Night Sensations

A crashing thunderstorm moved through a few hours ago, bringing an intense, but short-lived, deluge.  Since then, light rain has been falling.  

I walked out into the early night.  The pavement and lawns are shimmering in the light from streetlights and porches.

The trees loom over the house, tall and dark against the gray sky that is sending tiny droplets down, pinging with cool wetness onto my skin.

From all around comes the sound of cicadas and other insects, it is really quite an amazing chorus by unseen musicians. The sound permeates the night.

I walk up the drive and find that spiders have laid a few silk threads out in my path.  How do they do that, stringing a fine hair of silk out six feet off the ground and across the drive?  Have I ruined their evening's hunt with my clumsiness?

Inside the house is snug and warm, but not nearly so interesting.

Running Into Trouble

It's the end of August, and I haven't posted about running since July 28, when I waxed a little too enthusiastically about it.

That's because the last time I ran was July 31, when, about half way to Takoma Park after work, my right foot began to hurt.  Of course (like an idiot), I kept going, thinking perhaps it would work itself out.  It just got worse.

The pain was in the top of my foot in front of the ankle, toward the little toe side.  Cuboid bone stress fracture, perhaps.  I don't know, but it was very painful for several weeks, when I walked.  Standing was OK, and yoga was generally pain free, but something about the walking motion triggered sharp pain.

I limped around for a few weeks.  It gradually got better, and I found that with my trail hiking shoes I could walk without much sensation in it.

Just a couple of days ago, I went a whole day without it bothering me at all, and I'm pleased that it has healed.  I'm going to wait another week or two before starting, very gradually, to introduce a little very light jogging.  Perhaps I'll be able to run again this fall.  But I'll be alert for the first twinge of a repeat, and this time I won't be thick headed and try to push through it.

Kicking a Rock

 It was a nice, crisp, cool, fall morning, when I headed up the street toward work.

Wait.... this is August in D.C.   (I certainly have enjoyed this summer with almost no really hot, humid weather, but I digress.)

A couple of blocks from home, I came across a small rock in the street - perhaps an inch long with squareish sides.  So, of course, I gave it a kick.  It skittered along in front of me.  So I kicked it again, expecting that it would take off in one direction or another and bound into a yard or a storm drain.

But it seemed to always carom back into my path, so I changed the game to see how far up the street I could make it.  After a bit I felt a bit like a little kid, walking along a dusty street in a small Kansas town, kicking a rock ahead just for the fun of watching it tumble and roll.  It occurred to me that others, walking, jogging or cycling up the street, might think me a bit odd - but if they did, they dealt with my childish behavior by pretending to ignore it.

Then I hit a stretch where each kick did send the rock off course, but by that time I was committed to the game, so I fetched the wayward stone out of the grass or from underneath a little brush pile in the gutter, and continued on my way.

The little rock made it to work with me, and is now sitting in my pack, waiting for another round of the game.

How I Practice

I've been working to deepen my yoga practice - to make it more intentional and attentive.  I am proficient at may postures at a superficial level, but how to intensify and deepen the practice?

Here's the method I'm using.  It is based on basic ideas, such as -

• every pose has grounding energy from the force of gravity pulling straight into the earth
• every pose has lengthening or extending away from, but supported by, that grounding energy
• most every pose has one or more joints that move as I enter or exit the pose - for example, in the standing poses with bent front leg, three joints move together as the leg bends - the ankle, knee and hip
• lengthening can be taken to a sensation of stretch
• breath is involved in every pose
• healthy movement involves a little movement in a lot of places, rather than a lot of movement in one place*

My goal is to be in the pose with equal and broad awareness of my whole presence.  

1. I start by awareness of the breath, even and energized.
2. Maintaining awareness of the breath, especially to notice it changing, I bring attention to the grounding energy.  For a standing pose, I look for equal support through both legs.  When the legs are doing different things, this isn't always easy.  
3. Once I have the solid foundation, I turn attention to the form of the pose and to extension, while, and this is key, also maintaining awareness of the even, stable, grounding energy and the breath.

This immediately changed my practice, because it is so easy, in almost every pose, to find an edge somewhere that is imbalanced.  Perhaps it is a particularly intense stretch in one muscle, or a position that causes my breath to become difficult or cramped, or a challenging balance.  Suddenly, 90+ percent of my attention is on that one thing, and I've lost connection with the rest of the pose.  

Realizing that yoga is really in the expanded awareness of the full experience, my practice now is to avoid those "too hard" edges, so that the most intense part of the experience remains in relative balance with the rest, and I can maintain my awareness of the whole.

 

* this one in particular I credit to master yoga teacher Leslie Kaminoff.  Several of the other ideas trace more generally to him.

Impatience, Distraction, Poor Choices

I stopped in the crosswalk a step or two in.  The walk sign had come on, indicating that the left turn signal letting cars turn across 3 lanes of traffic onto the street I was crossing had turned red.  One car had just passed when the light turned.

But I saw that the driver of an SUV was running the light, trying to make the turn before the oncoming traffic got going.  Poor choice.  The next few seconds unfolded just a few feet from me, but I was keenly aware that I was not in danger.

Though two lanes had stopped cars backed up, the curb lane was open, and a sedan was cruising along, entering the intersection with the green light.  By the time the two drivers saw each other, their fate was sealed.

Honk, squeal, crash, roll, crash.  In perhaps a couple of seconds the sedan hit the SUV in the side, about 15 feet from me, but momentum heading away from me.  The SUV rolled on its top, momentum carrying it a car length or so forward as it rolled.  The last crash was the SUV rolling onto the hood of a third car, that was merely sitting at the intersection waiting for the light to turn.

No one was hurt - or at least everyone was walking around - but three cars were demolished, the people in them had their evening plans changed all of a sudden - and rush hour traffic in the middle of Silver Spring was going to be snarled for a while, affecting no doubt hundreds more people.

I don't know why the SUV driver made the decision to turn.  Perhaps he was distracted by a cell phone or one of the passengers.  Perhaps he was impatient, and in choosing not to wait a minute or two for the light to change, caused himself and others several hours and many thousands of dollars of grief.  And it could have been so much worse.  Someone could have been in the cross walk and unable to get out of the way.  Someone in one of the cars could have been killed or badly injured.

And all easily avoidable, with a little more patience, awareness, and a good choice.

Home Again

Long plane rides create a unique and useful energy.  With no choice but to sit for several hours, and no access to common distracting devices like cell phones, I always get something interesting done.  Sometimes the creativity begins before the plane even takes off, so it isn't necessarily related to a long time sitting.  I think there's something about the act of leaving one place behind and heading to another that opens up channels in the mind.

Then there are other times, when I may just do a bunch of crossword puzzles.  My trip home yesterday was like that, though later in the trip I got some productive reading in.  I should pay attention to whether I have a different pattern when I'm leaving home to go someplace than when I'm coming home.  My guess is there is a difference.  Coming home is coming back to a life, a schedule, a set of habits, that I'm intimately familiar with.  It isn't a journey into new possibilities, it's a return to the familiar.

I don't mean it to sound dull and lifeless.  I can bring a new perspective, a fresh goal or new vigor back with me.  But there is a strong sense of settling back into a life that I put on hold for a few days, and which has been waiting for me to get back.  Unpacking, doing a week's worth of laundry, mowing the grass, returning to the morning routine before work. All these little things bring me back home.

Yoga on a Shaky Log

I'm in Seattle visiting my son, Roy, and his family.  Today we visited Whidbey Island and spent some time at the beach at Ft Ebey State Park.  The beach reminded me a lot of those in Southeast Alaska.  Like a typical Alaskan beach, this one had many old bleached tree trunks lying along the shore above the high tide line.

I played on one of them that was buried in the sand at one end and angled up slightly as it narrowed, so one end was suspended in the air. I walked out it, and as I approached the end and got farther out on the suspended part, it began to oscillate side to side.  I tried to calm it down, but my balancing adjustments just added energy to the resonance.  Eventually, I jumped off into the sand.  

I thought it would be fun to try some yoga poses, so I took off my shoes and socks and spent about a half hour attempting poses like triangle, warrior I and II, intense side stretch and side angle pose. The instability of the log added a lot of challenge to maintaining my balance while moving my body into the shape of the pose.  I had to be more keenly aware of my movements, and how to move my upper body while keeping my lower body steady and overall center of gravity in the same place.

I found I could improve my balance on the free end of the snag by maintaining strong focus on my center and visualizing the earth pulling my weight straight down through the log.  This intense focus on grounding vertically into the earth kept me from the lateral movements that would start the log to vibrate.

It was a lovely day to enjoy the sun and sea breeze, and play with yoga in a fresh way.

A Sound Garden

Today was a beautiful day in Seattle.  At lunch time I walked along the west side of Lake Washington at Sand Point. The trail is lined with blackberry bushes loaded with ripe berries. An osprey sat high in a tall snag at the lakeshore.

I walked toward a haunting sound that pulsed with the breeze, coming from an installation of metal towers, organ pipes and vanes up on a little knoll - A Sound Garden, a 30 year old sculpture by Douglas Hollis.

A paved path winds amongst the towers, and there are several benches to sit on.  I picked one facing north, placing the breeze on my left cheek, and sat for a while, eyes closed, listening to the sound of the breeze in my ears and the humming tones from the pipes, mixed with the background of people talking and dogs barking in the distance.  Then I watched some bees working in the small yellow flowers that covered the ground.

I started to leave and then stopped, thinking "I have something else to do here."  Thinking of yesterday's death of yoga master B.K.S. Iyengar, I stepped my feet wide and offered a long triangle pose, looking up into the blue sky partly filled with sunlit, white clouds, and then a second pose, parsvottanasana, or intense side stretch, bowing forward over my front leg.

Turning to leave, I found a crow watching me from one of the towers.

An Ocean of Goodness

News came today of the passing of B.K.S. Iyengar at age 96.  Surely more than any other person, Iyengar was responsible for the explosion of interest in yoga worldwide.  An expert practitioner, teacher, author, and innovator, he transcends yoga itself as an example of the impact one life, lived with purpose and dedication, can have.

I watched my grandchildren playing in the park, joyfully pushing and riding the merry-go-round. They have grown noticeably since I saw them last, 3 months ago.  How quickly they grow, and how unique they are, their personalities emerging and shaping day by day.  They are fully engaged in being who they are, not dwelling on the uncertainties of the future.

I'm thinking about the journey they are on, the same journey I am on, and the same one B.K.S. Iyengar just completed.  We each get a life, and one day it will end.  Would that we live it with purpose, energy, integrity, and dedication, and contribute to the ocean of goodness needed to overcome all that is not right in the world.

Textures

Out for a walk, and feeling compelled, to touch the world, not just see it.

Sandstone and tree bark, concrete and metal, prickly shrubs and soft flower petals.

The world abounds with textures.

Attention and Distraction

A couple of hours into my long drive yesterday, I found that the car was equipped with satellite radio, and found that the Sirius XM jazz station was an enjoyable accompaniment as the miles rolled on.

I often prefer listening to instrumental music.  Unless I really want to be paying attention to the lyrics of a song, I prefer to not have them coming into my head.  Words have a way of drawing my attention and directing my thoughts down paths that I don't want to be on.  I have listened to, and played jazz for many years.  The program yesterday presented me with a nice mixture of familiar performances, some of them masterpieces in the genre, and artists who were new to me.

The music helps carry me through the trip, dividing the long hours into segments of a few minutes each, presenting a variety of sounds, rhythms, beauty and emotion to contrast with the sameness of the car moving down the road in a narrow lane.

In that context, it doesn't seem like a distraction, but I know that it is.  I know this because when I approach an uncertain situation that I want my full attention for, I become aware of the distraction and turn off the music.  Yesterday, this occurred when I turned into the airport entrance and needed to focus on where to take the car.  Let's just say the signs and directions could have been more clear.

My mind is dealing with a myriad of sensory inputs, and is generally able to deal with the division of attention. The challenge of distracted driving is that most of the time, the distraction doesn't matter. But when it does matter, and something happens so quickly that, unlike returning a rental car, I don't have time to turn off the distraction, very bad things can happen.

My awareness of how even music on the radio can, at times, demand too much of my attention, certainly motivates me to avoid larger driving distractions like talking on a cell phone, texting, or reading.  It also informs my thoughts about what it means to be fully present in my life.

Abnormal, Unnecessary, and Unhelpful

I drove 9 hours to Ft Wayne, Indiana today.  It was less expensive to rent a car one way than to fly. As usual when I'm driving, the fist couple of hours can be difficult, and make me doubt whether I'll last, but after that I settle in and the time and miles flow by.

I had plenty of time to observe myself and practice noticing tension and letting it go.  Perhaps I'm less tired because I leaked less energy, a little at a time, holding onto little bits, hour after hour.

It also gave me a calm baseline to observe those moments when I started to spin up - when I missed an exit - when I circled the gas pumps about 6 times because, after maneuvering toward a spot with the pump on the right side of the car, I'd find someone pulling in ahead of me - when I was dropped off at the back of the B&B and directed toward a sign with an arrow pointing in a general direction that said check-in at red awning.  After approaching three rather dubious looking portals with red awnings with no success, I walked all the way out to the front on Washington St, and found a much larger red awning over a door labeled "Check in Here."

I used to think that feeling of agitation and uncertainty was normal.  Now it feels very abnormal, unnecessary, and unhelpful. 

Commitment, Presence, and Letting Go

Being present and being fully committed are closely related, if not two aspects of the same thing.

Faced with a long list of things to do, interruptions and demands on my attention, I often found myself working on one thing while a part of my mind wondered if that was a good idea, perhaps I should be working on a different thing, and another part was wasting energy thinking I could never get everything done, and worrying about the consequences.

I realized that is not being present.  Being present is choosing the most important thing to do and committing to it, leaving behind any "what ifs" and "maybe I should insteads."

I had a good day at work today, letting go of tension and working with fuller presence, focusing on one thing at a time.  I got more done and felt better while doing it.

At Ease

As I peel back the layers in my yoga practice, my perspective on effort is dramatically shifting.  It is so easy, and so natural, to approach yoga as yet another thing that I need to work harder at.

Teachings to find ease in the practice, to back off from over-effort, that less can be more, have fallen on dull, but apparently not entirely deaf, ears.

Following a simple instruction to let go of tension in my face, I found that there was, indeed, some there to release.  There, all gone, perfectly relaxed.  But when the cue came again, I found that some of the tension had returned.  Or was it that I was finding a deeper layer of tension left behind?

Q.  How many times can I let go of all tension that I am aware of, then circle back to find yet more?
A.  Don't know, but it's a lot.  Perhaps infinity?

In the class I lead at work, I began today by leading the group through a simple set of cues, each with an exhale:

- relax your forehead
- relax the space between your eyebrows
- release the corners of your eyes
- let go of tension in your upper lip
- release all remaining tension down past the corners of your mouth

After class, one person said "Now I know what a stiff upper lip is."  Amazing how a little attention can reveal things that have been there, probably for years, floating just below the surface of awareness.

I've become a little obsessed with scanning my body for tension and letting it go.  It's a simple practice that makes a big difference in how I feel, how I carry myself, and how I move.

It quickly led me to the realization that this physical tension is another manifestation of the tension that exists in my mind when it is unfocused, confused, or wrapped up in some emotional response.  And, just as I can relax and let go of physical tension once I'm aware of it, I can identify and let go of the tensions of my mind.

I'm just beginning this work, but it's a revelation that these latent tensions of body and mind are not a given.  I don't have to hold on to them, even though I've built this state of chronic stress over a half century, and it feels quite normal.  Now I'm seeing the path to a new normal, much more at ease, in my whole being.

Find the Center.... Again.... Again...

Today was a great day in many respects.  The walk to work was cool, with a little light rain now and then, but altogether pleasant.  For most of the day it rained, sometimes quite hard, but I was inside and warm and could enjoy watching the rain and hearing it pelt against the window.

My challenge today was managing a to-do list that was burgeoning with things needing to be done before I leave on Friday for a little over a week.  Over and over, I had to pull myself back from the frenzy of it all, select a thing or two to do, and focus on accomplishing them.

Then I'd find myself pulled off in a different direction, remembering something else that should have been on the list but wasn't, and circling back to the tasks at hand.

By day's end, I'd accomplished quite a lot, though I hadn't felt as calm and collected as I would have liked.  Much better, though, than vanishing down the drain of chaos and getting little or nothing done.

After work, the rain over and sky clearing, I rode the train to Takoma Park for a vigorous yoga class that put a nice, focused conclusion on a somewhat scattered day.

The Draw of Shadows

I love shadows.  They draw my attention, and I find them calming.  I especially enjoy shadows from the trees outside the piano room, cast on the window blinds.  Sometimes the shadows make interesting shapes.  Other times, powered by the breeze, the shadows are animated.  A special treat is seeing the shadow of a flicker moving up a tree trunk, or that of a squirrel scampering across the screen.

Yesterday, at our graduation from yoga teacher training, one of my fellow students, Jeannette Haislip, presented us each with a set of three pictures she had taken of shadow patterns in her house.  Lovely.

While I've long recognized my attraction to shadows, I haven't understood why.  I accepted that, and was happy just to enjoy them.  I had a thought this evening though, and it may be a step on the way to understanding the draw of shadows.  I think they convey to me a deep truth, that what I see is just an implication of much deeper and richer reality.

With shadows, the implication is explicit.  I know there is another thing being abstracted into the shape that I observe.  But everything that I see is, in some way, like a shadow.  What I see is not the full reality of the thing, it is just one layer, one surface, one perspective of something that I can never fully see.

Early in the Morning

I woke early this morning, before any hint of morning light came into the sky.  Even before noticing how dark it was, I knew it wasn't time to get up, as no birds were singing.  The windows were open, and the air was thick with the soft, droning sound of insects.  A deep night sound.

I dozed off.  The next time I woke, before I opened my eyes, I heard cardinals singing.  They seem to often be the early risers.  I listened for awhile, and then heard a robin's chirp.  I opened my eyes to the first hint of daylight.

The birds are singing.  It's time to start my day.

Bay Window

Our house has a bay window that looks out over the front yard and the street.  It has become a favorite place for me to sit.  I'm attracted by the light and the view up and down the street.

Often there is a surprising amount of activity - birds, squirrels, dogs, people walking, running, or cycling to or from the park.  

Tonight I sat for quite a while as dusk settled and the fireflies came out.  The street was utterly quiet - no cars, people, or animals passed by.  Even the air is still - the leaves hang, motionless, on the oaks and tulip poplars.  

There's a time for bustle and busyness, and a time for quiet and rest.  For Edgevale Road, this evening, quiet and rest is on the agenda.

A Half-Hour of Breathing, Movement, and Mindfulness

Once a week, I lead a 30 minute session at work I call "lunchtime yoga."  I've been at this for about 5 months now, and can feel myself coalescing around an approach, with more clarity in my intention and more success in carrying through with it.  T

his is not a physically demanding practice, it's about something else entirely.  It is about flow, and effortlessness in action, and leading people out of the hectic and often stressful work environment into a zone of calm awareness.

I've adapted things I've learned from sources as diverse as Erich Schiffmann and Leslie Kaminoff, and many other teachers.  I've begun to internalize many of the actions and sequences, so I can draw on them more out of instinct than intellect, which significantly enhances my ability to lead the class smoothly and keep it in a continuous flow.

The value of the flow is how it keeps peoples' attention focused for longer periods of time.  I can sense that as a teacher, and I can see the impact on the participants when we finish a session and, in just 30 minutes, have succeeded in fully replacing the scattered, disrupted mind of work with a calm, attentive mind.

Sending Stress Away

Stress is contagious.

So are its opposites:  qualities such as ease, calmness, and assuredness.

Give the choice, I prefer to be a vector for these positive qualities, an agent of un-stress.

It's a miracle of the unity of our bodies and mind that the quality of our breath is connected to our level of stress, and that we can send stress away through mindful attention to the breath.

Yoga Teacher

As the final weekend of my initial yoga teacher training approaches and I have been setting up my teaching opportunities for the fall, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what I really want to do.

As I construct class plans, the nearly infinite variety of poses, themes, key actions, and perspectives can be overwhelming.  The solution is to limit myself, to simplify, to reduce the complexity and the number of options.

Just as beginning jazz improvisors are often coached to learn, extremely well, a pentatonic scale, or the simple blues scale, and delve into it deeply before expanding to more complex approaches, I can concentrate on basics and explore them deeply.

What is most important for me is to create the opportunity for people to find the experience of deep engagement in the present moment.  I intend to make the experience of the breath central to my classes, providing a strong meditative aspect as movement and mind are connected through breath.

I have my own strong practice and many things I've learned from all the teachers I've studied with to draw from.  I think I'm going to enjoy it a great deal, and grow a lot from the experience of teaching.

Sharon and Myrtle

A storm came through last night.   I stayed up for a while watching the lightning flash across the sky.  Later, I awoke to the drumming rain on the roof, which I find to be a peaceful, calming sound.

This morning was bright and beautiful, the morning sun streaming in over the tree tops.  As I walked up the street, I came to the neighbor's rose of sharon plants, which are fully in bloom.  The light purple blooms, some still furled, and some opened up with pollen laden stamens waiting for the bees to arrive, were covered in droplets and glistening in the sun.

Farther on my trek to work are some large crepe myrtle trees.  They are laden with blooms this time of year, and the weight of the water from last night's rain had bent the pliable trunks and limbs over  so I had to duck to pass under them.  Once inside, I stood for awhile enjoying the space, a snug, temporary little room with walls of crepe myrtle leaves and blossoms.

The Water Flows

I sat beside the creek for a while this afternoon.  When I arrive there, the most compelling thing is the sound of the water rippling over the gravelly patch upstream and then rushing over the little log dam into the pool below.

The sound is constant, and ever changing, pulsing as the various energy flows, large and small, interact in an infinite variety of ways.  I hear the resulting waves of vibration, from water falling against water, or rushing past a stick or a rock, as if the entire creek, the water, the banks, the overhanging trees that might absorb some frequencies and reflect others, is an instrument.  The water is the bowstring, and gravity is the force powering the movement that sets the air vibrating with sound.

There is movement all around.  The air is constantly flowing, in ways at least as complex as the stream.  Sunlight is streaming in, directly from sun to earth through clear sky, or diffused through a thick layer of cloud.  Sap is running in the trees, carrying nutrients and energy up and down from the earth up to the highest leaves.  But it is the water that is the most immediate, the most accessible to me as an expression of the unceasing energy around me.

I Place My Mind Inside My Breath

Connection between the mind and breath is a foundation of yoga.  This connection can be supported with the movements of asana practice, and it can be established and nurtured in quiet meditation.

When I am aware of breath enveloping my mind, I have focus, clarity, and calmness.  The breath, in some way, becomes a filter for stimuli that otherwise enter my mind and trigger thoughts and emotions before I am aware of what is happening.

Awareness of breath creates a safe space for my mind.  I can observe the world and have much more ability to choose my response to it.

Sometimes I think of capturing a negative thing - perhaps a shouted angry word, or an impatient honking car horn - within my in-breath, then simply exhaling it back out where it can cause me no distress.  In this way, the breath, which is always with me, is my most powerful tool to interact with the world with positivity and gratitude.

I place my mind inside my breath, and from that place of space and peace, experience the joy and wonder all around me.