other women. They get gossiped about. They get persecuted. Sure, we don't literally hang them anymore, but we do torture them in other ways. So what's the difference between 1692 and now?

Marley wearing one of my old t-shirts.

The more I examine my personal power and study the spiritual arts that interest me and guide me towards ascension, the more I'm aware of this fear. Case in point: Most of the healing arts that I practice could lead me to excommunication from the Catholic church. This would break my heart if it were to happen although I know it wouldn't really matter in my relationship with the Big Guy. I am fully aware that ascension is the goal, no matter how I get there. But the fear lingers. I often am mindful when I wear certain jewelry or t-shirts to church that some of it could be considered by those who are still asleep as idol worship or 'heathenistic'.

I saw the following post on Marianne Williamson's face book the other day:

"Marianne Williamson

The word "wand" comes from the same root as the word "want." Your wanting is your wand, as long as your want is untainted by fear."

WOW! Think about that for a moment. I have to let go of this fear in order to create my 'want' and stand in my power. What's more associated with witchcraft than a wand?

Am I practicing some form of witchcraft?

What I practice is not witchcraft, magic or dark arts. What I delve in is Light Arts; co-creating my destiny with my Maker, using my community of other Light Workers to walk hand-in-hand toward enlightenment using whatever spiritual arts we feel will assist the process. This is not witchcraft. This is divine Manifest Destiny.

So, even though I'm not fully free from fear of persecution, I'll continue to explore my powers. And although I don't literally carry a wand and this is not 1692, I'll still use essences from nature to make healing 'potions'. I'll forever repeat mantras to manifest abundance. I do know how to swim. I even have an antique cauldron in the fire place and a black cat....

Hold that thought for a moment, there's some folks at the door...Oh look, one of them has a pitchfork...and others have torches....

Uh-oh....Gotta fly...

Me and My Big Mouth....

2011-07-12T07:30:00.000-07:00

"Honey, Yoga Journal called"....

Oh crap.

I was really hoping that if, and when, I ever announced the following news that it wouldn't be like this.

I've only ever written to a magazine twice. Both times it was YJ, the most well known yoga publication in the US. Both times has been to complain. The first time it was about an article they had on full sized yoga. The model was beautiful but every photo was blurry. Goddess forbid someone should see some flesh! Never heard from them about that one.

This last time was about free yoga.

The author complained that since she was strapped for funds she would take as many free classes in her city as possible to try them all out. There was not one positive thing in the entire article. She complained about the venues, the cost of the subway to get there, yada, yada... At the end of the week of free yoga, she went online and bought a pair of $98 yoga pants that she had seen in one of the studios. Ugh.

Maybe that precious article space could have been used to talk about what a blessing free yoga is or what the teachers of free yoga give up to offer that as seva? Or how about interviewing students of free yoga and ask them why they go and take these classes above bars? Or maybe about shops where you can find those high-end yoga pants on consignment? Something other than spoiled whining?

Well, me and my big mouth. I was cranky that day and apparently in quite a judgemental mood. Ahem... So I emailed YJ about this piece. And guess what? They picked it for print. Yep. I'm getting published. In YJ. Yep, a complaint. Great.

Well, I guess we'll see if I actually make it to print. Hopefully, next time I open my big mouth I'll have something nice to say. Yikes! And next time I have this news for you, it will actually be that I am getting published.

Til then I'm zipping it up.

Christmas in July

2011-07-05T06:37:00.000-07:00

Or The Nightmare Before Christmas....

One of the most beloved Christmas songs of all time, except by me.

I can't remember if it was 4th or 5th grade, but I was selected to sing this song with three other kids at our schools Holiday Concert. We had rehearsed a few times and it sounded good, as far as I can remember. The night of the concert, in front of 300 proud parents and families, when we started singing the kid next to me, out of nowhere, sounded like Screech from 'Saved By The Bell'....

Well, guess who started laughing right in the middle of chestnuts roasting? Yep, yours truly.

I was able to reign some of it in before the end of the song, but it was too late. The music teacher, who I'd had for years and knew me well, was irate. IRATE. After the concert, back in the band room in front of the entire student body, she clenched her fists and started jumping up and down. Her face was contorted and her hair wild. She screamed at me that I had "ruined the entire concert". I tried to explain what started the fits of laughter but she wasn't amused. I didn't mean to laugh but it was one of those moments when you can't help yourself.

This memory has stayed with me all this time and every Christmas when I hear that song the memory comes back and I beat myself up again that I ruined the concert and let all of those people down.

When we moved to our town about 8 years ago and found a church we liked I noticed this woman who looked like my old music teacher. I had totally convinced myself that it couldn't be her, not after all these years. My childhood hometown is an hour from here. I mean, what are the chances?

Well, this is me we're talking about. The chances are pretty good.

Sure enough, this past Christmas the priest announced that 'Betty Sue' would be organizing the holiday music. When he said her name out loud and everyone turned to look at her, I knew without doubt.

She doesn't recognize me now that I'm an adult but I'm sure she would recall that eventful disaster of my youth. What she probably doesn't realize is how her adult reaction to my childish behavior has affected me all these years. I have let myself feel like a failure frequently since then. Nothing is ever good enough. My ego feeds on this memory to continue the guilt.

The funny thing is you can't escape 'The Christmas Song'.

So I am forced to do the work since I can't escape. Let go of this memory. Forgive myself. Heal my inner child who still wants to sing along and find a way to shake hands with this woman, look her in the eye at church and say, "Peace be with you."

And mean it.

The Daring Young Girl

2011-06-27T13:38:00.000-07:00

or: Now, You Can Do Anything....

Yesterday I took my daughter and her best bud for a trapeze lesson. (Part 1) It was an amazing experience. This was an event I had promised her for a year and was finally able to coordinate at Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, NY.

She couldn't sleep the night before and the couple of hours leading up to the lesson seemed to drag on forever.....

I was so excited for her that I didn't know what to do first; take still photos? Take video? Take a video on my phone to text to friends and family? Or watch and breathe?

Well, the videos and still photos won most of my attention.

I mean, how could I not capture this moment forever?

She was blessed to work with some of the most well known, world renowned circus people in the entire world! Including:

'Uncle' Tony Steele, who, nearing 80 years old and having been in the circus since he was 15, is a Guiness World Record Holder:

Chachi, who is 5th generation in a circus family:

And Peter Gold, one of the most beloved trapeze instructors in the world:

I watched as much as I could with my own two eyes but am sooo glad I got it all on video! She and I have watched it over and over and over again...

This one is going in a frame:

The thrill, even from the ground, was absolutely unbelievable! Being able to give this gift to my daughter was an honor. But the highlight for me was when Peter Gold told her, "Marley, now that you have flown on a trapeze, you can do anything."

Worlds Colliding

2011-06-25T02:35:00.000-07:00

or Look to the Cookie.....

Within the last week and a half I have had a hardcore reminder that this is a world of dualities, kind of like a 'black & white' cookie.

Nearly two weeks ago I almost lost one of my oldest and dearest friends. This was a girl I met by chance on September 10, 1987, my first day of college. My parents had delivered me to my dorm, The Hospitality Center, on Narragansett Boulevard in Cranston, Rhode Island, lower lobby room 19. We unloaded the car, unpacked it all and waited for at least one of my roommates to show up. We waited and waited. While all of the other kids were making friends right away, I was sitting on my bunk bed all alone. My parents were getting itchy to leave when they walked in; identical twins from Mahwah, NJ. Can you fucking believe my luck.....

Well it was pretty clear within the first five minutes that I was the odd girl out. While they teased their hair and put on more make up, I headed off to discover my dorm and try to find the cafeteria. My first attempt seemed logical; take the elevator to the basement. That basically delivered me to what looked like the gates of hell. Back up I went to try the stairs at the other end of the hall. I opened the door and there were about 5 girls coming down from the second floor who immediately scooped me up. It was a sigh of relief I still feel to this day. These women became my fast friends, roommates, bridesmaids, sisters.

These memories have been flooding back this past week as I have been keeping our college friends up to date with our dear friend who is extremely ill. I have spent quite some time in the hospital with her, just holding space. I can't offer more than my love and hopefully that's enough. I love this woman. We have things in common that I can't quite share with my newer group of friends. We are die hard Yankee fans. We can recite basically any Seinfeld episode, word for word. And we share a 24 year history. It's wonderful. She makes me laugh til I'm in tears, a rare gift. Even yesterday in the hospital we were laughing so hard that we were both crying as she regaled me with stories from the hospital and her midnight male nurse who apparently is Taye Diggs' twin brother.....

Although she is healing and can start to laugh again, the hospital sucks. I hate being there as I know she does too. It's icky and I leave there feeling drained of my prana as if the death and dying surrounds me and tries to hold on to whatever life I've got. I come home and shower. I'll be glad when she's out.

But also twice within the last week I have come home from the hospital, showered changed (into what feels like a completely different person) and gone out with my newer group of friends. We must look like a 'Sex and the City' scene. We're dolled up and dressed to the nines. We're drinking martinis and talking about sex and clothes. It's fun and I feel alive, really alive. We don't have a life long friendship yet, but we're starting one. Building memories, brick by brick.

It's a complete contrast to how I have spent my days recently. There were moments during my nights out where I felt guilty about living as my dear friend lay near death. How can I even think about having cocktails and which dress to wear with what heels while she's in a johnny coat? During one of these girls nights out, as we were listening to a new friend from Helsinki play piano and sing us into a dreamland, I was consumed by the duality of it all. Here, there. Life, death.

Are my worlds are colliding?

Will hospital Kristina kill Sex and the City Kristina?

I won't let her because I finally understand the truth that there isn't a world at all. Duality is just an insane idea that we like to buy into. It's part of the grand illusion. You can exist in each of your perceived worlds at once and feel alive in all of them. It's all love, just in different forms.

And as usual it always goes back to balance. The trick though is to 'look to the cookie'.

The key is to get a little bit of each world in every bite and all of our problems will be solved.

The Party Crasher

2011-06-20T06:31:00.000-07:00

or You Can Never Find a Rubber Chicken When You Need One....

My only daughter, Marley, will be turning 9 in a few weeks. She's the Party Crasher. That's what we called her for years after she was born. She was completely unexpected. We had suffered through 7 years of infertility when we finally succeeded with our son Elijah. We were quite content after he was born. We never, ever expected to have another baby after what it took to conceive him and we certainly were not planning for her. But she decided to show up anyways. Elijah was only 9 months old when Marley decided to 'crash our party'....

We found out I was pregnant with her on the very day we were opening our deli and from that moment on everything about her has been a wonderful surprise, including the first time I held her. As my husband put her in my arms, she immediately latched onto my breast. I gazed down at her delicate features for the first time and I yelled out "She has a tuft of blond hair!".

We thought that blond streak was what made her unique but we were sorely wrong. She is clever, cute and dream-filled. She is what the rest of us in the family are not. Her open and loving heart often puts the rest of us to shame. She sees life in a way that is fanciful, sweet and a never-ending adventure. The rest of us all live in this magical world of hers and it is a blessing from heaven.

She loves to skateboard and when we take her to the skate park it is fascinating to watch the teenage boys stare at her in wonder. She has wanted to be a veterinarian since she was 3 years old and loves animals. In fact, she loves animals so much that when she decided to be an animal doctor she also decided that she was a cat. Since then I have called her 'Kitten', per her request.

She is named after Bob Marley and has t-shirts, hats and posters of him all over her room. We recently learned her name also means 'marshy meadow' and 'of Magdala'. So in one powerful name she embraces beauty, faith and oneness. We couldn't have chosen a better name for her. We knew from the day of her birth that we had chosen correctly though. When they moved me from the delivery room to our recovery room my husband looked out the window on the beautiful summer day. To his surprise, facing our room was a giant air conditioning unit on the hospital roof. The sign on the unit: MARLEY. This could only be seen from the room we were in.

Her adventurous spirit will be most evident this week as we head to Omega with her best friend for her birthday celebration: a trapeze lesson. I have been conscious since she was born to not hold her back. She is not girly. She is a tomboy and we embrace that. I want her to fly and this week she will.

Along with all of this adventure and creativity, she has a distinctive sense of humor. She will frequently send us into fits of giggles with her unusual outlook. One day she told me that she was a 'colorful local character' and she couldn't have been more right.

Her baby book is filled with these kinds of memories. One of my all time favorites, though, is from when she was graduating from pre-school to kindergarten. When I asked her what she wanted for a graduation gift she firmly replied, "A rubber chicken".

And let me tell you, you can never find a rubber chicken when you need one....

Thick Skin or Lack Thereof....

2011-06-14T06:37:00.000-07:00

or 'The Issues in my Tissues' part 2

Since I first wrote 'The Issues in my Tissues' part 1 I have been working on forgiving and healing a particular incident in my childhood. It hasn't been easy. It has been ugly, messy and painful. After that post I was flooded by comments from friends near and far. I was, in truth, angered by so many people telling me I'd find healing in forgiving the perpetrator. I knew they were right but it was infuriating to read their sentiments. I wanted to be coddled, to be held in the warmth and love of my friends, not for them to coddle the bad guy. They weren't saying that it was okay what he did to me. They weren't saying that I deserved it. They were just trying to point out that I couldn't (and still can't) see the big picture. That kinda hurt.

We are never capable of seeing the big picture. That privilege is reserved for the Big Guy, the heavenly director of this comedy called life. I don't know why things happen or what the outcome may produce. All I can do is be in each moment and apply as much Love to that moment as possible. So as I take each moment and apply as much Love as I can, why do I continue to have hurt feelings?

I'm a pleaser. You know, one of these folks who can't say 'no'. I'm the one who is always thinking of the other person. The one who picks up little surprises for a friend as I go about my day. I send cards just to say 'hi'. That girl. Love me. Love me. Love me. And when you can't love me how I think I want you to love me, I get hurt. I hate being that girl. It's clear that the school bus beat down was the catalyst to my present behavior. I'm so fearful of being shunned that I begin to cling. I detest this about myself.

I don't want to be an island but it does feel safer alone. I am working on finding the self-confidence that is buried deep under the scars. And I'm working on loving myself. Yikes... Ok, there's the core of it.

How does one fall in love with them self?

The more I realize that I am divinity the easier it is to feel self love. Greater self love can only lead to more peace in my heart. Peace in my heart can only lead to more love and peace to share with others. Right? Then, the question remains, where did my thick skin go?

When I worked for GMRI right out of college, we were taught to put our thick skin on. Don't get hurt and, as my mentor drilled into my head, NEVER let them see you cry. I was never the most resilient girl but as I have gotten into a holistic practice it has completely dissolved. I can cry at the drop of a hat. My nerves are raw from too much emotion. Everything has turned into a spiritual life lesson. It's exhausting. So now I work on finding that balance. Ugh.

Tink sent me some writings this morning on the 'wounded healer' complex. I think this describes me to a tee. And I know I'm not alone. Many folks who get into 'healer mode' do so in self preservation. When we realize that there is only one Self, then do we see the greater healing of all. This is where I am in healing my school bus drama. I do wish that It didn't hurt so much to heal though.

One of the revelations I had after working with my dear friend and healer, KWB, was that when I chose to drive my own kids to school every day so they wouldn't have to ride the bus, I put myself 'on the bus' instead. Every day I take them to school and pick them up. It is a burden that I willingly offer up for their benefit as I perceive it. I am forced, every day twice a day, to wait in the lobby of the elementary school. It is unbearably loud. There are children running all over. I am surrounded by my peers. And I stand alone. Every day. I have put myself back on the bus. It was this revelation that started the deep healing process from pain that was caused when I was 12 years old.

So the healing has begun as well as the forgiveness. I am trying to forgive that boy who damaged me. I am trying to forgive my inner child for taking the abuse and letting it continue to be a part of me. And I am forgiving myself for putting grown me on the bus everyday for the last 5 years.

This week is Marley's last day at the elementary school. I know there will still be times when I'll feel like I'm 'back on the bus' again as my children continue through school but I won't be in this situation everyday twice a day anymore. I definitely have learned lessons and have grown through this experience. I am conscious that I chose this situation as a means to growth.

Although I am finding answers and even forgiveness in this most recent life lesson I do wish that the feelings of being 'left out' and 'not good enough' would go away. I'm looking for some thick skin to put on that only allows for Love to pass in and out and enables me to stand strong even in the strongest winds of betrayal.

Even though it's finally summer vacation I already know that this is the next subject on the lesson plan.

Exit Light....Enter Night.....

2011-06-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

Take my hand.... Off to Never Never Land.

"Krissy, you'll always remember what street you live on if you remember what Peter Pan lost."

Hello Darkness, my old friend. Not really glad that you're back, but now that you are, and so soon after your last visit, we must find a way for you to leave quickly.

Yup, I'm blue again. Things have gotten dark in my world. I'm having such a hard time shaking this off. Trying to find the bright side of life when you keep getting kicked while you're down is anything but easy or cheery. And why this continues to happen at certain times of the year is perplexing.

A myriad of issues can trigger the darkness but the underlying recent issue is something that I am going through this past year or so. I can't talk about it just yet for many reasons but hopefully I'll be able to soon. It's not a life or death issue and I understand that this is only a blip on the radar. Compared to what a lot of people are going through, this is only a minor challenge. I get it. I do, really. Nonetheless, it is sending me into the depths of darkness. When you start to pile on the daily woes and personal growth obstacles, the weight of the shadows begins to become unbearable.

The best way to describe it is like a pool of bloody ink in my belly that starts to swirl, churning my bowels. Then the bony hands begin to reach up from the depths of my gut and strangle me from the inside out until I can't breathe and the panic sets in. Once I'm in that state, it's feels like it's impossible to get out.

Eventually the light will start to filter in. It may come as a hug from my daughter or a laugh from my son. The full recovery still feels like it is a million miles away. I'll be grasping for the light-filled moments until they become more regular attendees at this morbid party.

I've been here before and gotten out before. I know the party will end eventually. I keep reminding myself that I can choose to skip these dark events. How much of this is my choice is something that I struggle to understand. How much of this I created is another story. So now I choose to find some light, even if it's only in the backyard sunshine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry if this is too much 'honesty' for you. I could easily write about all of the wonderful, positive moments that happen every day in my life and conveniently skip this side of myself. I could, as many bloggers I know do, but how true would that be? This is part of my healing process and if you don't like it I'm quite sure you can find fluff to read elsewhere.

In the meantime, I'm trying to learn to embrace my dark side as much as I celebrate my light. I can't escape it, it's part of me. Only Peter Pan had to have his dark side sewed on to him. I already have Tink by my side so I know I'll be okay.

I guess that's what you get when you grow up on Shadow Lane.

Eat. Pray. Crap.

2011-04-09T23:19:00.000-07:00

I admit it, I'm a Yoga snob.

Once upon a time in Litchfield, Connecticut there was a little girl who lived on a Christmas tree farm. That little girl grew up to become extremely wealthy by selling out her spirituality in a very famous book which then became a movie starring a very famous actress....

Alright, so I'm a snob and a jealous bitch. But at least I admit it.

I really disliked this book. I admit I read it, cover to cover, but I forced myself most of the way. The more I tried to find something in it of value the more I detested it. There are several reasons for my extreme opinion of this book:

First off, it irritated me no end that, although he is married to a Yoga teacher, my husband was swayed by the women he worked with to read it. We've been together going on a quarter century and he has read less than 5 books in this time. EPL was one of them. Can you fucking believe this?!?

Secondly, how come the author never divulges the name of her guru? Most of the disciples I know do whatever they can for their beloved teacher. It just comes across as shady that there aren't more pranams offered to this mysterious guru.

Thirdly, (here's the big one) it must be really nice to have the means, time and lack of responsibility to wander off in your thirties to try to find yourself. Hurl. Told you I was jealous.

Ok, let's expound on that last one.

Anyone can re-find their passion for food in Italy. I mean, for crying out loud, who the hell doesn't like pizza? And if you don't like pizza, there's gelatti. And if you don't like ice cream, there's wine and cheese. Sheesh. Here's a test, try re-finding your love of food when you are cooking for a fussy kid and it's either pb&j or mac and cheese 10 times per week! It's in the moment of sinking your teeth into an orange marmalade and peanut butter on white bread sandwich while having a carpet picnic with your fussy kids surrounded by laundry piles that you also re-find love in your life.

And sure, one of my dreams is to go to my own Guru's ashram in India and pray with Her. But I learned how to pray because of what She has taught me when I am away from Her. It is the blessings She has bestowed upon me that have led me to the people in my life that I pray with today. I actually was missing Her earlier this week and thanks to the wonders of the Internet I was able to look up my Guru on 'You Tube'. I know it sounds foolish but I was able to connect with Her and feel Her divine Love right through the computer. Even this was unnecessary and I knew it but it made me feel better. When I went to visit my bestie, Tink, a couple of weeks ago I was green with envy when I saw her Yoga room and there were beautiful photos of our Guru on the wall. Just looking at photos of Her feet filled my soul with Love. But even photos are unnecessary. She is with me always. I know this in my heart and when I feel disconnected I am not disconnected from my Guru, but rather from my own heart. Meditation, chanting or reading of the scriptures can bring me right back, all without a passport to India.

And let's talk about Love. Sure, it's a tough one. The heroine of our crappy story felt like she got married too early and they grew apart...yada, yada, yada. Her only way out was a divorce, a rebound lover and then a trip around the world to find a millionaire in Bali. Let's try this instead; look over to the man snoring beside you in his threadbare long underwear. Pretend he is a sexy, foreign millionaire. Then try to remember why you picked him to snore beside you. Instead of thinking about how you've 'grown apart' think about how you've grown up together. People change. I mean, here is the man that wanted me to give up Yoga for him, before he read EPL....

I never recommend EPL as a book for serious students to read. It's fine for the 'designer label spiritual seekers' but for someone who is looking to truly find their own heart there are much better tomes. Start with Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. It reads like fiction but is true. From there go to The Bhagavad Gita. I like the Stephen Mitchell translation. It's short and easy to digest. Then finally read The Yoga Sutras of Pantanjali. It is also short and there are many translations to choose from. The 'Sutras' and the 'Gita' are scriptures, thousands of years old. They are the foundations of Yogic spirituality.

If you can get through those three, then pick up EPL and see if you haven't already found out that there's no place like home to find yourself.

The Girl with the Curl

2011-04-04T08:34:00.000-07:00

"There once was a girl with a curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very good but when she was bad, she was awful!"

"Sure! You gave her all the good stuff!"

"Comb that hair, Krissy! You look like the wild woman of Borneo!"

My hair has always been a source of envy of other people as well as one of the things I can't decide if I love or hate about myself. I know I'm not alone. A lot of women have hair issues. It has just been within the last few years that I have realized just how much I have misunderstood my hair and how my hair has caused others to misunderstand me.

I'm stuck in the 80's. I loved that time in my life! Fun clothes, great music and BIG, CURLY hair was in!!! I mean, what's not to love?? I tried a short do for awhile in high school but I have so many 'cowlicks' around my face that a short style was impossible to keep up with. My high school sweetheart loved long hair, so as many women do to try and please their men, I grew my hair and never looked back.

Basically my entire adult life I have had long hair. It is all over the place and I can't help it. It is unruly and I try to control it. My hair truly has a life of it's own. It's stuck on my clothes. It gets caught in the car window. I hate when it gets in my face but I can't stand to have it restrained. When it's too long it gives me a headache. So much of it comes out in the shower that my father used to tease me and say that he was going to collect it to sew himself a toupee....

But this wild hair is mine and I own it. I really am not into spending hundreds of dollars and hours like other women trying to change it. When I get a haircut my stylist will blow it straight, just for a change. I can barely recognize myself in the mirror. I think I look ridiculous with straight hair. It is a bizarre experience for me. It will usually last a couple of days until it screams at me to be washed and then it's curly again. I don't have the skills to blow it straight myself or to even set it in curlers to try and control it. A woman's hair is exhausting.

Once when I was in college one of my co-workers put his hand on my shoulder and accidentally touched my hair. He said out loud, "I can't believe how soft your hair is. I mean it's so curly I just thought it would be bristly...." That was the first time I had ever heard that! I was so surprised at the comment that it has stayed with me but I never examined the thought process behind it until a couple of years ago. I was watching the 'Millionaire Matchmaker'; a stupid reality show about millionaires who can't find women and have to be professionally matched up. The 'matchmaker' interviews each prospective woman and if the women don't come in with pin straight hair, they get sent home. She tells them, in her thick New York accent that, "Men don't wanna get their hair stuck in that bush." I was shocked! Do men actually think like that?!? It can't be!

It has to be more than just the physicality of the mechanics. I refuse to believe that all men are that shallow. Some maybe, but not all. This revelation made me start to take notice of other women. Take for example a wedding we recently attended. There were about 140 people there and you figure about half of them are women. So out of roughly 70 women of all kinds of ethnicity, I was the only one with curly hair in the room. One of the bridesmaids had curls, but it was clear to see they were produced by rollers. There was not one other woman there embracing her Goddess-given curls. Hmm...

As a child I had considered joining a nunnery until I found out that the first thing they did to you when you got there was shave your head. I have always heard that a woman's hair is her 'crowning glory', so shaving my head sounded traumatic. I'll take a pass on the nunnery, thank you. When Shri Dhyanyogiji came to America, He was shocked to see women with short hair. When His disciples asked why this was bothersome, He replied that a woman's hair hides her karma. That's a huge concept to wrap your mind around. To fully grasp it you must first have to have a immense understanding of karma. Karma is so complex that many gurus tell their students to not even try to understand it. So the fact that your hair can hide it is mind blowing.

But this still doesn't address the issue of curly VS straight....

When I was little, my 'gram' would recite to me the poem at the top of the page. This made me wonder, even as a child, if it was my curly hair that made me naughty. My sisters taunt me to this day that I got the 'good hair', whatever that means. As a child I was endlessly harassed to, "Comb it! What will people think if your hair is so wild?"

OK, now we're getting somewhere!

There is a huge misconception about women that they are their hair. If your hair is straight and breezy but doesn't fly away, you are perceived as easy to get along with and in control of yourself. If your hair is curly, unruly and maybe even frizzy you are perceived as complicated and uncontrollable. (It seems that misconceptions are magnified 1000x if you are an African-American woman!)

My favorite discussion on this topic was in the show 'Sex and the City' when Carrie loses Big to a straight haired girl:

Although I am not my hair, it is just like my spirit; unruly and wild. It's mine and I love it. Love me? Love my hair too.

Which Do/Be Youbie?

2011-03-31T06:46:00.000-07:00

'To be or not to be?' This truly is the question, now isn't it?

I have had a lot of brand new students to my classes lately. This is a wonderful thing and brings me incredible joy. It really pushes me to get back into my 'Beginner's Mind' and to try to remember what 'downward facing dog' felt like that first time. Newbies force me to check my languaging; to find more creative ways of leading a posture or breath. Plus there is that bliss of bringing others to the path that has given me so much passion and Love. I have always said that even if I can only bring this passion and Love to one other person, then I have done what God has asked. Hopefully it will be way more than one.

But as a human and an instructor there is an element of newbies that intrigues me. It is the energy of their postures. Rarely do I see a beginner that, as corny and cliche as it sounds, IS a posture. This is something that I usually only see from seasoned students or other Yoga instructors. And I do know how truly corny this does sound. I am one of those folks who thinks a lot of stuff is corny and weird and to 'be the posture' is probably the absolute corniest thing I can say as a teacher.

But there is Truth in it.

You can either DO or BE. You have the choice. Some days I just 'do' but most times, in my Yoga practice at least, I 'be'. On days that I 'do' Yoga, I am usually tired and in a lot of pain. When, in those moments, I am able to give in to the Prana suddenly I will find myself not doing but being. Here is the magic of Yoga. Surrendering to Prana takes a huge leap of faith and trust in the unknown. I mean, what the hell is prana anyway?!? It's the same as asking, "What is electricity?" But you trust that when you flip the switch that the lights will come on. Prana is the same thing. Flip the prana switch and the Light will come on. Maybe it is that unconscious fear of the Light that causes us to just 'do'.... (Hmmm, I'm gonna ponder on that one for a bit...)

'Being a posture' has an energy behind it that is hard to describe but you can see it in a beginner's frame. When an arm is up over the head but is not energized, it looks dead. The energy actually stops where the Prana is stuck. Try this: flex your feet towards your face. Feel the energy in that simple movement? Now let go of the flexion. Feel how the energy 'dies'? This is what I'm referring to. And you may not feel anything at all. That's ok, but this story will seem really weird if that's the case...

Lots of times the do/be shows in the face. The 'do' student often has the uncertain 'deer in the headlights' fear look. When you see the awake student 'being a posture', Light actually radiates from the face. They glow from the inside out. The Prana switch has been flipped on! Jai! (victory!)

So now the question is posed again: To be or not to be? Are you a human doing or a human being? Are you holding the posture or is the posture holding you? Personally, I'd rather be shining Light than not, but that's just me. So I'm going to BE. BE ME!!

Now you decide, for now at least. At some point you may not have a choice. As 'A Course In Miracles' declares, "This is a required course. Only the time you take it is voluntary. Free will does not mean that you can establish the curriculum. It means only that you can elect what you want to take at a given time."

Do or be?

The Shakti Shimmy

2011-03-16T16:04:00.000-07:00

"Hey, girl! Wanna a burger with that shake?"

Tink and I have been talking about 'kriyas' lately. This is a very bizarre part of a spiritual path, so indulge me a little.

Kriyas (cree-ya) are involuntary movements caused by spiritual energy moving through the body. This website describes them pretty well. The first time you experience a kriya you think you are going out of your mind. It is even hard to tell where the movement is generated. The best way for me to describe how they feel is to say it is similar to when you are just falling asleep and your body jerks. Although those jerky movements are more electrical currents from the brain and kriyas are not.

Kriyas don't scare me. In fact, I enjoy them because when I am having increased kriyas I know that I am near Truth. I have seen amazing displays of kriyas whenever I have been in the physical presence of my Guru, Shri Anandi Ma. The most vigorous, almost violent display was from a woman sitting near me when I was a new disciple. It was so uncontrolled that I thought she had tic douloureux. I have seen a woman uncontrollably writhing with delight at Ma's feet during meditation. Dileepji, Anandi Ma's husband, often will just tell people to control their kriyas when Ma is instructing. It is hard to receive when all of this energy wants to escape the physical body. When he gives this command, the kriyas will just stop. Just like that.

My beloved Shri Anandi Ma

This leads to an interesting quandary.... If kriyas start on their own and are caused by energy, how come you can stop them with your mind? The answer, as I have understood it, is simple: Ask and you shall receive. That's why. As disciples of an enlightened being, we are instructed to pray to Anandi Ma for help to stop these. This works.

Kriyas can be disturbing though. When your body is flinching, shaking, or trembling we automatically think of the central nervous system. This is correct even when analyzing this completely weird part of spirituality because the sushumna lies near the spinal column and the ida and pingala wrap around the sushumna. The Kundalini's shakti winds it's way up towards the crown and sometimes Her shakti is so powerful that is is released through other parts of the body. This is nothing to be scared of or disturbed by.

(I bet if you are not a yogi, you are surprised to recognize this symbol! Yes, this is the sushumna, ida and pingala. Amazing, huh?)

One case of kriyas that I always think of is Swami Kripalu. His sadhana (personal, spiritual practice) created so much prana that it was violent at times. He practiced behind locked doors, only allowing a select few to bear witness. He often came out battered and bruised. This neither scared nor phased him. It only brought him closer to enlightenment. Also consider American religions; Shakers and Quakers. Kriyas are how they got their names. The often shook during prayer.

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So you may someday find yourself quaking during class, meditation or prayer. Have no fear. Feel free to shake what the good Lord gave ya'!

That's Why They Call it the Blues. The Kapha Blues, that is.

2011-03-03T06:56:00.000-08:00

The following is my own experience. Feel free to have your own opinion.

I'm a kapha. I couldn't get more kapha if I tried. Kapha is one of the three Ayurveda constitutions. You can determine your own dosha by taking this simple, basic quiz. In fact when I took this quiz lately I actually had 0% pitta and 0% vata....ugh.

We all have qualities of all three doshas. Vata is primarily an air quality. Pitta is fire. Kapha is water and earth. Think of people you know. We use terms like 'air head', 'hot head', 'sluggish' to describe other people or how we're feeling. This is often a reflection of our doshas.

I've talked about my dosha before but I'm really out of balance right now. The month of January has put me in a kapha funk for the last few years. I'm usually out of it by February but this year it's taking me a little longer. (hence no blogs for most of those two months this year)

Here's my experience of what it feels like being as kapha as I am: If I'm in a water imbalance, I feel like I'm drowning. If the water and the earth are both prevailing, my blood actually feels like mud. If I'm finding some pitta (fire) in my life, I feel grounded. (the fire evaporates the water element and dries out the earth that enables me to stand firm) I rarely have a vata (air) imbalance but when I do I can actually get light-headed.

Sometimes being kaphic is fun. We're lovers, huggers and so very giving. We love to eat. My husband is also a kapha so our best vacations are lounging on a beach then going out to dinner. Personally, I think it is not so great to have two kaphas in a close relationship for that very reason. We struggle to find the motivating fire that can keep our lives going...but again, that's my experience.

The last two months I have been enveloped in a kaphic depression. I feel like that commercial with the swimmers in a pool of caramel. I can barely move. My thoughts are muddy. I don't want to face life, especially the aspects of life that require me to be fiery. I have absolutely no fire at all.

I have just started to emerge from this mud bath in the last few weeks. It's been rough though. Aas I start to emerge and feel better I can look back and see all the things in my life that have fallen through the cracks while I've been down. Here is where I have to give myself some space and not beat myself up. This is probably the worst case of the blues I have had in many years. This time around I have been excellent about not feeling guilty about feeling bad. I have done specific things to take care of myself. And most importantly, I have been honest with those around me that I haven't been feeling well, including my children. I took this time in my life to explain to them that Mom's brain isn't working as best as it can right now. We talked about, "What would we do if one of us had a broken leg? Or the flu?". We talked about how sometimes we go to a doctor. Sometimes we take medicine. Sometimes we pray. Sometimes we do all three and more. They understand this. They have even checked in with me to say, "How are you feeling today, Mom?". They are amazing.

Your brain is the most important part of your body. You must take care of it. When it doesn't feel good, it's ok. All of us get the blues, kaphic or not. Just know that it's ok to seek help. Realize why you're blue. Take preventative measures if you feel it coming on and let the people who love you the most know so that they can support you as you would them.

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Here's a wonderful website I found that specifically deals with kaphic depression. Click here.

Many blessings to my fellow kaphas. May you find your fire somewhere....

Tink on the Bridge

2011-02-25T15:54:00.000-08:00

There's nothing better than a bff.

When I was saying my affirmations this morning I threw an extra one in: "I am so happy and grateful that I am surrounded by like-minded, light bearing friends." And I truly am. During the last few years I have found amazing people in my life. Not just a living guru but several sister-friends, brother-friends, mentors and healers. All beloved by yours truly. Each unique and gifted in their own right. Each called forth by my karma to help me 'work it out'.

But there still is nothing like your very bestest friend. And if you've been following along with me, you know mine by the moniker of Tink. (read our story here)

Even though we live only about an hour or so away from each other, busy lives keep us apart. We have been planning a trip to a fantasy spa in New York for months and are determined to get there in March. She's been there once before and can't help regale me with the details; my mouth drooling. Ice rooms, several whirlpools, steam baths, heated floors.....aaahhhhh! I can't wait! Oh, the stories there will be to tell after that adventure....

We call each other once a week or so. It's the usual friend talk; How's things going on your end? How many classes are you teaching this week? What's new in the physical ailment department? What holistic treatments are you experimenting with for that? And on and on....

One of the most wonderful things about our friendship is that we are both Yoga teachers. Since we met in Yoga school, we received the same basic education in postures and have a similar understanding of asana and their energetics. I'll frequently think about Tink when I'm teaching. I wonder if she leads a posture the same way I do. I'm curious if she'll lead in to an asana the same way I do. I wonder if she has a different understanding of the energetics. We've never taken each other's classes, much to our mutual dismay. Someday.

This morning in my class we were working on setu bandhasana, bridge. During bridge I had an awakening. My upper body was so tight. Why have I been leading the muscle engagement this way all this time?!? I played with adjusting contracted muscles to see if I could still get the chest lift I was looking for while relaxing my torso. It was an experiment, as all Yoga is, but I kept thinking about Tink. I knew she would understand my question and be able to not only relate but also give me other philosophies behind this very complex posture.

So there we were on the phone tonight talking about bridge. I explained my dilemma and described to her how I lead students into bridge. She asked why I don't lead the more difficult arm position for bridge, only the torso part. I explained that I see so many students who are desperate for the 'look' of a full bridge that they'll contort their arms regardless of how poorly the rest of their posture is aligned. I got so tired of over explaining bridge and still seeing this that I just stopped leading arms. There's also my fear factor that someone will get hurt because they think it has to look a certain way.

Tink and I kept on this subject for nearly half an hour. One asana! And we could have gone on longer... There was one moment in this rather serious conversation, though, that made me laugh as only my bff can do. It was when she said, "Wait. I'm in bridge on my kitchen floor." I should have known she would have gotten into the posture. That's what Yoga teachers do. It was easier for her to feel the energetics and my dilemma if she actually could feel it in her body.

It's not unheard of for us to break into postures anywhere when we're together. We'll get on the topic of class, students or asanas and all of a sudden it's spontaneous Yoga! This includes restrooms, restaurants, shops, parking lots, etc. I had to laugh at the thought of us at the fantasy spa, sans Yoga clothes, breaking into asana in the Ice Room.... I told you there would be stories to tell!

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It's not the first time that Tink and I have 'been on the bridge' together. We both have the same guru although we received Shaktipat several years apart. One of the post-Shaktipat ceremonies is to throw a coconut into a body of natural water. Weird, I know. I won't get into why you have to do this, but you have to. So after Tink went through Shaktipat we had scheduled a play date. We hadn't seen each other in over a year and a half. We had so much to talk about. She brought her coconut with her. It was a cold winter day and we walked to the nearby bridge over the Naugatuck River . We ceremoniously threw her coconut off the bridge. It made a loud thunk on a rock then floated away downstream. This is a once in all your lifetimes experience and I was honored she allowed me to be there when she did it. We laughed at what the drivers in the cars next to us must have thought. We walked arm in arm off the bridge. Every time I drive over that bridge, I see us there and hear her Shaktipat coconut's thunk.

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I guess friends are the bridges of life. There to support you over turbulent waters. There to keep you on the right road. And there to hold you up as you throw your karma downstream.

Sh!t I say in class....

2011-02-16T15:46:00.000-08:00

Inhale....exhale....stretch...keep breathing....be mindful.... Yada. Yada. Yada.

We Yoga teachers all have the same basic vocabulary. It's part of the brainwashing process I like to refer to as 'Yoga School'. The magic happens when the words are strung together, during asana (postures), with inflection and personality. Most classes the same spiel is used and it can get very boring when you are saying pretty much the same thing over and over and over. I often wonder if my students get tired of this dribble but then I remember that it's me, not them, who has to listen to me speak at every class...

Sometimes though, true pearls fall out of mouth and I amaze myself. Those are moments I treasure during class and I'll silently tease myself that "I haven't heard that one before!" Then I wonder if I'll remember to use the new phrase again next time I'm leading that certain asana. Many times I don't.

A lot of the language is actually taught in Yoga school but a great deal of it comes out through the asana itself. It is during the times of holding a posture when I intuitively vocalize a stream of consciousness that is generated through the energy of the asana. I have studied Sanskrit and I am a firm believer in the science of it. I strongly feel that it should be used in Yoga class because much of the energy of the posture is actually in the name itself. There are a lot of teachers who don't use the Sanskrit names of postures and feel they don't need to. That's fine for a lot of people but I'm a traditionalist.

I love Sanskrit. It is a mathematical language; genius in it's development and powerful in it's vibrational frequencies. It is beautiful to look at in written form. Chanting the names of the divine in Sanskrit leads to pure bliss. Don't believe that? Check out a Krishna Das kirtan then get back to me. In fact, I can't count the times I have had a new student come up to me at the end of class and ask, "What IS that music you are playing??? I loved it!" Take one look in their glassy eyes and you'll see the power kirtan.

There are days in class when the language won't flow the way I want it. I'll be so tongue tied between English and Sanskrit that I won't know my right hand from my left leg. I can laugh at myself and it's always funnier when the students catch me before I can catch my own flub. Sometimes I get so blissed out that I'll lead them, accidentally, into a physically impossible pose. I'll realize what I've said when I see the looks on their faces trying to figure out what I just asked them to do. My regular students know my shtick, if you will, but the newbies get caught off guard when I make these gaffes. I'll catch myself and the whole class will have a laugh.

My first Yoga teacher, in all the years I studied with her, made only one verbal flub that I ever heard. This made me put so much pressure on myself when I became a teacher. I was so focused on clear speech during class that the first time I got tongue tied I almost cried. Finally I realized that I just needed to be myself regardless of the flubs and the students would just have to come to terms with my humanness.

Every now and then something slips out that isn't a flub that turns into 'Yoga Twister' but just comes out not how I intended. When you are talking about the human body this is pretty easy to do. It's during those awkward moments that I never know how to get myself out of it but just keep going and hope no one holds it against me. Such as the time during an intense asana that I announced to the students, "Now's a good time to explore your body.".....

Yikes.....

Breathe in. Breathe out. Move on.

She Wore Blue Velvet

2010-12-16T07:45:00.000-08:00

I love to Polka! And I’m proud of it!

By now, if you have been reading along, you know that I’m very proud of my Polish heritage. My father was a first generation Polish American. It is family lore that my Babci (grandmother) came to America, alone on a ship, when she was 13 years old. I have always admired the strength that must have taken. She met my Dziadek (grandfather) when she got here. They married and had 9 boys, the youngest of which was my father.

He went to a Polish Catholic school, St. Mary’s of Czsetochowa in Middletown, CT. It is still in existence to this day although the Polish heritage is dying out. My father spoke fluent Polish but he never taught us any. He wanted us to only speak English considering the ridicule he received growing up. Our parents wanted us to be ‘American’. This makes me so sad that so much of my heritage has been lost in order to be more ‘American’, whatever that means.

Before both of my sisters were married, Sundays were family dinner days. I remember vividly all of us sitting in the dining room, trying to eat my mother’s horrific pot roast, and listening to the Polish radio station. My father would put it on, sing or whistle along, and listen to the dj speaking his language. I would ask him what they were talking about and sometimes to tease me he would answer my question in Polish.

The thing about this memory that always makes me smile is the fact that, even if we were driving in the car on a Sunday, my father had a knack for turning on the radio and finding a Polish station. Even in other states. This became a running family joke. I’m sure this drove my Sicilian mother insane….

At every wedding or dinner dance to which my parents dragged me, I would dance the Polka with my father. Including when I was in high school and we would go to the Father-Daughter Dances. He would count out loud, “1, 2, 3…1, 2, 3…1, 2, 3…” until I found the beat. So it was only natural that at my wedding I would dance the Polka with my father. We only danced two dances together that night, ‘The Beer Barrel Polka’ (not my favorite) and ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. It was the last time we ever danced together.

When you are Polish in America you are required to love Bobby Vinton, the Polish Prince. He’s a famous singer known for ‘She Wore Blue Velvet’, ‘Mr. Lonely’, ‘Santa Must Be Polish’, and ‘My Melody of Love’. I love Bobby Vinton. I can sing along and do with fervor. For many years, no matter where my husband and I went on vacation, it seemed that Bobby Vinton had been in concert there the week before. This became our running joke until one year when we planned an anniversary getaway in Atlantic City the same weekend when Bobby was performing.

So my husband, being a good sport, got us tickets. We had dinner, got dressed up and headed to the old convention center on the boardwalk where they used to crown Miss America. And there we were, the youngest couple in a the place. Me, standing up singing my heart out, and my poor Asian husband, surrounded by 2,000 Poles. He really is a good sport and I know he suffered through this concert because it meant so much to me. Although, he did admit that he knew almost every song…

On occasion you may find me driving down the road listening to the Polish station out of Bridgeport. The dj speaks English but the beat remains the same, 1, 2, 3…1, 2, 3…1, 2, 3… There are a few lyrics I understand. Thanks to Bobby Vinton I understand the most important ones.

"Moja droga jacie kocham...means that I love you so!
Kocham ciebie calem serce, love you with all my heart!"

Fuck Yoga

2010-12-03T16:23:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I said it. FUCK YOGA.

Actually this was a website I saw the other day. This made me laugh out loud! This guy, angry at his ex-wife's obsession with Yoga, started making t-shirts and other items that just say 'Fuck Yoga'. He's making tons of money off of this.

Part of me, when reading his story said, "Fuck YOU!". I thought to myself that his wife was most likely obsessed with Yoga because this guy is probably a total ass. But then part of me said, "Yeah! Fuck Yoga!" At least, "Fuck what we have done to Yoga in the West."

We were in New York City on Thanksgiving morning and as we were driving towards the Lincoln Tunnel we passed several swanky, modern Yoga studios. They looked so amazing from the outside. Sleek. Provocative. The posters of contorted yoginis in expensive Yoga clothes adorning the walls, both inside and out. Part of me wants so badly to go into one of these places one day. Take some classes and really see what it is all about. Part of me is so curious: Do I have the chops to teach in a place like this?

But then again, would I really want to?

My students are primarily average sized, middle-aged and show up in exercise clothes they bought at WalMart. I love them. They are real. They don't expect Yoga to turn them into something they are not. Most of them know that enlightenment hardly ever comes without the work. They know that any class, even in the basement of the library or the community room at a church, can be just as good as an over-priced, pimped out studio in Manhattan.

But my fears of inadequacy remain... Am I good enough to hold my own in one of these places?

My practice has changed so much since I began teaching 5 and a half years ago. I've slowed down with injury, illness and basic fatigue. I was told by a local, haughty teacher that my teaching style is rudimentary. Well, considering the fact that the most increasing number of chiropractic patients are Yoga students, maybe we need more rudimentary teachers and classes. You can't stand on your head before you can stand up.

There are even 'Yoga Competitions' now. I mean, really? Fuck that! Yoga is about being in your body and learning to not compete with the person next to you. "Eyes on your own mat, students."

I like to think that if I ever had the chance to teach in one of these places that the same kind of students that come to my class now would come then. The real folks in real bodies. The ones who can laugh at me when I don't know my right foot from my left hand. The ones who can cry in class and we all cry along with them. The ones who come for themselves not to compete with the person next to them.

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If you want to go for the exercise and need to wear pants that cost $100 with a $200 mat, then head into a big city. But just know that if you're not sure how to line up your feet parallel to each other then you probably just wasted $300.....

My Favorite Christmas Memory

2010-11-30T11:37:00.000-08:00

It was completely humiliating at the time.

When I was 16 years old I drove a powder blue '77 Plymouth Scamp. My license plates said 'KK-10'. Everyone in a 25 mile radius knew my car. I loved that car and many of you reading this probably did too, hehehe....but I digress.

During that time, my eldest sister and her husband owned a group home for mentally ill adults. Every year my sister would ask my father to dress up like Santa and hand out the gifts at the resident party. He usually would change into his Santa suit in the garage and then go in and hand out the presents. Well this one year in particular, he decided to dress up at home and have me drive him from Cromwell to Haddam, in my car.

See where I'm going with this?

So there we were, just the two of us again, driving down Route 9. Me driving. Daddy in the passenger seat. Dressed in full Santa regalia. Ugh.

He had a bell in one hand and his cassette player in the other. (He had made a mix tape of Christmas songs to play while handing out the gifts. This was high tech back then, kiddies!) He was waving to anyone and everyone as we drove the 25 minutes from our house to the group home, ringing his bell the entire time. He was laughing and 'ho-ho-ing' the whole way, really getting into his part. People were beeping their horns and waving as they passed us. I was trying to shrink down in my seat as low as I could.

I was humiliated and amused at the same time. I don't think any of my 'cool' friends ever saw us. Thank goodness...

Although I thought this was the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to me at the time, it has remained my favorite Christmas memory. I can still hear my father laughing, having the time of his life. I would be humiliated all over again to see him that joyful just one more time. If only I could.

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And yes, Kristina, there really is a Santa Claus.

Time Out?

2010-11-15T08:24:00.000-08:00

It might be time for a change.

I'm exhausted. My body is in pain. Yoga is the only thing that makes me feel better. But I'm so tired. How can I possibly keep teaching?

Don't be scared, dear students. I'm not walking away anytime soon and if I do, knowing me, it won't be for long. It's just that I am so, so very tired. My body and my brain need to rest. I'm so tired that I feel unmotivated. I'm in so much pain that I can only think of my own body. I'm so overworked that I have virtually no time for my own practice. If I can't offer myself the benefits of Yoga, how can I offer it to you?

I use as much energy as possible when I teach and on those days, I kind of prepare energetically all day for class. Those students who are brave enough to join me on Friday mornings understand how truly tired I am. It is on Friday morning that I am the most exhausted. Even though I probably have just woken up, I haven't had anytime to store up energy for class. There are many times when I am sitting on my mat praying before the start of class, when I am not praying to be guided through movement, but I am praying not to break down in tears of exhaustion.

And in my own defense, I think I do okay most classes. I still surprise myself sometimes at what comes out during a class flow. Many of you, I'm quite sure, know me well enough to know when I am not on top of my game. So for this, I apologize. Just know that I still continue to give my all, every single class.

So, although I am not making a decision right now, I will probably be making one in the near future. I need to take some time off to rest and recharge. I need to heal my body. I need to find some new inspiration for movement. I need to focus on my own practice.

I love my students so much. I promise I won't be gone for long. I just need to hibernate for a bit.

Daddy's Little Girl (part 4)

2010-11-07T13:50:00.000-08:00

My father was my first Guru.

When my Dad had his first heart attack I was about 5 years old. At that time, when you had a heart attack you got to stay in the hospital for a week or more and then you were allowed to stay out of work for six weeks. While my father was recuperating, he and I palled around. Just the two of us.

I remember a lot of that time we spent together. I'm not sure why it made such a huge impression on me except that there was probably much discussion in our home then about his near-death experience. I remember him vividly telling me about seeing his body on the table and how he was removed from his body. He felt like he was falling through a deep crevasse that was bright blue. I had never heard such concepts before in my limited years. The thoughts of, not only my father's near death, but also of the idea that the body and spirit were separate terrified and fascinated me at the same time.

During his weeks of recuperation, he took me all over. We visited the nuclear power plant in Haddam. (Back then you could actually go on tours to learn about nuclear energy!) We went to the Dinosaur State Park in Rocky Hill. He told me the family-famous story of how the day they announced on the news that fossils had been discovered near our home, he snuck over there under the cover of night and dug through the dirt until he found fossils to bring home to my sisters.

It was just the two of us on these day trips. Two adventurers, content in each other's company.

The most vivid memory I have of this precious time together was a discussion about the universe. Although I was quite young, my father spoke to me like I was his peer. I'm sure he used child friendly terms in this conversation but I was able to receive the advanced information and it stayed with me to this day. He explained to me that the universe has no end. This sentence blows my adult mind now just as much as it blew my tiny mind then. I remember asking him if it was possible that the earth was just a molecule in a glass of water in God's house. He said yes. We both pondered that thought for some time.

The strange thing that I am discovering now is, in exploring 'Course in Miracles', the thought I had over 35 years ago, may actually be true.

This one conversation with my father about the universe was the spark of my consciousness expansion. Not only was my father able to stretch my thinking, but as a devoted Catholic he showed me how to love God. He was a living demonstration that a man, a strong, intelligent and great man, could be Christ-like. He was graceful, happy, strong and loving.

During the end of my Dad's working years he was a janitor at St. Mary's of Czestochowa school in Middletown, CT. He often had to assist the priest with tasks at the church. One day the priest needed his help in the sanctuary. A new crucifix was being installed over the altar and the priest needed my father to take the old one down. I remember him feeling so emotional over carrying the 'body of Christ'. He had cradled this statue in his arms with such reverence. Just listening to him talk about it that day left me with an incredible feeling of Grace. It was something that I had never felt before at that point in my life.

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Although his death was quick and unexpected, he knew he was going to die. He knew it was coming and he accepted it. This has angered not only me but both my mother and my sister's as well. We didn't know this until after he was gone and my mother was able to speak with his doctor. But now 15 years later, I think I have finally found peace.

I actually had a clue that he knew it was coming the Christmas right after his death. The Christmas before I had given him a book called 'Dad, Share Your Life With Me'. It was a 365 page book with a life question for each day. After he died, my mother found this book on his desk. He had worked on it all year to give back to me. He worked on more than one page per day. He finished it 3 weeks before he died.

And in the quintessential style of my father, on the last page he traced his hand. Next to his hand he signed it, 'Dad, 62 years young'.

Daddy's Little Girl (part 3)

2010-10-19T08:41:00.000-07:00

I was probably 12 years old when I learned my father's real first name.

My father was the youngest of 9 boys of an immigrant Polish family. 9 boys! Wow! Many days I silently ask my Babci to send me inspiration. I only have 2 kids and some days I can barely manage. But years ago things were different. Because my father was so young, he was frequently forgotten about and had to take care of himself. I think that was what made him into the great man that he turned out to be.

Well, back in those post depression days, if you had a lot of sons the church basically expected you to send one into the priesthood. (A lot of families generously did this because it would mean one less mouth to feed.) None of my uncles had been 'called' and so many of them ended up drafted into WWII that it seemed my father would be the one to go. So I think the whole family started to prepare for Daddy to enter the priesthood and in this process my father attained a nickname: 'Rev', as in reverend.....

He never did end up in the priesthood, obviously. He met my mother on a blind date and as they say, the rest is history. But he kept his nickname.

He called himself 'Rev' and so did everyone else, including my mother. All of my cousins called him 'Uncle Rev'. It was all I ever knew as his name. It was one of the things that made him so unique. Everyone knew Rev. When he bought his long dreamed of 30 foot cabin cruiser my sisters and I begged him to name it 'Rev It Up!'. He was a humble man and very grateful to my mother for allowing him to have such a luxury as a boat so he ended up naming it after her, much to our chagrin.

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Rev was every one's friend. People seemed to flock to him and he always had a smile on his face. In fact he smiled so much that, while he lay in his coffin, people at his wake mused that even in death he was smiling.

It's not to say that he didn't have a temper. My mother would tell you that he used to bottle everything up until he exploded but after his first heart attack in his early 40's, he just let it all hang out. A couple of his temper incidents have grown into family lore. During the 1970's gas crisis, Daddy waited patiently in line to get gasoline. During that time you could only get gas on certain days based on the last number on your license plate. And even then you frequently had to wait in crazy long lines. So as Daddy waited in line one day, a much younger man quickly pulled in and cut in front of my father. Daddy got out of his car and calmly asked the guy, "Are you prepared to go to the hospital today?".......

Another time, my parents had taken my best childhood friend, Debbie, and I to a dinner theater to see my favorite play, Brigadoon, for our 8th grade graduation gift. The dinner theater was tiered so you would be sitting below the table above you. The man at the table above us had taken his shoes off and we were eating dinner. My father was so offended by the smell emanating down to us that he started to try to get the guy's attention. "SIR! SIR! SIR! Would you MIND putting your shoes on???!!!" As humiliated as we were then, the memory makes me laugh to this day!

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He was such a blessing to so many people but I was lucky enough to have this man as my father. My goal is to smile as much in my lifetime as he did in his. If that's the only legacy I can leave behind then it will be a fitting tribute to the man who raised me.

My Buried Life

2010-10-06T11:55:00.000-07:00

What do you want to do before you die?

Yeah, I'm addicted to this MTV show, 'The Buried Life'. Can't get enough of these 4 young men working on crossing things off their bucket list. It makes me want to formalize my own. Sure, we all have things we want to do but how many of us actually write them down and cross them off?

Here goes. It's a work in progress, so bear with me.

~Cruise the Greek Isles
~Visit Poland and the hometown of my grandparents
~Visit Sicily with my mother and visit the hometown of my other grandparents
~Hold a koala bear
~Swim with dolphins
~See Klimt's 'The Kiss' in person
~Own and drive an old school, dark green Jaguar
~Own a cottage at the beach, any beach
~Live in an ecologically friendly log home
~Have an outside shower at my home
~Snorkel in Belize
~See Tahiti
~Take my daughter to the Bob Marley museum in Jamaica
~Fantasy Fest
~Have lunch with James Delaney Buffett
~See Pink in concert
~See Natalie Merchant in concert
~See Bruce Springsteen in concert

So, there's only a few extravagances on this list and there's probably more I'll add at some point. I think there's an importance to writing it down. In Yoga it's called sankalpa; planting a seed of intention. Where attention goes, energy flows. Then maybe the seed will grow...

So, what do you want to do before you die?

Daddy's Little Girl (part two)

2010-10-03T07:53:00.001-07:00

The following is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Ok, gentlemen! Trivia time! (Ladies, if you know this, give yourself an extra 100 points!) What is the part on an electric drill that holds the bit to the drill called??? Take your time. I'll wait....

Last spring, I was driving the kids to school one morning. We were listening to some random radio station that was having a weird trivia contest and that was the question. Before the dj even had the words out of her mouth I started screaming, "Chuck! CHUCK! It's called a CHUCK!"

I know this because my father invented it.

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My father worked for Jacob's Manufacturing for most of my childhood and teen years. He was a self taught engineer. He never graduated high school but received his GED after he married my mother. He was a genius without an education, but he never let that stop him or ruin his confidence.

When he was hired by Jacob's, he had to sign an agreement that anything he may invent at work was property of the company and in return he would receive a cash bonus. His cash bonus for inventing something that everyone has in their home today was about $40. So he never made his million but it was one of his claims to fame.

My father was truly blessed with many gifts. He could sing and loved to dance. He was a talented painter, carpenter, and mechanic, among other things. All of his skills were self taught by way of survival. He was the youngest of 9 boys of an immigrant Polish family. They were their own baseball team.

Being the youngest of this family was not an easy life. He had nothing but hand-me-downs until he married my mother at age 18. His feet were damaged by frostbite from wearing shoes that were too small. The worst of his youth was when, at age 14, he found his own father after he had hanged himself. This story has only been told to me once by my mother on the evening after Daddy's funeral. After his own father had committed suicide, my grandmother remarried. She remarried a man with children of his own and my father was pushed to the bottom of this entire totem pole. So now, not only did he get the hand-me-downs, the step children resented my father and the one or two of his brother's that still lived at home. My father was frequently locked out of the house at night by one of them, forced to sleep in a cold barn. He never had his own bed until he was married.

The fact that he had such a hard life was never forced down our throats. He would give us glimpses into his childhood but it was more of the fun stories he liked to tell. Like the time his brothers wouldn't let him tag along with the older boys, so in retaliation he smeared manure on their bike seats...

The story that always stuck with me was the time he had saved up to buy his own pair of brand new dungarees only to get to the store to find that the price had gone up from $1.25 to $1.50. It breaks my heart even now to think of his disappointment.

His hardships growing up only created a man who loved life more than anyone I've ever met. Here was a man who loved to fly on an airplane because they fed him in the sky. And he didn't care if it was only a bag of peanuts!

The only book he ever kept next to his bed was 'How to Make Friends and Influence People'. People loved this man. His best friend, Cesar, looked to him as a father figure in his own life. Cesar was so distraught when Daddy died that he insisted in riding in the front seat of the hearse. I saw more grown men cry at my father's funeral than I can remember. He was a man of integrity and grace and people respected him.

Women would line up to dance with him whenever he and my mother went to a dinner dance or wedding. One year, when my sisters were at Mercy High School he took them to the Father/Daughter Dance. Daddy ended up dancing with one of the nuns. The very next day she quit the convent.

True story.

Daddy's Little Girl (part one)

2010-10-01T17:13:00.000-07:00

~Louis James Kmietek ~

June 30, 1933 - November 8, 1995

15 years. 15 long years.

My father was my hero. He could walk on water and I was in love with him. I know it sounds silly, but there are many days, still, after 15 years, that I forget that my father is dead.

He had the death he prayed for. He died on the golf course after teeing off the 4th hole. He hit the ball and said to his buddies, "Boy, that was a good one." They all turned to get back in their golf carts and he was gone. Just like that.

The week preceding his untimely death was full of premonitions. Exactly one week, to the minute, before his death, I had a doctor's appointment with a new doctor. As she was getting all of my medical info, she asked me if both of my parents were still alive. I said yes, but a voice in my head said, "Not for long." The doctor drew two, upward facing arrows next to "mother" & "father", as if to show they weren't six feet under. When I heard the voice in my head and saw those arrows, I became immediately nauseous.

A few days later I spoke on the phone with him for the last time. I was at work at night. We were talking and an employee needed me right away. After I hung up the phone and went to assist my staff, I felt two hands on my back push me. My feet went out from under me and I fell hard. No one had actually pushed me but I had the strong urge to call my father back. But I never did.

The day he died was the absolute worst day of my life and I can remember it vividly. The premonitions were acute that morning. I had grabbed a small pink rosary and stuffed it into my suit pocket before heading off to a meeting that I was feeling extremely nervous about. This was behavior that was strange to me then. It was unseasonably cold for mid-November. The wind was like a sharp whip that day. I was at a general manager's meeting in Middletown, New York. When I reached into my purse to grab change for the toll, a photo of my father fell out of my wallet. I was wearing a raspberry colored suit with a black blouse. I can remember every, single, minute detail of that day.

We had no cell phones then and when my husband finally got a hold of me and told me, I went into immediate shock. One of my employees had to bear-hug me up and carry me back to my office from which I had wandered out of. I called my boss to come and take me home. When he walked me into my apartment, like a rabid dog I tore apart the garbage in my kitchen. I still had my suit on and my boss stood there, awkward in my home, staring at me acting like an animal. I had a vague recollection of throwing out a note that my father had sent me. And sure enough, after pawing through the trash, I found the last note he ever wrote me in his distinctive handwriting.

The following days were brutal. I was 26 years old and my beloved father was dead. When my husband told me that Daddy had died, I couldn't remember what he looked like. It took me years to get over that weird guilt, even though I had read that that was a common grief effect. But these days, I can remember him like I saw him yesterday.

So as I prepare to celebrate the 15th anniversary of his passing, I will start to document what I can remember here. The good and the bad. The happy and the sad. My biggest regret in life is that he never knew my children and they never knew him. Maybe, here, I can find a way to let them know what an amazing man their Poppy was.

My Recovery Boys

2010-09-22T17:04:00.000-07:00

"Hi. My name is Kristina and I'm a friend of Bill's."

Almost two years ago I met a student who changed my life. He wandered in aimlessly off the street not really knowing why he was there. And that's the way it is with Yoga. The saying is, "The teacher appears when the student is ready" and in his life he was ready.

I remember the evening vividly because I was giving a free demo on 'How to Use a Neti Pot' right after my class was finished. Only a few folks stayed and this student was one of them. It's hard to imagine but I met one of the most important people in my life while I was demonstrating how to pour water through your sinus canal. Welcome to my life.

It was a fast friendship, the best kind. We found we had so much in common that we were always talking after class. He immediately wanted to help me grow the studio, something that no student had ever offered before. So I went to another networking group per his request, and listened to this novice yogi's thoughts on building a yoga business. Yeah, ok.

But one day, he snuck something into our conversation that I wasn't prepared for. He mentioned that he had perused the recent Kripalu catalog and noticed interesting classes for men. I, of course, said how wonderful Kripalu was and he should definitely go for a program. But that wasn't what he meant.

In an effort to correct me, he offered in full disclosure that he was in recovery. I'm quite sure he noticed my naivete and went into further detail. Recovery from addiction. Oh.... His thought was that I should offer a class for Men in Recovery. Oh... Totally not qualified for this..... But my type A personality jumped all over this opportunity!

Next thing I knew I had several men in recovery signed up and an 8 week lesson plan completed. I was scared shitless. I was not, by any means, qualified to lead a group of men in recovery. (I mean, seriously. I'm having a cocktail while I'm writing this.) I enjoy a lot of life, and I know that addiction runs in my family, but I've never felt like I was addicted to anything. Except maybe Yoga...

That first night was a living hell. Even though I had a lesson plan all detailed out, I felt like a bug on a pin. They looked at me like I was crazy and I was sweating. But they kept showing up. Week after week. And after the 8 weeks was over, a couple of them kept coming to class, regularly.

They turned out to be some the most wonderful men in my life. They pushed me out of my comfort zone. They forced me to use what I know to help an otherwise left out population. They continue to be guiding forces in my life, whether they know it or not, and I love them with my whole heart.

One of them has become my beloved, surrogate big brother. Someone who has my back. Someone whom I can trust.

The one who 'forced' me into leading our recovery class is the reason I write this blog as well as the reason I have filmed my class for YogaVibes.

I never had people believe in me like these men. I am grateful.

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And here's the kicker: we're all addicted to something. I'm admitting it here for the first time. I can't sleep without my favorite stuffed monkey. His name is Sluggo. And I'm an addict.

Goo Roo. Ben & Jerry's latest flavor!

2010-09-22T10:21:00.000-07:00

A Course In Miracles. (part two)

Yep. I'm one of those people. One of those 'yogis'. You know, them.

I have a living Guru.

And just so you know, I absolutely despise that word. Guru.

Westerners have bastardized that word so much. I could vomit when I hear Matt Lauer introduce some idiot on The Today Show as a 'tech guru' or even worse, a 'fashion guru'. CALL. ME. HURL. Ugh.

Guru. Gu = darkness. Ru = Light. So 'guru' is the energy that transforms you from darkness into Light. And when it is used to describe an enlightened master it means 'Teacher', just like when the disciples called Jesus 'Rabbi'.

So I am one of the very few lucky people to have found my teacher, my spiritual mother, and She is in human form. I'm truly blessed and some day I will dedicate an entire chapter to Her. She is Goddess on earth. I do pranam to Her lotus feet, as weird as that sounds. And in finding Her, or She finding me, I have found salvation. It is kind of like a kid jumping to grab the string of an enormous balloon before it flies away. Once you finally manage to grab the string, the balloon takes you and you fly away with it.

But living with an enlightened master as your teacher isn't always easy, especially when you are a householder. I mean, who wouldn't, in this crazy world we live in, rather live in a monastery or cave just meditating and practicing asana all day every day? But this incarnation chose to be a mother, wife, employer, employee, etc, etc, etc.... So for the last couple of years, although I am a devoted disciple of my Guru, I have been praying in earnest for a spiritual mentor. Someone who is also a householder. Someone who can help me find balance between my spiritual lifestyle and my householding ways.

Be careful what you wish for, Kristina.

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A couple of years ago a student wandered into the studio. Right from the start my partners and I all knew this man was a shaman in his own right. Here was this mysterious gentleman who only revealed parts of himself to us that he knew we were ready to have revealed. This man was Grace personified and we all fell in love with him immediately. He was healing us more that we could ever heal him. And here's the thing; he felt the same way about us as we felt about him. And from the time he wandered in til now he has been a constant presence in our lives.

More recently, since about last spring, I started to realize he was the mentor that I had been praying for. The more I listened when he spoke, the more Truth I was hearing. He had been mentoring me right along. I just didn't notice. I wasn't listening.

One day he started to tell me that he was leading a group through A Course In Miracles. The more he talked the more I knew my prayers had been answered. After a few conversations we had our own group set up. Private, of course, for us divas. What else would you expect?

We have met now twice as a group of Miracle seekers. And miracles are happening! Perceptions are shifting. Forgiveness is taking place. Weight is being lifted. Prayers are being answered.

So have faith, fellow householders! Your prayer may just be waiting to be answered but you have to listen for it. Listen closely. Sometime the Universe whispers at first. Pretend like when you were a kid and it was the middle of summer. No matter what you were doing, no matter where you were, as soon as the ice cream man rang his bell you could hear it.

Now go running.

Son of Shiva (part 1)

2010-09-15T11:30:00.000-07:00

Elijah Louis Berano. The love of my life. My son. Primo.

He'll be ten years old in less than two months. This is really hard for me to swallow, especially since it took nearly seven years to conceive him.

He is smart, handsome, funny and clever. He is so smart that frequently he intimidates his teachers at school. He has read hundreds of books. He is not a jock, much to the dismay of his father. He is a book worm. And I love that about him.

He could speak in complete sentences at 18 months old. I knew then that we were in trouble. We weren't the kind of parents that forced that Baby Mozart crap down his throat. We just exposed him to a lot of life. My goal was and is to create a well-rounded man not a genius.

His extensive vocabulary has shocked me since he was about 22 months old. I had just bathed both kids, dressed them in jammies and put Marley in her crib. Elijah was sitting up with me for a few minutes in bed cuddling. I was relishing in how wonderful he smelled post bath when all of a sudden I heard a loud noise come from his behind. Grouchy that I might have to change this clean baby, I said, "Elijah, did you just poop?!?" He grabbed his bottom, looked at me, leaned in and whispered, "No, Momma. There's a dinosaur in my bottom!"

A short time after that, again he and I were in bed cuddling. I was watching one of the Hollywood awards shows. The show was paying a tribute to Mickey Rooney and asked him to stand up. Elijah yelled out, " I LOVE MICKEY ROONEY!" I said, "You doooo??????" And he said, "Yes! I love Mickey Rooney and cheese!"

Since then, I often have waited with baited breath to see what will come out of my son's mouth. He learned quickly that if Mom was having a bad morning the best way to turn it around was with humor. So I started to award meaningless 'points' to whomever could make me laugh on the way to school. Elijah is usually the winner.

Now that he's older, his humor has matured as well. A few weeks ago we were on the way to dropping him at school. There were hundreds of seagulls on one of the high school fields. I said aloud, "What are all those seagulls doing there?" Without missing a beat, he replied, "They're having an away game."

I love this boy. He brings out the best in me. He makes me so happy. He brings joy and laughter to our lives. But I still never know what he's going to say....

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Yesterday he came home from school and said, "Mom, I wanna get one of those really cool hats Jewish people wear!"

Oy vey!

I'm in love with Shiva (aka The God of Destruction)

2010-09-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

"Now, Shiva's like this: consciousness and bliss. But He's crazy when He's angry so don't get him pissed....."

When I first starting practicing Yoga and educating myself about Hinduism, I inadvertently fell in love with Shiva. If I meditated on His lithe form in padmasana and luxurious, long, dark locks, I would quiver in ecstasy. Just the sound of His name on my tongue was like rolling a warm liqueur around in my mouth. And it wasn't some weird perverse fascination. This was intense Love. Love for a profound energy of the Divine. But here's the thing; I had no idea of the energy behind the form. Uh oh.....

So here I was, this novice yogini, praying fervently to an energy I didn't understand. This can be dangerous. Especially with Shiva.

I would find myself in these feelings of Love and would be praying to Him all the time and during this time the shit hit the fan. It seemed as if everything in my life was literally on fire. Everything I touched disintegrated. I became so frustrated and angry that I didn't know what to do with myself or my life. I was depressed. And not just with the blues. I was clinically depressed. For a very long time. Everything I thought was true in my life came into question. Everything I worked years for fell apart. Then it finally dawned on me. It was Shiva working His magic. And there were times when I felt like He was laughing at me from the cosmos.

Ok. So I knew what had caused this destruction in my life, now what?

Well, it's taken me several years to come to terms with the fact that I kind of brought this on myself. And I have had to learn more about Shiva and have a better relationship with His energy. But here is how it boils down:

Although I sort of activated His energy in my life, it was ready and waiting for me for all my life. And even though He is the "God of Destruction", He is really the energy of TRANSFORMATION. This incarnation, known as "me", was ready to change. He would have started to work His magic whether I prayed to Him or not. Whether I even knew who Shiva was, He would have started to work when I was ready.

The most important thing to understand about this Big Guy is that he really isn't enjoying watching you suffer. It's just that He understands that we create our own suffering and that kind of amuses Him. The more we want to change for the better the more He offers us options to facilitate that change. While we want to change and develop into higher vibrational creatures, our egos fight us every step of the way. This is where Shiva just shakes His head and chuckles. He doesn't want us to suffer but He does want to destroy our egos. That's His job and He does His job quite well.

There have been times in my life when I have actually had to tell Him to put the brakes on and He listens. I can only develop so much at a time. I'm kind of like that bumper sticker: Be patient with me. God isn't finished with me yet.

Remember, when the caterpillar enters his cocoon he doesn't know that he isn't going to die. And if he doesn't suffer through opening his own cocoon he most surely will die. He must facilitate his own transformation.

And then, only then when his transformation is complete, can he fly.

They're real and they're fabulous!

2010-09-09T04:22:00.000-07:00

"Where is she from?" (insert awkward pause...here...) "Um, we're from Connecticut."

My children are mine. They are not adopted. I have the stretch marks to prove it, just in case you were wondering.

They are biracial and multi-ethnic. Their father is from the Philippines and that makes them half Pacific Islander. I am American with roots in Poland and Sicily so they are also half Caucasian.

I never gave it another thought until well after they were born. I would be out with them alone and I would catch looks from folks who just assumed they were adopted. Then every once in a while someone will say something. I know that these folks who actually have the nerve to say something are probably well-meaning but it's hard to swallow some days. Even a pediatrician, upon meeting us, made some comment that sent me into a tizzy. I assumed she was probably trying to figure us out for medical reasons, but it ruffled my feathers all the same.

I continue to struggle with this even though I know it's all ego based. I mean, after you have duplicated yourself, what's more appealing for your ego than when someone says, "Ooh! She's the spitting image of you!"? I forget that they don't look like me until I see photos of us together. When I look at my kids, I see myself. Elijah looks more like me than Marley but there are days when her hair is wild and she has a certain twinkle in her eye and she looks like me. My son has my father's head shape and has since he was about a year old. He has the classic Polish large forehead, just like me. And we are so alike on the inside that there is no mistaking he's my son. My daughter was born with a blond streak in her very dark hair, another gift from my Polish heritage. She is starting to develop a more defined nose line....sooo hoping she doesn't end up with my ski slope!

It's when I look at photos that I start to see what other's must see. Here is this fair, blue eyed woman with two dark skinned, dark haired and dark eyed children. They can't possibly be hers... It's not my business to care what other's think until they open their mouths, especially now that my daughter is starting to notice how she looks and understands when someone comments on her appearance.

We've never hidden the fact from them that they are different than most kids in their school. We live in an extremely un-diverse community and try to expose them to as much of the world as possible. For the most part, they don't feel the discrimination that I am hyper sensitive to. But there is a fine line with discrimination and most people who don't approve of our multi-racial home know how to dance on that line.

When my son was in first grade, there were a few multi-racial boys in his class. They were typically lumped together as a group and often were held back from activities and such until the rest of the class had gone first. Both kids have been called by the name of another of the few "brown" kids in school. Apparently, to us white folk, all the brown kids look alike.

And I know that I may seem overly sensitive, it's just that it's not my kids' faults that they are different. It kills me to see them on the receiving end of such callousness. The worst and one of our most memorable experiences was last summer at a gift shop near the beach where we vacation. My daughter bought herself a hat with her own money. The clerk looked at her, then at me and said, "She's beautiful! Where is she from?" I know it was meant as a compliment but on the receiving end it hurt, especially for a 7 year old girl.

I wonder when this world will catch up. It's 2010. When I had to fill out the demographic forms for school last week, I had to "Pick One" from the "Race" box for them. So what do I pick? Asian (which is easier for most people to understand)? Pacific Islander? Caucasian? There is no "multi-racial" box, even in 2010.

It helps that we are light hearted about it. The kids like to sing to their father "Secret Asian Man".... When they see a lot of kids that look like them they'll refer to it as an Asian Invasion.... And it eases the tension that they don't even care that they are different. The best was when I took them to the Polish Deli a few months back. We had a good laugh at all the Poles who couldn't help but stare at these two kids who were so excited to see all the food their great-Babci used to cook.

So we pray for Grace as a family to use these experiences as learning tools. We continually try to raise them as good citizens of the world. They make me laugh. They keep me on my toes. They are my teachers. I pranam in deference to their divine lights.

I am grateful every day that they both chose me for their earthbound mother.

The Issues in my Tissues

2010-09-02T08:07:00.000-07:00

I got beat up on the school bus by a boy in the 8th grade.

Yep. It's out there. I said it. Now you know why I'm so fucked up. I'd love to post his name but I think I'm above that. Not above by much but above nonetheless.

The reason for this incident is still unclear to me and doesn't really matter at all. It's the aftermath that has scarred me for my entire life. The physical and emotional bruising. The fact that no one, including the male bus driver, came to help me. How I was completely ostracized after the incident.....

Here's how the aftermath played out:

Had to go home and tell my parents that I was refusing to ride the bus to school ever again.
Had to tell my parents what happened and who did it to me.
Begged my father not to call the kid's father.
He called anyway.
The kid was popular, so after he got in trouble he managed to turn everyone else against me, including my two cousins who lived next door to me. I haven't spoken to either of them since this incident, which divided the family.
Someone scratched an adjective on my locker and I had to look at it everyday til graduation.
My mother had to adjust her work schedule so that she could take me to school which resulted in daily fights for nearly a year.
I lied to my parents that I was riding the bus home, when in actuality I walked home everyday, in every kind of weather, nearly 3 miles until school was over.
I refused to go to the brand new high school in our town; insisting that I went to the same private Catholic high school that my sisters attended. Again, the issue of much fighting.
Went to said Catholic high school. Our town paid for busing the first year. After that, we had to pay for busing.
Parents so angry over the cost of busing ($300), I was forced to get a job so that I could buy a car to drive myself to school. Mother actually combed the newspapers to find me a job, drove me to the interview on my 16th birthday and told me not to come out until I had a job.
Worked 40 hours per week through the rest of high school which caused my grades to suffer terribly. I was originally in all first track classes but my grades slipped much that they bumped me down to second track. This 'move down' got me labeled the dumb kid in my social group even though I was as smart as the rest of the kids I hung out with.
Because my grades had slipped and I got bumped down, I couldn't get into a upper echelon college. Because I was middle track there was no guidance counseling. Guidance was reserved for first and third track students.
I ended up at what would be considered a "trade college".....
And so it goes...

I could go on and on but I think I've made myself clear.

I just got back from an energy healing certification course. Sometimes when you are on a spiritual journey, past issues are brought directly to the surface. This came right to the surface this week. The very first night of our class the subject of love came up. The specific topic was allowing people to love us and how many of us don't. We pull you in with one hand and then push you away with the other hand. I can't help but reflect that this incident, at such a vulnerable time in my life as well as the years of aftermath, had such a deep impact on my developing psyche. I mean, think back to when you were 13 years old. Didn't you want to be one of the popluar kids? ("Love me!") Then I got hurt by one of these popular kids. ("Love me, but don't hurt me.") You can't hurt me if I keep you at bay......

So this is what I am working on clearing and healing. Through the Integrated Energy Therapy class I attended, we learned to energetically heal the "issues in the tissues". Cells remember. Unfortunately. The exploration of this memory has answered a lot of questions for me about why I am the way I am.

I'm going to try to let this memory heal. I know it won't be easy. I'll never forget what happened but I am praying to find grace in forgiveness. And it doesn't hurt that, shortly after we got married, my husband promised me that if he ever sees this guy he'll fucking kill him.

WHAT HAVE I DONE?? ~ Part 1

2010-08-26T16:42:00.000-07:00

A Course in Miracles.

A few years back I was working in the office at another yoga center and a group used to meet there to do "A Course in Miracles". I didn't know what it was, had never heard of it and wasn't interested in finding out. But that brief encounter with that group was enough to put "The Course" on my radar.

Then a few months back, one of my favorite students mentioned that he leads groups through the Course. He started talking about it and everything that he said about the Course was Truth. And everything he said was passion filled belief. Since then It has been like an angel sitting on my shoulder whispering to me.

And so it goes on the spiritual path. This is how you get called. The Truth calls you and once Truth calls, you MUST respond. This is how I was called to teach Yoga. This is how I am being called to focus on healing. And this is how I am being called to change my life.

So once I recognized that this (taking the Course) was what I must do, my ego has been having a freaking field day! "I mean, really now! What the hell do you want with that? Why do you want to put yourself through this? You don't need this." And on and on that bitch will chide me. I even went to several bookstores trying to get the book but could never walk out with one. But I know that I must follow through. So I emailed my favorite student and said, "I'm ready". But he already knew that.

I went by to see him today and he wanted to let me borrow one of his copies until I can get my own. Yeah, I couldn't escape. I tried, trust me. So I left his light-filled presence and came home with the Course. And just having it near me is like a magnet. It is a heavy book of probably 1,000 pages. It feels like a bible and is in many ways. I opened to the preface tonight and already I can feel the shift happening. I haven't even started the lessons yet.

I can't begin to imagine the outcome of this chapter of my life, but I know that I need it, desperately. I am an Aries but when I had my birth chart done, the astrologist told me I was more Pisces than Aries. I asked her if that's why I always feel like I'm drowning.... The Course feels like a lifeline.

"Nothing real can be threatened.

Nothing unreal exists." A Course in Miracles

"Asato ma sad gamaya.

Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya.

Mrtyor ma amrtam gamaya." The Upanishads

(Lead me from the unreal to the Real.

Lead me from darkness to Light.

Lead me from death to Immortality.)

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ps- ALL my students are my favorites!

ps/ps - If you don't know what "A Course in Miracles" is just stay tuned.....

Let's Do the Time Warp Again!

2010-08-23T04:33:00.000-07:00

"TIIIIIME is on my side. Yes it is." That's what you think, Mick.

"If I could turn back time. If I could find a way." If you only knew, Cher.

"Tomorrow's right around the corner. I'll get there somehow. But I'm stuck in the meantime and I love the Now." Ok, now that's what I'm talking about, Jimmy!

A few months ago my daughter, Marley, became obsessed with time. She would tell me how many minutes until her favorite tv show came on. She would give us a constant commentary of how many minutes ago we left the store and included a stream of questions about how many minutes until we got home. At first I thought she was just learning about time in school and tried to humor her as best I could. Then I realized this fascination was beginning to consume her every thought. I finally said to her one day, "Honey, do you know that there is no such thing as time?" She looked at me like I had ten heads! "Marley, time is a man made concept. There is no such thing." (I amaze myself when I come out with these motherly gems!) After she marinated on that one, her obsession seemed to lessen.

So if time is a man made concept, why are we humans so utterly controlled by it?

My husband is from a tropical island and he lives on "island time all the time". We have been so late so many times and embarrassed by his perpetual tardiness so often that two things have happened. First of all, I almost always tell him that we have to be somewhere at least 30 minutes earlier than the actual time. It's not really lying. It's more of a self-preservation technique to keep this family moving. (My favorite saying is that he'll be late for his own funeral.) And secondly, I have swung completely in the opposite direction and am constantly ordering everyone around so that we can get somewhere early or at least on time.

It frequently seems that I never have enough time to get anything done. And its not that I'm disorganized. I just don't know where the time goes. Everyone feels like this from time to time, no pun intended. Kind of like when you've been cruising around 'face book' and you look up to see that hours have passed and you don't know where the time went. How about the old saying, "Time flies when you're having fun."

Then there is the opposite. Like when you're sitting in a meeting and all you can think about is what you're doing after work. Time drags. What's worse? Time flying or time dragging?

Are there ways to control time?

I'm a certified Medicinal Aromatherapist and one of the essences that I love and have been working with a lot is Palo Santo. This is a very powerful essence often used by Native Americans. She allows for a very deep meditation. But her most amazing quality is that she warps time. Yep, you read that right. She has the ability to slow time down and bend it. I never would have believed it myself if I hadn't experienced it firsthand.

Recently I had an event that I didn't want to end and I wanted to be present for every moment. I took out my beloved 'Palo' and applied her to my third eye, asking her to do just what I needed her to do. And she did. Time seemed to slow and maybe even disappear. I was grateful for her divine grace.

Last night I was watching a show on the Discovery Channel about Time Travel and how scientists are starting to prove that it is possible. I can barely get my mind to even listen to some of these concepts but I was so fascinated that I couldn't turn away! When they talk about space and time as the same thing, my mind goes crazy trying to understand! I can't possibly comprehend most of these mathematical space/time concepts. Still, why am I so obsessed?

Maybe it is because I wish I could go back in time and change my own mind. How do I know I haven't already whispered into my own 17 year old ear and helped her with a decision? Haven't we all wished we could do at least one thing differently in our lives and wondered how a different decision would have molded the rest of our lives? Have you ever thought about one sweet moment in your life so much that you felt like you were actually reliving it? I can remember the moment my son was born like it happened yesterday. Or the last memory of my father alive. The last thing we ever did together was swim in the ocean. When I miss him dearly, I conjure up that memory and can still feel how cool the water was and hear his laugh mixed with the waves. Isn't that a sort of time travel?

Yoga teaches us that the only reality is the present and that even the present is a veil of illusion. Science is teaching us that the past, present and future exist all at the same time. Somehow, when I wrap my time-warped mind around it, both seem possible.

Now if I can just get the damn Delorean up to 88 miles per hour......

Highest Good

2010-08-20T15:20:00.000-07:00

"Please allow that the outcome of this situation is in the Highest Good of all involved."

That's my latest, regular prayer. That's some heavy shit right there. Read that prayer again, but insert it into your own life, then breathe.

"Highest Good" is a concept that I have only been actively using over the last few years. Let me tell you, this is no easy prayer. First of all, what's in the "highest good of all" may not include your immediate good, nor may it involve anything that you even want out of the situation. Most of us don't really even know what we want, we only think we know what we want. That's why I like this prayer. Hey, I have a hard time making decisions. Why not turn them over to The Big Guy? (see The Big Guy http://shootingstaryoga.blogspot.com/2010/06/big-guy.html )

This prayer involves a H~U~G~E amount of faith. Did I mention HUGE? You can't pray this prayer if you don't have any faith, or even a wavering faith in a Higher Power. It's impossible. Your ego will fight you every step of the way. The ego hates this prayer because it knows that you are completely surrendering a difficult situation and it's outcome over to an unseen force. Completely surrendering. Completely surrendering. Completely surrendering. (Hard to write and read, never mind actually do) You have to get yourself out of the way for this prayer to work. Here's where I frequently fall short.

My mother keeps telling me that at the moment of death all of your life's questions are answered. I'm not sure I can wait that long. But I keep praying for the highest good, hoping that all of this life crap works out in the end. And I keep praying for strong faith that someone, somewhere knows what She is doing up there.

I've worked on my faith a lot over the past several years. It seems that I have the most faith when I need something or want a particular outcome and lose all faith when things go astray. This prayer doesn't allow me room for wavering or losing faith. And I mean, sure, I still have those moments of human doubt but I have to admit I've done a much better job lately of talking to my maker on a regular basis, instead of only when I need something. Just like a typical kid, huh? Plus when I pray this sentence, I'm reminded that I'm not alone on this planet. That someone else may need the outcome of a situation I'm in to turn out differently. That's a rough one to swallow depending on the situation. But even then, I put myself in a situation where the faith kicks in. Faith that there is an energy out there greater than me who knows more than me. Thank Goddess for that, right?!

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And it helps to have a sense of humor. God frequently seems to like stand up comedy with me as His punchline. I said to a friend recently who was not happy about his current state of affairs that he should just trust that the outcome of his dilemma would work out in the "big plan". His response, which included a combined sigh and laugh, was, "I'd like to have a look at those plans!"

Down, Dog!

2010-08-18T06:28:00.000-07:00

Everything I need to know about Yoga I learned from my dog....

We have a yellow lab named Lola. She is only about 16 months old and she is the second dog in this family. She's named after the Jimmy Buffett song "Frank and Lola" (see Parrothead Yoga http://shootingstaryoga.blogspot.com/2010/06/parrothead-yoga.html)

Our first dog was a beautiful, rare Viszla mix, named Tucker. We rescued him through an arduous adoption process that included my husband getting up at 2am on adoption morning in order to get a spot in line that would guarantee this family a puppy. I got up at 1:30am that morning, packed him a cooler full of breakfast and coffee and told him not to come home until he got a dog. We looked at each other, shook our heads and laughed; another escapade in the story of our family. We lost Tucker, tragically, less than a year later when he was only 13 months old. He ran out into the street in front of our house and was killed instantly when he was hit by a car. It was the most painful event this little family has ever experienced. Even now, over a year later, we still grieve his loss.

Baby Tucker

I know that everything happens for a reason and it makes me feel better to think that his death brought Lola to our lives. About 10 days after we lost Tucker, I had arranged another dog adoption. This time the rescue group seemed less than legitimate, but they had promised me a yellow, female puppy. Now we found ourselves meeting a stranger and her dirty box van in the parking lot of a shady motel in the dark of night. When she opened the back door, at the top of a pile of filthy crates full of animals she had driven all the way from Georgia to Connecticut, was a silly looking yellow critter who appeared to be laughing at us.

Elijah and Lola on the night we brought her home.

The first thing we noticed, besides how filthy she was, was that she had "sad eyes" but seemed to be always smiling at us. It's this combination of sadness and silliness that endeared her to us so much, so quickly.

She turned out to be a really good dog. She's smart, she listens, and she is a comedian. When she was a puppy I wanted to train her to ride in the car as much as possible. That came to a screeching halt after she decided the only place for her to ride was on my lap with her paws on the steering wheel. She helped ease the pain of losing Tucker. She let's the kids climb all over her and love her. She has never once nipped at them no matter what they do to her. Sometimes she will walk up to me with a spy gadget attached to her collar if the kids need another participant in a secret agent game. She still smiles. She'll sleep with anyone of us if we are sad and need a warm body to cuddle up next to and she'll smile at you after the nap.

Nap Time

She never judges me when the house is a mess. She helps with the laundry by laying on it. She only eats when she's hungry. She will nag you to death until you stop doing housework so that you can play with her and then she will only play until she gets bored. She is over 50lbs now but still thinks she is a lap dog. We take a lot of pictures and videos of her because we didn't do that with Tucker. And she is always happy.

She rescued us far more than we could have ever rescued her.

On the Dark Side

2010-08-06T16:38:00.000-07:00

"From out of a shadow she walked like a dream...."

I have been away from home and my practice for almost three weeks. This is the longest time I have been away from my "life", probably, ever. Whenever I go on vacation I usually take a break from asana (posture practice) and focus on the other, deeper, practices of Yoga. This time I have been focusing on darkness. Yep, darkness.

I know that sounds creepy, dismal and weird but it has been quite enlightening. This exploration of darkness started the day before we left. We had a tornado in Litchfield and the kids and I drove up right behind it. I knew then that it foreshadowed what was to come. Right before we left on our 3,000 mile road trip, I received horrible news in the mail, and it has been pretty much downhill since. This includes an emergency room visit for pink eye, a pulled groin, strep throat and other assorted life nuisances including coming home to a flea infested home.

But my real exploration has been in the human side of darkness; how does darkness exhibit itself in humans?

I have a horrible mean streak that I absolutely despise about myself. I have worked on killing that damn thing for most of my life and on only really bad days does it ever show itself. It is the darkest place in my being and I work at lighting up everything else to keep that shadow hidden.

Some people are great at putting others down. That's darkness. I spent a majority of this summer with my mother. No matter what clothing I had on, she would look me up and down with a scowl on her face. This is new behavior for her but she has a huge dark side so it didn't surprise me when her darkness exhibited itself like that.

I have another family member that is obsessed with designer labels. It's not even about good quality, she just loves to show off like those brand names. This is a huge darkness of the ego; "Everyone will respect you more if they see you wearing that."

I have a friend that is a huge chain smoker. Talk about darkness! How can you shine your light when you are surrounded by a cloud of smoke!

These were just a few of my observations over the last few weeks. And I'm not judging, really. These are just observations from this point of view. The issue resides with how you deal with your dark side and balancing your dark with your light as well as how do you continue to stand in your light when faced with other's dark sides. Here's where the work is. During my little observations, I found that it was hard to focus on someone's light when I was looking for their darkness. I also noticed that my dark side liked it when I was focusing on someone else's darkness. Misery loves company, right? And, vice versa. When I found myself standing in someone else's light, my light shined even brighter.

I bumped into an old friend recently who definitely has a shadow side. This is someone who loves life and wants to experience it all, both good and bad. But this person is so filled with light that the shadow doesn't seem so dark. It was more like that sensuous swirl of yin and yang; an equal play of dark and light. It was in the fascination of witnessing this dance of light that started my exploration. I couldn't help but think that this friend was a light worker and didn't even know it.... And even though I was looking for the dark side of this soul, there was a light shining so bright that I found my own light trying to equal it's luminescence.

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The solitary tree in a meadow will continue to grow towards the sun no matter how deep it's roots extend into the earth. If that tree grows to more than 100 feet in the air and even if no other trees grow near it, it will still cast a shadow. But it will continue to strive towards the sun.

Find your light and grow towards it. You will, from time to time, still cast a shadow. But the more you shine your light, the smaller your shadow will be.

YO! Adrienne!

2010-07-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

I have a guardian angel and her name is Adrienne.

Up until about 3 years ago I didn't believe in angels. At all. Total hogwash, if you had asked me. And the thing is they were trying to get my attention. When we were packing up to move from our condo into our current home 7 years ago I came across a sizable medallion of AA Michael slaying the dragon in my kitchen drawer. I had never seen it before and no one, including my hyper-superstitious mother-in-law, owned up to putting it there. We lived in that condo for 6 years, and I had never seen it until we were packing to leave. In this house I keep him on the window sill above the kitchen sink so I can see him everyday.

When I opened my Yoga studio 3 years ago, the space was full of dark energy. Negative vibrations filled every nook and cranny so I hired a sound healer to come and clear the space. This was a trauma filled afternoon where I actually had physical reactions to the energy being released. At one point the healer held a Tibetan brass bowl near my throat. As she sounded the bowl she looked in my eyes and smiled, saying, "This is the sound the angels ride in on". At that moment I had a fluttering sensation in my throat so strong it was as if I had swallowed a small bird. In that moment I found my belief in the angel realm. I was as incredulous in this belief as the holiday commercial when the M&M's intrude upon Santa and one of them cries, "He really does exist!".

A month or so after this experience, I was sitting in the car at our grocery store thinking about angels and my belief system when out of a clear blue fall sky came a large white feather floating down without a bird in sight. This was a feather the size of a seagulls and I live in the foothills of the Berkshire mountains. We never get seagulls here.

So these validations stayed with me but I had no idea what to do with them. I knew my father had believed in angels and he told us repeatedly that his guardian angel was named George. When I asked him how he knew he said, "I just asked him his name and he told me". So I started asking for my angel to tell me his/her name. I started calling out to them. "Hello? Anyone home with wings on?" But I never got an answer. I asked other people and they told me the same thing. Ask and you shall receive. Still nothing.

Then one day, my beautiful business partners were doing an energy healing on me. During the healing, in my mind's eye I saw this amazing angel hovering near my left side. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen and I knew that somehow he was protecting me. And he could communicate with me. I asked him what his name was and he told me, "Michael. But you already knew that." Near my right foot there was a magnificent female angel. So I asked Michael, "Is she mine?" He replied, "Yes." I asked him what her name was and he told me, "Adrienne". At that point Michael moved further away from me but stayed present as Adrienne took over. After the healing, I felt so much peace just knowing that someone, anyone, was watching out for me, just me.

Since then, I occasionally feel her near me. Mostly standing behind me. She is very tall; probably eight feet. And she is beautiful. I know that she is protecting me. Sometimes I call out to her but I still haven't gotten comfortable with making this a regular practice. So I have been practicing. And, no, I don't yell, "YO! Adrienne!", although I think she gets a kick out of that.

Recently, I have been getting a calling to advance my gifts and career (stay tuned for how exactly!) and Monday I saw an ad for a course that seemed to fit just what I was looking to do. But I was nervous about this particular course, not sure if it was the right one that I was being called to. So I asked Adrienne to send me a sign. "Please" I implored her, "guide me to the right path and if this is it, please show me a sign". All week I have been looking. Nothing. I have been waiting somewhat patiently. Nothing. I asked again, nicely. Nothing. Until last night.

The kids had a play at camp and I parked in the parking lot, unloaded the chairs and food, and went to set up. I made several trips back and forth to the car on the same path. As we were getting ready to leave I saw a hand painted sign by the end parking space. I had passed it 5 times and not seen it. It said, "Adrienne Parking Only" and there was a little star painted above her name. It was all the validation that I needed.

The Big Guy

2010-06-17T13:39:00.001-07:00

Warning! Warning! The following may contain material that is offensive to some folks. I may use the word "God"....

Seriously, the following contains my personal interpretations. There may be errors.

I was running errands the other day and was searching the radio for some decent music and I came across George Harrison singing "My Sweet Lord". I stopped on that station and actually sat still for a moment in the car just taking it in. When the song was over I realized that the station I was listening to this ancient Sanskrit chant on was the local Catholic station. The funny thing about this is that the Church has frowned upon Yoga as "they" feel that folks are substituting Yoga for traditional religion.

I was born and raised to be a good Catholic girl. I went to Catholic high school and even wore the dreaded plaid skirt for four years. But I was a huge doubting Thomas. When my husband and I met in college I was pretty bummed when he dragged me to church every Sunday. He, also raised Catholic, is devout, not the doubting Thomas kind. His devotion was what endeared him to my parents and I knew that it was so very important to him that I went willingly every week. We had to walk at least ten blocks to get to church from our dorm and on the way back we would stop at Brook's Pharmacy in Cranston, RI to pick up our afternoon snacks; the awful Bugles chip things. But I diverge...

So I have pretty much floundered around my religion all my life and had no spirituality at all until Yoga. When I started to practice nearly 8 years ago, I started to have these "interactions", if you will, with Christ during asana. I really couldn't explain it at the time and I kept it to myself. I thought that if I shared these experiences with anyone they would have me committed. But it was these interactions with the Christ energy that opened the door to my spirituality. Once that door was opened, I found that I was starving and I had to feed that hunger or die.

I started reading, voraciously, anything that seemed to satisfy any part of that hunger. Since Yoga was the path that this incarnation chose to take to move towards the Light, it was the Yoga books and scriptures that I read. When I read Paramahansa Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi" I finally understood why Christ was communing with me during practice. Paramahansa explains so eloquently in his teachings that Christ is considered by many to be an incarnation of Krishna. My own guru has often explained many of the connections between Christ and Krishna. Just the CHR/KR sound of the name is no coincidence. Both are considered the love light energy and many Hindus revere Christ for this. Once I started to open my body, there suddenly was room for His love and light to enter. He must have been trying to get in for a long time and He jumped when the opportunity to meet me presented itself!

It was about the time when I finished "Autobiography" that I started to notice that when we went to church, things that I have heard a priest say for my entire life, I started to hear differently. All of a sudden I was understanding my mass. I had a deeper appreciation for my own religion. I was able to embrace Christ as real. Real. Somehow, suddenly, through Yoga, I believed.

Christ is what Yogis consider a Siddhic Yogi; one who obtains great powers. Walking on water, bi-location, multiplying food, etc. These feats are frequently spoken of in Yogic scriptures. These feats are what made Christ both man and deity. These feats, as taught in The Bhagavad Gita, are accessible to all humans. This is one of the things about Hinduism that I adore. God is not unobtainable. God is in you, you just have to know where to look. Yoga is the science that teaches you how to find the divine light within you.

It doesn't matter what you call IT. God. Love. Shiva. David. Universe. Krishna. Parvati. Ganesha. Energy. Light. The Big Guy. It's all the same, people! This is where I have come in my quest to merge into the Light. You don't need to name it. You just have to have an open heart and an open mind. Once that door is open, the light floods in.

In the past 8 years I have been blessed to be in the presence of an enlightened being, my beloved guru, Shri Anandi Ma, many times. I have seen Her enter into samadhi. I have had Her hands on my head blessing me and removing the karma of all my past lives. I have drunk the sacred milk that has bathed Her feet. And I believe. I believe that God exists. Christ said, "Blessed are those who believe but have not seen." I guess it took me a little longer and He must have known that I needed a little bit more prodding and so he sent me to Her. Sometimes I wonder if all the events of my life led me to my teacher....

I still flounder when it comes to the teachings of man disguised as the word of God. I think, in this day and age, many of us do. I also think it is wise to have a healthy dose of skepticism and modern day Christ would probably agree. And the more I know, the less I understand. It's just that I have found a place of peace in my life where I finally have some blind faith in a power greater than myself. (And it doesn't hurt that I am blessed to have the guidance of a living saint.)

We are raising our children Catholic, of course. We are regulars at our church and I am proud of that. I am grateful that I have an understanding of Christ that allows me to introduce Him to my children in a different way than I met Him. I want them to see God in everyone and every culture. When they were little, about 4 and 5 years old, we drove past the Buddhist temple every day to work. One morning one of them asked me, as we passed that statue of Buddha, "Who is that?" And I replied, "That's a friend of Jesus." It was a spontaneous answer and I was amazed at my own insight as a mother. And that is how we have approached religion since. Just recognizing that Christ is in everyone and that everyone has the ability to become Christ-like is all I need to know to raise them in faith.

There is a recording of Swami Kripalu giving a lecture where he emphatically states this phrase: "God IS! God IS!". You can hear the ferocity of his belief. The force of the prana behind his voice crying this out was overwhelmingly powerful. It has never left me since first hearing it several years ago.

I am continually blessed with experiences in the presence of my Guru and teachings of other enlightened masters. I know that the blessing of my Guru is a gift directly from God and I am grateful. I also know that my path may not be your path and that is okay. I am amused by the Catholic church's view on Yoga but I still go to mass. So although I could probably get excommunicated for believing that my beloved teacher is a Goddess walking the earth, the fact remains that I believe. And isn't that the only thing that truly matters?

The Angry Yogini

2010-06-08T16:30:00.000-07:00

I'm pissed off.

It's true. I'm angry most of the time. Only those in my most inner most circle know this about me because they're usually the ones bearing the brunt of it. I've known this about myself since my teen years. I thought I'd grow out of it but I didn't. Most folks would never guess this about me for one reason; my smiling mask.

I'm angry about everything, from things I've done to things that God has done. I'm pissed that it took us seven years to conceive. I'm angry that my father died when I was 26 years old. I'm ripped that people promise me things and cannot follow through. It gets my blood boiling that people think that they can hurt you and twenty years later emerge back into your life and expect that you forgot how you weren't good enough in the first place. And it's not just the big stuff that pisses me off. I'm upset over how my husband took the garbage out last night. I'm mad that the dog just dug another hole in the yard. I'm furious that the wind ripped the canopy to my swing. I can go from grouchy to down right pissed off at the drop of a hat. And watch out when I get past that point of no return. It may take me hours to regroup myself.

Once when I was a pre-teen I was having an issue with a kid in school and was confiding in my beloved "Gram". She told me that I was going to be one of those people who can't think of a rebuttal when someone slights you until after that person has walked away. She was right. When you come from a home where your Polish father never got angry unless it mattered and your Sicilian mother was yelling all the time, you are pretty much guaranteed to not know when anger is appropriate.

Once, at my first job out of college, two of my employees were fighting. Brawling right on the floor. They were both large grown men and I was a little girl in heels and I had to break them up. I got so angry I had hives on my chest for 3 days.

After that hive incident I realized that I had a problem but I had no tools or guidance on how to fix it. So I basically wandered through my early adult life trying to figure out how to not be angry. Then I was diagnosed with psoriasis; a non-contagious skin condition that covers most of your body. Any holistic health practitioner will tell you that psoriasis is your body's way of protecting you from getting hurt. It is literally a shield that your body puts up to block out emotional pain. I couldn't figure out how to handle my completely human anger so I stuffed it in and my body responded, brilliantly.

I have floundered in this space of being angry, not understanding anger, and not knowing how to handle it for the better part of my adult life. After I began Yoga, I think I just figured that somehow the anger would dissolve in the practice, when actually the Yoga has shown a spotlight on it. I mentioned this to a healer I had been working with a few years ago and she told me that anger is a result of poor boundaries. This was like a kick in my gut. You mean I am causing my own anger?!? What the frick? This made me even angrier! That comment, even though it pissed me off, made me stop and reflect: Do I really have such weak boundaries that I allow people to do things that cause me such anger?

The answer is yes.

I'm a people pleaser. I just want to make you happy. I want you to like me. I don't want to make any decision that will hurt or upset you. I'll give you everything and leave nothing for myself. It's just how I am. It's a defect in my character. Now that I am a mother, often I am forced to make decisions that will upset someone. (Cue the big anger.) But I am working on it. I acknowledge this about myself and that truly is the hardest part of the battle. How do you maintain a loving, giving nature and yet be able to set strong enough boundaries with people you love and with people you work with so that everyone is happy??

I intellectually know you can't please everyone but my dosha (Ayurvedic constitution) wants to do something else. It has only been in the last couple of years where I've begun to take care of myself and worked on not feeling guilty about it. But there is still the boundary issue. I'm working on that too. I promised myself that when my husband gets home I will "calmly" ask him to not take the trash out like he did last night (piled on top of my Yoga gear in the back of my car). We'll see how it goes.... Part of the issue is my Sicilian temperament compiled with my kaphic dosha. Sicilians are not typically known for their level headed-ness....ahem. And kaphas tend to be people pleasers. Kaphas are made up of the earth and water elements. When you put earth and water together you get mud. When you step in mud, you go squish. There's the boundary issue. Are you following me here?

So the bottom line is this: I know I have this challenge in my life. I'm working on it. And that's the best most of us can do. We all have our challenges. I'm sure I'm not alone with the anger challenge. I'm going to work on not beating myself up after one of of my "past the point of no return" episodes. I'm going to reflect back after one of these episodes to see what caused the issue to start with. I'm going to work on taking care of me, too. I'm working on letting go of guilt when I do take care of myself. I'm going to work on setting boundaries with people that give me room. I'm going to work on letting go of guilt when I make a decision that is in my best interest and not yours. And I'm working on learning to feel good when I'm not angry.....

Damn! I've got a lot of work to do....but I'm still smiling!

Parrothead Yoga

2010-06-08T10:59:00.001-07:00

I have seen Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band nearly 30 times.

And I'm sure if you are familiar with Jimmy (sometimes referred to hereafter as Bubba) and Yoga, this probably seems like a huge paradox. In a way it is. Bubba's music and the Parrothead lifestyle is about one thing and one thing only; Escapism. Yoga is about being present. Herein lies the paradox. But somehow, in my completely insane life, I have managed to blend the two passions of my life. Rather successfully, I might add.

I have been a "Parrothead" way longer than I have been a Yogini. It began on a dark and dreary time of my life when I was working at my first job out of college. I hated my job. I hated who I worked with. I hated where I lived. I had no friends. I had no social life. I was working 14 hours a day sometimes 6 days a week. It sucked. The place where I worked was right next to a mall and one day after a particularly long workday I went over to the mall to decompress. I was perusing the record store (ahhhh, remember those??) and found Bubba's cd box set; Boats, Beaches, Bars, and Ballads. I don't remember how much it was but I remember that I thought it was a lot of money; a luxury purchase at the time. I only knew two of Bubba's songs, Come Monday and Margaritaville, so I don't know why but I felt compelled to buy it.

I went home with that box set and quickly fell in love. The set came with a booklet; kind of a Parrothead handbook of sorts. The photos of concerts and these crazy people dressed in all kinds of get-ups transfixed me. So when my eldest sister asked if I wanted to go to Florida with her on my first vacation away from this dreaded job, which would include a side trip to Key West, I jumped at the chance! (at this point in time, the only "Margaritaville" restaurant was in Key West. A long, long time ago...)

So there we were, two gals traveling to Key West. I was completely exhausted, we had escaped a massive flood in transit, and my sister had never been to a bar! What a pair! I can only remember being in awe of a place so calm, so relaxed, and so happy. The whole place was such a contrast to how stressed out I was at the time. This little island was where I first exhaled. It was the first time my sister ever went to bar; Hog's Breath. After all, hog's breath is better than no breath at all, right? And it was our first taste of the real Margaritaville, which exists only in your mind.

The following September we had the chance to see Bubba and his big band live at Greatwoods in Mansfield, Mass. We got the tickets and headed north. Just the two of us gals, again. Driving in her mini-van, this time dodging obstacles in the road, not rain. We barely made it but we got there unscathed. When we got out of the car we thought we were on another planet. People were dressed in costumes and eating food out of the backs of their cars. Every car was decorated from bumper to bumper. But in the middle of this creative explosion of life we felt like we were home. And, as they say, the rest is history.

Since that first concert, I have seen Jimmy at Greatwoods many times. I've seen him at The Today Show summer concert series, The Meadows in Hartford, Fenway Park (yes, Michael, you read that right), Gillette Stadium, Continental Arena, Madison Square Garden, the stadium where the Phillie's play and Bristow, VA. When I was in Yoga school, I happened to have the day off when Jimmy was playing for the first time at Mohegan Sun. My husband sent a limo to pick me up at Kripalu to drive me all the way to Uncasville. When we drove up Jimmy was landing in his helicopter on the casino landing pad. The driver saw all of these people dressed in costumes and blurted out, "What the hell is this?!?" I jumped out of the car into the open arms of my husband to the hoots and hollers of fellow revellers yelling at me, "That's the way to arrive, babe!"

Each show is about the same. We know all the songs by heart. We always wish he'd play something more obscure. We plan for months about what food and drink we want for our tailgate. We laugh at the "Buffett Virgins", the folks who don't know all the words by heart and end up drinking waaaayyyy too much. Both of my children have been and have even made it onto the 'big screen'. I've made it up there a time or two myself, but not for the reason that most girls make it up there, ahem....

There's one point in every show where Bubba plays 'Fins' and the entire crowd of 55,000+ do a Parrothead dance with their arms over their heads (like a fin) and it becomes a feeding frenzy. A few years ago, Jimmy started calling this point in the show "Parrothead Yoga". (Of course, this always gets me screaming wildly. Come to find out Jimmy's niece is a Yoga teacher, go figure.) But this is the point in every concert where the experience actually turns into Yoga for me. When the crowd is doing Fins, everywhere you look everyone looks the same. The first time I experienced this at that first show at Greatwoods in '92 was the first time I felt oneness with other humans on that capacity. You can actually see that we are all the same, no matter what costume we are wearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So if you are looking to escape for just one night or if you are looking to create a life of peace and being present, know that that place of peace known as Margaritaville lies within you. You have the ability to access it whenever you want by just breathing into the Oneness. Sometimes, though, it helps to put on an ugly Hawaiian shirt with your arms over your head and do some Yoga.

Greatwoods June 2009

Show #?

Where the Magic Happens.

2010-05-28T13:58:00.000-07:00

Yoga. You either love it or hate it.

One of my newer students came up to me at the end of class the other night and thanked me for holding postures. I smiled to myself as she walked away.

There is a growing trend in America to speed up Yoga, as only we Americans love to do. Faster means better, right? Faster cars. Faster Internet. Faster stove tops, even. And don't get me wrong, there are many times in my own practice when I love to have a faster practice. But, when it comes to Yoga, faster does not necessarily mean better.

I teach Kripalu Yoga; the Yoga of compassion. The Sanskrit translation of "kripalu" actually is "compassion". We were taught in Yoga school to take integrative pauses between postures so that the prana (life-force energy) has time to be absorbed into the body. This pause is an act of self-compassion. It gives your body time to re-energize. The prana is created through the movement or postures (asanas) and the breathing circulates the prana. When you take a pause to just breathe between postures, the healing energy that the asana generated has time to work.

Each asana has its own prana and energetic story. Even the name of the posture has a specific vibration that contributes to the overall prana of the asana. Take "Utkatasana" for example. We Americans love to translate this as "Chair Pose" when the actual Sanskrit translation of "utkata" is large, immense, and spacious. Feel the energetic difference between "chair" and "spacious". So when you are holding utkatasana for more than one breath, which is a challenge for many of us, it can be more liberating to think about being immense and spacious than to think about sitting in a chair.

Most of the advanced yogis and yoginis I know hold postures for long lengths of time. When was the last time you were in a class where you held utkatasana for 5 minutes? 10 minutes? If you are a regular practitioner your muscles are probably having a visceral response just by reading this. You can probably feel your quads burning.

It is in this holding where the magic happens. It is in the holding when we feel the resistance. This is where we get to explore why and what we are resisting. Maybe, just maybe, then, in this holding we can find the answers. It is in this energetic story of the asana that occurs during the holding where we can experience both a response in the annamaya kosha (physical sheath) as well in the manomaya kosha (mind sheath). With a deep exploration of the responses that are experienced in the holding, one can gain greater growth, both physically and spiritually.

Here's where I think a practice that involves only fast movement fails. In my limited experience of Yoga, I have found that folks who tell me they "hate" Yoga say the reason they hate it is because it's "too slow". What they really hate is the self-exploration that the holding brings. In the continuous fast movement being marketed as "Yoga" these days, you can easily avoid the self-exploration for which the science of traditional Yoga was developed. And I'm sure you get quite a bit of physical benefit from a non-holding practice but my ego says, "Why do a practice where there's no spiritual growth?" But, hey, that's my ego talking....

It is in the holding when we are allowed to feel the sweet spot of release. This is what addicted me to this practice. The first time I felt my body release into a posture was the first time I felt bliss. Bliss is like a divine drug. This heavenly high expands consciousness, the ultimate goal, and is what keeps most of us on the path towards enlightenment.

So, if you are a Yoga hater, explore what it is that you hate. And if you are a Yoga lover and happen to love a vigorous practice know that a slow practice can be just as challenging; try holding chair for 10 minutes.... And whether you love it or hate it, remember that the answers lie in the resistance.

They Keep Ringing the Bell

2010-05-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Nelson? Here. Redente? Here. Comperchio? Here. Roman? Here. Hendrix?.....Hendrix?.....Hendrix?.....

A Yoga teacher friend of mine once told me that the Yoga class is not for the evolution of the student, but really for the evolution of the teacher. She couldn't be more right. The whole process of the class continuously spurs me towards a higher vibration. This could not happen, however, if the students never showed up.

One of my secret little pleasures of leading Yoga is taking roll call in my head. Before I get to class I frequently wonder who will show up. And many times is like a game of BINGO. It might be an odd assortment of bodies and personalities that don't make any sense at all. Sometimes, it's just the four corners but it works. Sometimes I get that perfect straight line that just goes together. But the big winner is when I fill the board with every shape, personality and experience level.

I will celebrate my 5 year anniversary of being a bonafide, certified Yoga teacher on July 1st. Being a Yoga instructor, as with any career, there are ups and downs. Sometimes I'm so on top of my game that I am amazed what comes out. But for the most part, I wonder why the students keep coming back.

(And if you are not one of my students and you are reading this here's how it works:
I have a little control, but not much, over what comes out of my mouth during class. I start each and every class in prayer to my Guru, first and foremost, and then I'll call in other ascended masters if I need more help. Then I'll start class "under my own steam", so to speak, but at some point, an intuitive higher guidance takes over and "we" (the higher vibration and this incarnation called Me) lead the class, kind of, hand in hand. I know it sounds strange and it is extremely hard to explain, but that's the best I can do....)

So, during times of doubt, when I'm wondering why they (my students) keep coming, is when I receive my greatest lessons. It is usually during these times when one or more of the following is occurring:
A) I'm not in tune with my body.
B) I'm cranky/tired/_______ (fill in the blank).
C) I haven't been practicing myself.

It is usually during A, B, and/or C when I have that " I don't want to be doing this" feeling. I'll force myself to go to class and once we get started breathing together as a community, that feeling goes away. By the end of class, I will feel 100% better than when I got there and it is a constant reminder of why I do this. And although my regular students probably know this about me, they still keep coming to class.

Some of my students have been coming to my class for all 5 years and some have only been coming for 5 months. The ones who have been coming for 5 years are the biggest challenge. Some days I say to myself, "I've got nothing left. I've taught them everything I know. They could lead this class better than I can."...... But they keep coming.

This has forced some deep introspection on my part. I have had to find confidence where I frequently think I have none. I have had to dig deeper into my own practice to see if I actually do have something left to give. And I have to pat myself on the back when I find something that I had forgotten I knew even when I have taught that posture or breath a million times.

I'm not looking for compliments either. I'm just exploring that part in each of us where confidence and belief in ourselves resides. So often we prefer to bash ourselves. I see it in students all the time. So I have to lead by example, right? Even in Yoga. Yikes.

I share a lot about my life with my students. I'm just a student, too. This is really important to me. I want them to know my struggles and how I apply my Yoga to live my life fuller and with more vigor. I think they appreciate that I try to make Yoga accessible to modern life.

I know a lot about many of my students. They, at some point, will divulge things about themselves. It usually starts with their physical issues and then, just as the physical is connected with everything else, the rest of their lives start to take shape. Some of them I know nothing about and embarrassingly admit I can barely remember their names. But they keep coming. Some of them don't want to be known and that is ok. They keep coming too.

There are a handful who are actually my teachers. They teach me about life, call me out when I'm bullshitting and love me when I'm down. There are even a couple who are like guardian angels who magically showed up for no reason at all and have protected me when I needed them. These few I stand in awe of and they know who they are.

I'm a huge Seinfeld fan. I've seen every episode probably 10 times. Geek, I know... There's this one episode when Jerry's hipster dufus neighbor, Kramer, ends up driving a public transit bus as he was being accosted by a robber. As Kramer is relating this adventure to Jerry he reveals that he kept making all of the bus stops to let off the passengers. Jerry, in his disbelief, asks Kramer, "You kept making the stops??!!??" And Kramer replies, "They kept ringing the bell!"

And that's how I feel. I'll keep making the stops as long as they keep ringing the bell.

Leave it to Shiva

2010-05-04T08:17:00.000-07:00

I'm a fat Yogini. Zaftig. Rubenesque. Pleasantly plump. Goddess-like.

In the "normal" world, I'm actually below average. On my best days I'm a large size 8 and on my worst, a small size 12. The average American woman is a 14, or so the media tells us. But in the world of Yoga, I'm huge. I look like one of Ruben's models for 'Venus at the Mirror' or Boticelli's goddess emerging from the clam shell.

My struggle with weight has never been a secret to my Yoga students. (see "How It All Began") In fact, many times I am the largest person in the room and I'm the teacher. Most of my students can relate to my weight struggle as well as all of the body image emotional baggage that comes with it. So I think one of the reasons they come to my class is because I understand them and they can relate to me.

Being comfortable with my weight is kind of new. I lost a great deal of weight 7 years ago after beginning Yoga and receiving Shaktipat from my teacher. And even though I lost a lot of weight, I'm still round. It took me a while to gain an appreciation for my new body. Once I did, I started buying new clothes that fit my new shape and had to get rid of my fat clothes. I vividly remember calling my best friend from college crying hysterically because I needed her to talk me into actually taking the Goodwill bag out of the trunk that was full of fat clothes and putting it into the bin. The fear of losing part of myself by getting rid of those clothes scared the hell out of me. She said to me, "When my son is a teenager and his friends come over I want them to say, 'That's your mom?!'" That one statement was my impetus to throw the bag in the bin.

For the most part I have maintained my current weight and Yoga has shaped and toned what I've got. I'm in love with my shape and embrace it, most days. If there wasn't a constant barrage from the media telling me that I'm fat, then I'd probably love it all the time. But on days when I'm feeling good, I'm amazing. Humbly amazing, but amazing none-the-less.

I've learned to love my womanly curves. Women were created to be round and soft. We give life and we nurture life. We couldn't do that without these curves. Why not embrace this in myself? I mean, I'm healthy and consider myself fit. It's really not my business what other people think about how I look. It is my business to be my personal best and that includes taking care of what I have and loving what I have.

There is a Yoga center where I take class when we go on our regular family vacation. This little place is run by a woman that I completely admire and consider a role model. She is a beautiful, full-figured Yogini. She is successful, confident and strong. I learn something everytime I take her class. Often, when I have been in moments of self doubt, my husband will refer to this teacher to shake me out of my slump. And it works. Everytime.

A few years ago when we were on vacation, I went to her Level 2 class. This is a pretty vigorous class and you had better know what you're doing. I was sore and loving it! A couple of days later I went again. This particular morning, she was running a few minutes late. A bunch of us were waiting outside in the beautiful summer morning sun. There were a few women in front of me. I had totally judged them and was wrong as usual. They were thin and wearing $100 Yoga pants. I figured they were experienced New York Yoginis. When the teacher showed up, one of these women said to the others, "I thought Yoga was supposed to make you skinny." Are you f$%#ing kidding me? I totally had to bite my tongue.

We all went in and set up, and I was steaming mad. But I was trying to put this in a Yogic perspective, so I sat down and let Shiva do His work. And the thing about Shiva is that He sometimes takes years or lifetimes to transform you and sometimes He likes an instant karmic response. This was one of those times. hehehe...

Before class started, the teacher asked if everyone knew this was a Level 2 class and was there anyone who had never practiced before. These three women raised their hands. I had a nice little chuckle to myself and we proceeded to have a vigorous Level 2 practice. Oh, Sweet Shiva!

After class was over, I drove past these three women talking in the parking lot. Oh boy, was I tempted to say something, but I bit my tongue again. Let Shiva do this job for me. I'm quite sure they were sore for the next few days and I'm sure that everytime their muscles burned they were reminded that fit does not equal skinny. I've wondered about these strangers from time to time. Wondering if that experience had an impact on how they perceive size? Again, leave it to Shiva.

Your body is your "Soul Vehicle". It's job is to drive your soul around this lifetime. You may not have had your pick on the lot but this is the vehicle Shiva gave you. Take care of it and love it.

And if you're curvy, learn to embrace it. If you have a round woman in your life, appreciate her. You never know the strength that lies beneath those curves. And, for crying out loud, STOP JUDGING! Just leave it to Shiva.

Call me Muffin

2010-04-30T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have had a lot of nicknames and, yes, Muffin is one of them.

In Hinduism, all the energies of the Universe are given different names. And so if God is everything and all energies are contained therein, He (and She) are named accordingly. Then each deity has many names, or nicknames. Each has at least 108 names!

Ganesha = Ganapataye, Devadeva, Amit, etc...

Shiva = Shankara, Shambo, Mahadeva, etc...

Krishna = Govinda, Gopala, Vasudev, etc...

Durga = Kali, Brahmacharini, Mangalya, etc...

And on and on and on....

Sanskrit is the language in which the Yogic scriptures were written and Sanskrit is a science of sound. We know through Western science that sounds are vibrations of energy. We know through the science of Sanskrit that each of these vibrations stimulates a different part of the brain. Most of this science has been lost through the years but modern Yogis are rediscovering it and finding that it correlates to what we know in modern science.

Hindu parents frequently give their children one of the names of a deity so that this vibration is repeated continuously in their home. Similarly other cultures do the same. Jews often give their children biblical names and in Catholicism, we are encouraged to give at least the middle name after a Saint.

My parents named me Kristina Marie, after Christ and Mary. This always went over like a ton of bricks in school when we had to do those projects on "How You Got Your Name".... And then at confirmation I had to choose my own name, after a saint. Bernadette. Then I got married and had to take on that name. In between, I've had a lot of nicknames. My family calls me Krissy; don't laugh. In high school my best friends named me Keebs, after the Keebler elf. Again, don't laugh. It's just that I used to wear the coolest purple boots with my school uniform, the only way to express my individuality.

When I got to college, I didn't want to be called Krissy, so everyone called me Kris. But in college I also ended up with nicknames. Freshman year I had an Indian professor who insisted on calling me Krishna. I always tried to correct him and by the end of the trimester the entire class would yell at him during roll call. I assumed he called me that because I thought he saw an 'h' where there the 't' meets the 'i' in Kristina. (Little did I know then how Krishna would play a huge role in my life and how closely connected Christ and Krishna were. There's a part of me who wonders if Professor Sharoodi knew something I didn't....)

Then senior year of college, my two friends and I had to deliver 10,000 muffins to a banquet, don't ask why. So there we were, 3 girls in tuxedos, loading muffins onto a yellow box truck. And so 'Muffin' stuck.

After college, I thought that even 'Kris' was too juvenile so I had everyone call me Kristina. And that hung on for a long time. Until Yoga found me.

Many Yogis and Yoginis have Sanskrit, spiritual names. I thought it would be cool to have one too. So one day when I was attending a program with my teacher, an enlightened soul, I asked Her for a spiritual name.

She told her husband to give me a name. He wrote it down, along with it's translation, on a piece of paper and handed it to me. It said, "Kumud. Pure like a lotus". Really? Kumud? Ok, they know best. So I sat down pondering 'Kumud'. While I was trying to wrap my head around this, my teacher called me back up. She had another disciple write down another name, again along with the translation. This paper said, "Aruna. Ray of sun". Ok, now that's more like it.

This made me laugh. Did She realize that I wasn't as 'pure' as they had originally thought and She wanted me to know it?? A friend once replied after hearing this story that maybe She wanted me to realize that I wasn't who I thought I was. Much more of a Yogic thought process.

When I researched 'Aruna' I found out that it is sometimes translated as the first rays that chariot the sun over the horizon. In Yoga when you get a spiritual name you kind of grow into it. That's the purpose of a spiritual name; to aspire to the heavens and grow into your full potential.
I never had people call me Aruna. It's been a few years since receiving that name and I feel like it's only been recently that I understand the full meaning and how it relates to me. I think that part of my purpose here is to help others find the light in themselves, kind of like a charioteer of light.

So I may never know what's in a name, but I do know that I hope to live up to the names that both my parents and my teacher have given me.

In the mean time, I'll still answer to 'Muffin'.....

Old Postcards

2010-04-27T15:33:00.000-07:00

An old friend found me on facebook recently.

This is a technological feat that never ceases to amaze me, especially given my Polish maiden name. I haven't heard from this friend in well over 20 years. A whole lifetime.

We had dated when I was in high school; a private, all girl, Catholic institution. I was lost in high school and my art teacher recognized this. She had basically forced me to attend a local theater group to learn backstage skills, hoping I might find a place where I belonged.

I was scared out of my wits that first day. I walked in, completely clad in my plaid uniform, only to find the most diverse group of teens. Truly a real life "Breakfast Club". They were all smarter than I was, all knew each other, and all had previous backstage experience. And I was supposed to fit in there?

The group was led by a student from nearby Wesleyan University. He completely intimidated me. He was a few years older and worldly. He was dynamic. He was comfortable in his skin. He dressed so eclectic. And he expected me to fit in. Just like that. He never treated me any different that the other, cooler kids. So I did belong to this group of misfits and during that school year we produced a couple of plays at Wesleyan's '92 Theater.

I don't remember much about those plays. What I do remember is how the '92 Theater smelled. I can be right in that space by just closing my eyes. It was an old, rambling building with a sprawling basement where we built sets. You could get to the Wesleyan tunnels from the basement. It had an old fashion lighting booth where I seemed to spend most of my time. It's where I learned basic theater skills. And it's where I learned not to "build a boat in the basement", an odd lesson that has stuck with me to this day.

At the end of the year, when all of the plays were done, our group had a party in the '92. We lit up the stage, kept the audience dark and played the music loud. We weren't drinking. It was an honest celebration. I can still see us all dancing on the stage. At some point during the evening I found myself in that light booth with our fearless leader. It was innocent. Just a look that passed between us as we tried to say goodbye. But that look changed everything.

And so a young romance developed. No one in our misfit group knew because the theater season was over. We were an unlikely, taboo couple at best. He was of age; I wasn't. He was in charge; I was his charge. I was white; he wasn't. It probably was only a few months of a relationship, but in our youth, that was forever.

He moved back to New York City at the end of the school year but we continued to see each other whenever we could. One of the things I remember most about this time was waiting anxiously for the mail. He would send me postcards from New York. They were unique, quirky and charming. Almost all were black and white. Vintage cityscapes and old matinee stars. I tacked them to a wall in my bedroom. I would imagine him standing at a newspaper stand trying to decide which one to send me next. There was only a short note on the back of each, but that's all I needed.

The last time I saw him was at South Street Seaport in New York walking away from me in a blue seersucker suit on a hot summer day. I was wearing a a black and white dress.

Sometime at the end of the summer he moved to the other side of the world. I was crushed but there was nothing I could do. So I went from receiving my beloved postcards every few days to receiving mail maybe every couple of months to receiving no mail at all. And that's how it ended. He went on with his life as did I.

I've thought about him on occasion and, truth be told, have even tried to find him on facebook once. When I saw his "friend request" I was shocked. I had to look twice at the name but it was him. All the memories flooded to the surface.

After I accepted his friend request he sent me a message. It was short and heartfelt, just like the postcards. He apologized for hurting me all those years ago. I wasn't expecting that. I was just happy that he had found me.

This got me thinking. Has he been carrying that around with him all of these years? The last thing I ever want to be to anyone is a burden. This recent connection has made me look at my life and realize what an impact this youthful romance had on the relationships that followed. The apology has made me wonder who do I need to apologize to for my past behaviors or choices? Is it ever too late to apologize? And how do you accept an apology for a pain that no longer hurts?

I think it's only a rare few of us who get the chance to apologize. It's an even rarer few that get the chance to forgive. Both of these are acts of Grace and take courage. I'm sure in my youthful, romantic ignorance I hurt him as well. For that, I also apologize. My high school romance has a beautiful family of his own now and lives back in New York. And we are friends once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today I went to one of my favorite bargain shops and there they were. The postcards. Thousands of them. Just the sight of them took my breath away like they had in my childhood mailbox over two decades ago. The sign said they had been recently found in a store room in New York City after 20 years of storage. 10 cards for a dollar.

So there we were, the postcards and I, lost and found in the same week.

Leaving my Body

2010-04-26T12:45:00.000-07:00

After George Harrison died I had read that he was completely ready to leave his body and be with his Lord. Since then, every time I listen to him singing "My Sweet Lord" I can hear that longing in his voice.

I received Shaktipat initiation into my Yoga lineage nearly seven years ago, and since then I have had a growing urge to merge with the Source. And since Yoga's roots come from Hinduism, we hold a belief that there is a cycle of life and death until the soul completes its earthly, karmic work. For the last several years I have been feeling like I am completely done with my work here. It's kind of like "Senior Stretch"; that itching seniors in high school get right before graduation. Most days I feel like I'm done learning and have absolutely no inclination to come back and do this whole human thing ever, ever again.

In fact, my best friend Tink texted me last week that she was excited to have found a tv show about the Mayan 2012 prophecy. (She feels like graduating from human school, too.) As she was watching she was texting me updates on what she was learning. When the show started to explain that the Mayans felt like 2012 was a "time of transformation" thereby equalling the end of current times and not neccessarily THE end of time, she was disappointed. I texted her back, "Crap. This can't be good for either of us." Hey, you gotta have a sense of humor... It's not like we want to check out today; it's just so tiring being human some days.

I had lunch with a friend of mine a couple of years ago and we were talking about death. When I told him that I wasn't afraid of death, it was dying that scared the hell outta me, I basically had to pick his jaw up off of the floor. I think most people are scared shitless of death. For me it's the pain and suffering that scares me.

My mother tells me that my father prayed for only one thing for himself his entire life and that was for a quick and painless death. God granted him this blessing. My father was my first spiritual teacher so to know this about him has given me peace and I, too, pray for the same thing.

I know all of this probably sounds so morbid but my recent preoccupation with moving on actually keeps me grounded, no pun intended. It keeps me clear on what I am doing on this planet each day and helps me to try to make the most of it. Making each moment count is probably the most important lesson of Yoga. Pondering coming back in another body helps me to make better choices, accept and learn from life lessons, and live in integrity and light. I am serious about not wanting to come back in another body so in order to avoid that I want to do it right this time.

Twice during my advanced Yoga teacher training I had out of body experiences. These were the most amazing experiences I have ever had. The second of the two was so profound that I felt that I was actually done and leaving. I was not scared. I had complete divine assurance that my children would be okay if I did leave my body. The thing that scared me was the fact that I wasn't scared. That little thread of consciousness was the only thing tying my pranamayakosha (energy body) to my manomayakosha (physical body). I was in the sweetest state of bliss. That sweetness still lingers in my mouth and it is that nectar that I want to drink for eternity.

So when my number is up, I pray that it is painless and with Grace. I pray that I have completed my tasks assigned to this body. And I pray that my soul is merged into the Universal Source of Light for all of eternity. As you move through your days, cherish your moments. As my favorite singer, Jimmy Buffett, sings "Whether 24 hours or 80 good years, it's not that long of a stay."

It's not you, it's me...

2010-04-23T08:41:00.000-07:00

The kids and I were having not such a great morning today.

I have been away on business this week and last night they wanted to stay in bed with me and watch tv. So this morning none of us wanted to get up. We were all dragging our behinds and we were late. Later than usual. And I was using my, "Let's get a move-on!!" voice. Never a pretty sight at 8am.

I didn't go through backpacks last night due to honest laziness. So this morning in our haste and rush I was rifling through backpacks and found a sealed letter on the school's good stationary. I had totally assumed it was about Elijah's moving up ceremony and that was on my mind when I opened this letter.

It was only a couple of sentences but it stopped me in my tracks. And it ended our bad morning.

The letter said that one of my children's classmates had lost their mother to a prolonged illness last weekend and that the children were going to learn about it in school today.

The first thing this news did was send me into sympathy for this child who had just lost her mother. My heart broke for her and although I don't know the family that well, the mother in me wished I could hold this child.

The second thing this news did was send me into gratitude that we were still able to have our bad mornings together. After I told the kids about this and we discussed it the best we could in the moment, the three of us drove to school, late but in gratitude that we were together.

After I dropped them off and kissed them too much I headed to my class. In the car I started to reflect on this. I prayed for this woman that I barely knew. I had seen her about six weeks ago or so in the grocery store and had tried to start up a conversation. All the times I have been in her company was a direct result of our kids' activities, except this time at the grocery store. It was an akward exchange of pleasantries at best as I tried to say something more than hello.

When she walked away I started that whole thing in my head; Why doesn't she like me? What did I say wrong? She must be prejuidiced against my multi-racial kids... And those thoughts kept going. I mean this was fertile ground for my pea-brain and ego. This chicken-sized brain loves to make up these kind of stories. I mean, it's gotta be all about me, right?

So this morning when I'd heard the news of her passing, I realized that she was carrying a burden that I'd had no idea of. What she was going through was way more important than my trivial egocentric thoughts and my grocery store pleasantries. And here I was, a Yoga teacher, and I couldn't hold space for her until today.

There's a saying that goes something like, "Be nice to everyone you meet for you do not know their fight". I think the meaning is deeper. Sometimes being "nice" isn't enough. So the next time you encounter someone and the meeting doesn't go the way your pea-brain wants, try to hold space for them. You do not know what their fight is and you may never know. It's probably not your business to know.

And remember, it's not all about you even when your brain and ego try to convince you of that. So after you read this mindless trivia please send light to a little girl who has lost her mother and to a mother who has gone on a better place.

Pixie Dust and Friendship

2010-04-17T18:16:00.000-07:00

I found a photo today of my best friend and I taken on the day we graduated from Yoga school nearly 5 years ago.

I came across it as I was cleaning off my desk at home that has laid unused since I opened my studio a couple of years ago. I closed my studio this past week and now that I don't have an office to go to, I am setting up one at home. I put this photo back to it's original spot on top of my desk right below my diploma from Yoga school.

I had made the decision to go to Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health to get my 200 hour Yoga teacher certification over a year before I actually intended on going. It took me that long to plan for a 28 day adventure away from home. My daughter was not quite 3 and my son was 4 when I went away. At the time we owned a home for twelve chronically mentally ill adults. So I basically had to arrange 24 hour care for two children, one husband and our twelve residents for a month. Now you know why it took me a year to plan!

When I made my arrangements to go to school I had decided on a semi-private room. It was for two women; the other would be a stranger unless I knew of someone who was also going at that same time and wanted to spend the extra money for a semi-private room. Like that was going to happen! I had decided to splurge on the semi-private room because I couldn't see myself in a dorm room with 21 other women at age 36.

So, as is typical with my type A personality, I arrived early to get settled and get the pick of beds. I had chosen my bed and put all my stuff away and was checking out the lay of the land on the 4th floor when as I was going back to my room I heard this lilting voice behind me, "Hey there. I think I'm your roommate". I glanced back to see this waif of a thing carrying an enormous wicker picnic basket. And the rest is history.

Enter Tink. Until this point in my life I have only had a handful of close friends. It has never been easy for me to make friends. I'm always worried if the other person is judging me as harshly as I judge myself. So it truly surprised me when after only a few days we were as thick as thieves. One of my first memories was of her birthday which was on our fourth or fifth day there. We gathered around her, all 35 or so of us, and chanted aum to her heart. It was an amazing display of love, full of energy. (Now that I know her better, I have to laugh to myself and wonder how she survived it!!)

We would stay up late at night and laugh til we cried. We would share the most bizarre stories of our lives. We would carry each other up the four flights of stairs to our room after 14 hours of movement with our muscles burning. We would be in our beds at nights in the middle of that hot summer sweating. When we would get up at 5 am each day in order to get to our morning sadhana and she would groggily say as we walked down the hall, "Another day at the coal mine".

That picnic basket was full of her nutritional needs. She warned me it would be like living with a squirrel with her digging in a bag of nuts in the middle of the night. I never minded because she tolerated me sleeping with a stuffed animal as well as my occasional snoring....

One night, on the summer solstice, we walked the labyrinth in the light of the full moon and thousands of lightening bugs. Leading our way was the sound of female African drummers practicing from the main building. It was one of the most powerful nights of my life.

During our time there I nicknamed her "Tink" because she was like a magical sprite; flitting here and there sprinkling her sparkling dust everywhere she went. She seemed to leave a trail of happiness behind her and I couldn't believe that I was the lucky one who got to bask in that light every day and night.

On the day we left we hugged and she looked in my eyes and said, "Lifelong friends".

In all honesty, I was doubtful if we would or could stay as close as we were that June in room 479. This "accidental" friendship forced me to examine how I practiced my friendships. (In Yoga everything is a practice) I was witnessing how she was a friend to me and how she made me want to be a better friend to her.

It's been almost 5 years since the reservation department at Kripalu hooked us up. I had planned my trip there for a year and she had booked hers the week before we got there. So how we ended up together must have been in the Big Plan. We are soul sisters to this day.

She is the person who I can tell absolutely everything to and not be judged. She is the woman who holds space for me. She is the one I can still laugh with til we cry. I never have to explain myself even when she pushes me to go deeper into who I truly am. She is the most amazing woman I have ever met. And she still makes me want to be a better friend every day.

Receiving my diploma and becoming a Yoga teacher that year was one of the proudest accomplishments of my life. Finding a best friend in the process was one of the greatest gifts of my life.

The Real Lesson

2010-04-14T07:32:00.000-07:00

I only have one more class to teach at my Yoga studio.

Closing it down has been an interesting observation of human behavior. I did all my grieving and mourning when I first made the decision to close down. It was a painful display of boo-hooing, let me tell you. But since the tears dried up and I have come to sweet peace over my decision, I have been observing other people's reactions and then, as a true yogini, my reactions to their reactions.

This has gone from watching students cry over it, "Where am I going to practice?" To the dumbfounded stares, "But it's such a beautiful space." To students bringing in disposable cameras they picked up on the way over to take photos of the space. Oh, and then there's the pout with the "it's too bad it didn't work out" comment attached to the pout.

That last one has been making me laugh. The first time someone said it I had no idea what they were talking about. I actually said, "What didn't work out?" From my point of view, everything worked out exactly as it was supposed to. I did the job that the universe called me there to do. Heal the space.

This was no small job either, by the way. This was a very large space in pain. The space and the students attending there needed healing. I didn't realize this was the job I was called there to do until well after I was already there. That's just the way God rolls with me.

Now, it's not the space or the students who need me. It's me who needs me. That is truly the basis for my decision to close. And although there is part of me who is still melancholy over this transition, I got the ultimate validation last evening during class.

In order to save money on babysitting I bring my children to the studio with me when I teach. They are forced to stay in my little office watching tv or playing their video games. Marley, my 7 year old daughter, likes to do arts and crafts with my office supplies and my 9 year old son, Elijah, usually can't take his eyes off of his DS. In the beginning, they would sneak out of the office to watch my class through the curtains. They would be making noise and I would be panicking, wondering if the students were angry about my kids ruining their peace. After a while, they got used to staying in the office and, truth be told, there have been very few times when they weren't perfect during class.

Last night when we got to the studio my daughter begged me for something she has never begged me for before. She asked to take my class. That old panic set in. What if she got ansty? What would the students think? Ugh. Well, I relented and actually told her yes. She set up her mat, blocks, blanket and pillow. Then she layed down on her mat and fell asleep, during class. When I began to lead class, she would reach out and hold my hand or stroke my arm, while sucking her thumb. So sweet and loving is this girl.

About 45 minutes into class, I heard Elijah sneaking down the long hall. He was trying to get my attention. I was back at that anxiety ridden fear place again. What is he doing? The students are going to get mad. Then I realised that he wanted to join class. He brought down his two blankets and sat down next to me. And he followed along. He was actually following my instruction, something that rarely happens when I am asking him to do chores. He was respectful of the practice, of me, and most importantly, of the students. And when he could, he too was reaching out to touch me.

And there we were, the three of us, facing my students and the students facing back. And it became clear to me. My students are such amazing gifts to me, my own teachers. I love them dearly whether they know it or not. But my children and being the best mother I can be is the sadhana that I was really called to earth for.

So as the three of us held hands and chanted aum, I was truly at peace.

Crap

2010-04-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

I'm closing my Yoga studio this week.

Yep. Been there, done that. It's really about purging. Getting rid of anchors in my life. I'm a well-known pack-rat so this is a challenge. I'm completely at peace about closing it down. It's the "cleaning up and throwing out" that causes me so much anxiety. Actually touching each piece of paper and thing that has accumulated there over the last two and a half years makes me want to jump off of a bridge. How do we collect so much crap?

When I first really started to practice Yoga, I chose the Yama of Aparigraha as my control of choice; non-hoarding. And let me tell you, as a self-proclaimed pack-rat, this was no easy feat. I was able to begin to really observe how much crap I had but I have never really mastered the art of letting go of the said crap.

And the thing that I'm learning is; I already have what I need. Oh sure, I preach this to my students all the time but I'm a terrible student. I like to learn things the hard way. I didn't even learn this lesson when my sister's home burned to the ground on my 24th birthday and they had nothing but the clothes on their backs. They were all safe but they had nothing.

And now here I am, praying everyday for abundance. I heard myself tell a friend last week, "We have so much crap that we can't even appreciate what we have." WOW! That profound statement actually came out of my mouth????

It dawned on me that to truly have abundance, you have to let go of what is not serving you. Again, WOW.... I mean, I'm a Yankee, born and bred in New England. It is drilled into our heads since we're knee-high to grasshoppers, "Waste not, want not." How come it takes so long for that to sink in?

So, this week I am clearing away crap. Crap I don't need. Crap that will serve someone else better than it is currently serving me. And after I'm done closing down my studio and getting rid of crap there, I will begin to clear out the crap in the rest of my life.

To be continued....

Here's how it all began....

2010-04-12T14:34:00.001-07:00

I’m 5’3” on a good hair day. When I began practicing Yoga over 7 years ago, I weighed about 200lbs and was a size twenty. I had just had two children in less than 18 months and was just looking for a gentle way to reclaim my body. Truth be told, I was really looking for some personal quiet time. I had no idea what yoga was. I had never even heard of it.

Yoga came to me as a complete accident of time and place. It was a 20 minute demo for my monthly Women’s Guild meeting at my church. I flat our refused to get on the floor for the demo but was humiliated by the room full of mostly 70-somethings telling me to get down with them. I followed their lead, got down on the floor and was changed forever. I decided to take the plunge and try an eight week session.

I can still recall vividly the terror I felt going to that first class. In fact, I was so scared that a few days before I actually did a dry run to the studio. And then the night of my first class came. I was uncomfortable in my clothes; not sure if I was wearing the “right” things. I was pretty sure that my ugly sweatpants were definitely not the “right” thing. I was petrified about being completely out of place. Do I go early or sneak in late? Where should I sit in class? Would people stare at me? Would I embarrass myself? What if I couldn’t keep up? Would I be brave enough to come back again? And the deafening thoughts went on….

One of the first things that struck me when I got to the studio was that the teacher seemed oblivious to my size. I don’t think she even picked up on my nervousness. I don’t remember too much else about the specifics of that class or the rest of that first eight week session. What I remember most is the sensations I started to feel in my body and distinct thoughts that started to arise.

I specifically remember a posture that my instructor loved to have us do almost every class: standing half moon. I remember one of those first classes and standing in that asana, which I thought at the time seemed to be an easy and harmless position, and tears started to roll down my face. I was overcome with sensation. It was not pain. It was sensation. The fact that I had tears rolling down my face was so startling to me. I knew something was happening to me, but I wasn’t sure what.

But at some point not far after that crying half moon, something miraculous happened. I began to submit. I started to surrender to those sensations. And although I may not have always loved the actual sensation I was experiencing, I learned to love the feeling of being alive in my body; my full body.

After the first eight weeks I still wasn’t sure what yoga was or why I was even going, but it was the dead of winter and I still wasn’t even close to any goals I had for my post-baby body. I convinced myself to hang in for another eight weeks. I figured if I could get through winter maybe I’d see some differences in the mirror.

Here’s what I didn’t count on: The differences weren’t only in the mirror. The differences were that I felt stronger. I had less pain in my body. I was building endurance. And I was actually becoming comfortable in my body. I was excited to go to class. The terror was gone. I was feeling great for about 3 days after class. And the benefits went on…

By this point I was addicted. Yoga was now part of my lifestyle. I became hungry for more knowledge of anything yoga. And I continued practicing. The lessons kept coming. I kept feeding my hunger for more yoga and about a year and half after that first class I received my calling to become a teacher.

Now that I am a full time yoga teacher, this life experience has become my greatest teaching tool. I know what it feels like to be in a larger body that isn’t always accepted in our culture. I know what it feels like to try and hide that body behind clothes and a big smile. And one of the side effects for me in a larger body was to be in my head so much that I couldn’t feel my body. I began to feel alive only when I started to feel sensations and energy moving in my body. This is one of the true lessons of yoga. It has nothing to do with contorting yourself like a pretzel or sporting the newest yoga gear to class. It is about feeling alive in the body you were given and loving that body with all of its’ perceived faults.

If you are a newbie to yoga and you live in a fuller body, have no fear! A good instructor will welcome you with open arms. The other students are not going to care. Find a beginner’s class and do a dry run for yourself. Check out the lay of the studio. Interview the instructor. Ask questions. It’s quite possible the instructor will not fully understand your plight, but a good teacher will understand yoga. And they will help you to find your comfort level. You may not be able to do every posture but you can modify for your body. Don’t be surprised if you have emotional releases. All humans hold old emotion in their bodies. If you have lived hiding your body behind your persona, all of that baggage will start to drop once you start moving your body.

If the thought of going to a class is too much for you, try an online class. Www.YogaVibes.com has many classes to choose from. There are plenty of free vignettes to explore in the privacy of your home. Start where you are. Most of the classes have short free portions so you can get an idea of the pace and style. This is a great place to start for a beginner.
And remember, whether in a class or at home, your full bodied postures will probably not look like the cover of a yoga magazine, but they will be your postures. And they will look beautiful on you!

You can join me and my full body in a Beginner’s Moderate Kripalu Flow Class on www.YogaVibes.com in the Beginner’s Vibe section.