We Meet Again

Today officially marks day two of this 3-day Ayurvedic kitchari "cleanse." I say that last word very delicately and tentatively on purpose. 

As someone in recovery from disordered eating, words associated with "diet" or deprivation send my body into aftershock. These words, whether in thought or speech, re-trigger a deep-seeded, embodied, fearful pattern in my body. 

It's relatable to a somewhat PTSD-like response that stems from self-starvation early in my influential, adolescent years. It was a year-long, insidious and pattern-setting disease and scarcity mentality, otherwise known as anorexia.

For the longest time, conversation about diets or cleanses put all systems on alert. I would do anything possible to run far, far away from these encounters where this mentality was present. Or, at the very least check out mentally in fear of possible repercussions on my recovery journey.

Nowadays, coworkers may mention their latest diet or cleanse, and I may internally roll my eyes over this latest fad, but with deeper wisdom intact of its meaning for me. Despite the ups, downs and perceived turn-arounds on my path toward recovery from food, exercise and body obsession, I am intentionally seeking to live and embody health and wholeness on all levels. 

Thankfully, as a result of intense self-study in my yoga teacher training program, I have been able to shine a little more light on the control-seeking, perfectionism, low self-worth faulty belief pattern. It has by no means been a "perfect" journey, but each mistake and detour made, each breakdown, has light-yeared me further into my heart and loving what is.

All this to say, I'm on this cleanse for myself and to meet what is, beneath the food and my self-contrived food rules (though it took some encouragement from my teacher and an Ayurvedic practitioner). During a 4-week workshop with other like-minded, soulful foodies, we delved into the yoga of nutrition and the ancient system of natural healing, Ayurveda, otherwise known as "the science of life." Without going too much in depth, I'll tell you what these things mean for me:

Yoga, first and foremost, is about re-membering ourselves as whole and complete in this moment. It's not about attaining a particular form or state of perfection once x,y,z standards, poses, body type or enlightenment is reached. 

Yoga is now, all-ways, as we are. So, for me, perfectionism is in direct opposition to that. It's an insidious belief that permeates most aspects of my life, so to unearth and uproot it has taken some intensive self-study and practice. And, continues to do so.

Yoga means coming home to my body, listening to its ever-changing needs and honoring that. Ayurveda means there is no prescribed "diet" or meal plan out there on the Internet that will "fix" my food and body issues. 

It means that no one will ever be able to tell me what food I should be eating or what body type is acceptable and lovable. That, I am the only voice I need to listen to, and to trust that intuition inside of me and to be steady in who I am as a whole and complete person, not just in terms of my physical appearance.

It means that it's not ever about the actual food we're consuming, but how our bodies are making use of those nutrients. Having struggled with mindless eating patterns, and existing from a state of stress and fear during mealtime, I know all too well that my state of "non"-being highly impacts the level of nourishment. 

Most of us are not present to the food we are putting into our bodies. We check out via our phones, Facebook, the news, T.V., newspaper or conversations. It is rare in our society to eat a meal in silence with a candle lit preceded by a prayer, blessing or simple acknowledgment of gratitude.

It is also rare that some of us even carve out the time and space to dedicate to such sacred ritual. I am just as guilty of this as well, eating in the car, while checking out the news feed on Facebook, anything but being with myself and feelings in my body. 

Eating is a sacred act that has lost all sacredness in our rushed, adrenaline-inducing pace of a lifestyle. We hardly give ourselves the sweet, always accessible resource of breath, the one thing that is our direct relation to what is. Breath is the one resource that cuts through the mind-chatter and state of fear.

Paired with its sister science, Yoga and Ayurveda practices are about re-membering yourself as whole. In Ayurveda, it's about how well we are nourished. But, it's not confined to food. It's how we are nourished on multi-dimensional levels: relationships, home environment, nature, career, spirituality, health, self-care, family, exercise, rest, home cooking, education, social life, finances, joy and creativity. 

It means asking ourselves, "What am I really hungry for in this moment?" Instead of getting curious, we usually react to this need without getting clear on what would actually fill, feed and nourish that craving. More often than not, our "MO" is to reach for sugar or sweets, alcohol, drugs or some other quick "fix". From my experience with food addictions, I have found that most of the time, it's never about the food, though my mind will tell me otherwise.

I have found that asking this question and listening for the answer before taking any action at all is a daily practice in and of itself. Most of the time, I'm really craving or longing for safety, self-care, rest, enjoyment and the sweetness of life itself, not the chocolate or candy. 

To interrupt this subconscious, reactive pattern is an ongoing, daily practice, when all I want is to reach into the literal or metaphorical cookie jar in times of overwhelm or intense feelings of anger, fear, guilt or shame. I first have to get curious about the need underneath the want. The real cure, underneath the fake. 

I am making it more of a consistent practice these days to not only sit with my feelings and "be the observer," but to love and welcome them, as a part of me. Feelings not only want to be heard, felt, honored, or expressed but also released. And, we can't release them until we love the shit out of them, again and again, and again.

So, why on earth would I want to re-traumatize my body by putting it through another "starvation" diet? Well, this "cleanse" isn't about deprivation. It's about feeding your body with the most wholesome, easily digestible and integrated ingredients. 

It's honestly, very "anti" cleanse. It's not about taking away, but about making more space for ourselves. It's about nourishing our bodies, minds, emotions and spirit by simplifying the distractions that food can often bring up. 

It's about reseting and rebalancing our vitality and energy, so that we can come home to ourselves, in all our depth and polarities, and to explore the space a wholesome food such as kitchari can create to again, start from the ground up and get re-acquainted with our own internal rhythms.

All "perfected", word-speech aside, this practice has been an interesting experience to say the least. A lot of my ingrained fearful patterns have surfaced. Not to say, these weren't present before. But, the fear of not having enough to eat and being confined to yet another food "rule" has been unearthed. 

The starving 12-year-old in me is screaming a little bit louder for imposing another form on her. I have also faced my pervasive, soul-sucking perfectionism over the need to do it "right." 

The first day of the cleanse, I had a date planned. So, instead of listening to my inner wisdom and waiting to start the cleanse the next day, I jumped right in, eager to get the process going. I "broke" the rules that night, by drinking two, delicious beers. Surprisingly, I didn't feel too guilty about this. 

But, the next day my body reported back to me, in all its wisdom, that this did not feel good. I woke up nauseated and very foggy. Did I have an enjoyable time on the date? Absolutely. So, yes, it was a re-learning experience for not forcing things and allowing my body a little more love and gentleness in the process.

Today, I am committed to sticking to the mono-diet approach. I have a snow day from work, so lucky for me, I get to be around the house all day, facing the cravings that may come up. It is a blessing in disguise to be confronted with the choice to stay vigilant or to collapse inward. 

I guess I need to get clear on the initial intentions set before this undertaking, which were to re-set, re-balance, detox physically, mentally and emotionally, heal my digestive issues and curb my sweet cravings. 

But, if I'm honest with myself, the insidious belief is very present. To do it perfectly, and that if I do, I'll be "cured" and "fixed." Which is merely to say that I am broken, the direct opposition to what I'm practicing on my yoga mat and in my breath, to re-member myself as whole and complete. 

But, as with all things that create more space, there is now more space for these faulty beliefs to bubble up, so I can meet them head on. And, in the process, to meet myself with love, compassion and a hankering for what I'm really hungry for in each moment. To shine more light on my tendency to neglect my innermost needs and further perpetuate these imbalances.

For instance, I am still working through an addictive mentality to the gym and exercise. I have not been able to give myself permission to rest during this process, which could very well be hampering or negating it altogether. But, the guilt over allowing my body to rest and not meeting these "perfect" standards has prevailed this go round. 

And, in all intents and purposes, I'm loving that part of me even more, the part that's so terrified of losing control and feeling unsafe, unloved, and not enough. She is the wounded child in me, the fear I am constantly confronting, with more love, not less. Less judgement, more love. Less self-policing, more love. Less self-rejection, more love.

In a way, this practice has "amplified" my fear and perfectionism. It has brought me face to face with what I'm so afraid of: letting go of the control and trusting myself and my body. This practice was never about my body or about the weight and I am wary about the thoughts percolating around that and distracting me from the "real" cure. 

It is about releasing myself from the power that food and my skewed body image has over me. Has it "worked"? Am I "fixed"? No, those are the wrong questions. 

Am I re-membered as whole and complete? Maybe. In this breath? Inhale.....exhale.....Yes. For now, that is enough. I am enough, as is, purified or not, cleansed or not, perfect or not. I am meeting my whole self throughout this process, and that is the practice. I am coming home to myself.

Loving our Shit

So, let's get real. First, with myself then maybe with you. Honest to God, and whoever is reading these brutally raw, vulnerable words, these past few days have been all but the put-together picture I may project to you in the name of yoga, bliss, enlightenment, oneness and fraudulent bullshit we say but don't fucking feel. These past few weeks have been tumultuous, turbulent, ego-breaking, ground-shaking and an emotional shitstorm (in yogic word speak of course, and some f-bombs along the way just because it fucking feels good).

Did I really think I would not eventually and yet again succumb to the depths of the depression, sadness, grief, anger, resentment I have harbored beneath this yogic, spiritual guise? It's funny and almost cute how this spiritual mask has taken form, yet another means to judge, berate, reject and shame myself for not being present, not being the love that I AM 150% of the time. It's the shattering of this mask that has brought me to my knees, yet again, in devastation of the truth that I thought and "should-ed" myself to be: loving, sweet, open-hearted, generous, present, conscious, a healing presence in this tragic and violent world we live in.

Turns out, my sweet, sweet, protective and fearful inner child was using this as another means to get my attention and forcibly say, "Wake the fuck up." This part of me, this inner, wounded child, within us all, is constantly nudging us whether we consciously recognize it or not, to love its needs, to love its wants and desires, to love its often-times atrocious means of getting our attention. Namely, for me, my inner child cries for attention manifest in the form of an eating disorder, but also in terms of other addictive manifestations to sooth the anxiety and depression and other intensity of feelings not otherwise met in sustaining, nurturing, nourishing ways.

It is a desperate need, an insatiable hunger aching in our bones for love. But, instead we confuse it and parade it as a need to be fixed, for someone, something to fill the void, the emptiness we so deeply or superficially feel. And, we soothe and veil over with these unfulfilling relationships, soul-sucking habits, busyness and distraction. Not only this, but we get fucking praised by society for doing so, for keeping busy, keeping the adrenaline-fueled motor running, when all our inner motor wants to do is turn in and combust on itself. It's an endless, self-perpetuating and society-praising cycle of our innermost needs not getting met by the only person capable of doing so (us), turning into self-neglect, self-abuse and masking over with business and distraction, which is met with a slap on the back for staying afloat, when the best remedy would be to sink to the depths of our despair and traverse the waters of our grief.

But, the feelings of happy, joyful, content, and all these "loving" qualities we constantly use to mask over the storm underneath, are doing anything but shaming us into believing more of the lies and stories of our defectiveness and fragmentation as is in any moment of anything but bliss and love. In yoga, the purpose and the goal, is to always, first and foremost, show the fuck up for what is. It doesn't say anything about the first step being to gloss over all the shitty-ness you're feeling by slapping an eco-friendly bandaid on the wound. Yoga says show up for the shitty. Show up for the bleeding, the oozing scab, the pain, the suffering, the heartbreak.

Then, and only then, does love become a choice. To continue down the fragmented storyline of "Not enough," "Too fucked up," a failure, a fraud. Or, to instead, choose, with consciousness and loving intention, to love what fucking is. To even love the storyline of "Not enough." To send it the love it desperately is needing, to feed it with the one thing that will satiate its hunger. But, more often than not, we unconsciously and habitually choose to instead keep feeding the monster with fear, self-loathing, self-judgment, self-shaming and self-rejection. And, as my teacher would wisely ask, "How's that working for you?"

Well, like anything we do, any action we take repeatedly becomes a habit, a practice. So, in terms of mastering a practice, well good job to me for mastering the practice of further fragmentation, self-policing, self-judgment and "should-ing" all over myself for the feelings I have. Too bad there's not a trophy for achieving such mastery of self-hatred, or else I'd have glass cages stocked full of them. All deprecating comments aside, the why's behind why we're doing what we're doing (the intention), whether that be a workout regime, our relationship to food, a particular relationship, a job, a yoga or spiritual practice fucking matters.

The action becomes negligible until you unearth the why's of what we're doing in the first place. (Much, much gratitude to my teacher, Jessica Patterson, for the always prevalent and much needed reminder of this). We need to get very clear on the intention behind our actions. Then, and only then, can we choose to remember the storyline of our original makeup, of love. And, not in terms of negating the shit that's there. Because the shit is there, whether we love it, shame it, judge it or self-police it. The shit that is there: the loneliness, the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, the fear, the depression, the self-loathing and self-judgment, is the inner child asking for MORE love, not less.

I've heard my own inner child's needs over and over and chosen to ignore them. So, what did she do this past week? Act out in ways that I can't ignore. In the sake of getting down, dirty, real, raw and fucking vulnerable, here it is. This past week, I've engaged in the nighttime binging and purging behaviors to self-soothe the fears, the hunger for love, the self-judgment of feeling whatever it is I'm feeling. My inner child is awake and shaking her fist in rage at my neglect and abuse. All she has ever wanted is to receive love that only I can give.

And, let me be very clear. I know that other people can sure as hell, fill us with their love, but when has that ever been enough for anyone? When has someone else's love ever made us feel whole and complete 100% of the time? The seeking of another person to give us the love we have never been able to give to ourselves. That is the biggest, greatest and tragic travesty in our society and culture.

We ARE the love we have been looking for. When will I get that? When will we realize that the only love and acceptance we need is from within. Will it always take tragedy, meltdowns and heartbreak to remind us of this one and only truth? In my case, maybe. Maybe it's because I've always felt so deeply, the suffering, the darkness. Or, maybe in a sick way, my mind and soul just enjoy the drama of it all. In the sake of loving what is, thank God for the suffering. Thank God for the suffering that has broken me down, time and time again. Thank God for this recent unraveling that has broken me open in ways, now that love is a choice, not a forcible obligation.

And, in the light and dark of the Thanksgiving season, let's get real with the shit that we are actually feeling. Then, and only then can we make the choice to give ourselves the forgiveness and love we never got for ALL parts of us, especially the shitty, messy and fragmented parts. To loving what is. To loving the shit. Thank you and I LOVE YOU. 

Humility in the Breakdown

I begin this post with hesitance, but namely humility as well. This is not a post I had "planned," thought out, prepared or filtered. It is simply words streaming from my heart that may or may not give solace to the aching in my bones these days. A call to humility…"a quality by which a person considering his (her) own defects has a humble opinion of him(her)self and willingly submits him(her)self to God and to others for God's sake." Or, as St. Bernard defines it: "A virtue by which a man (woman) knowing himself (herself) as he (she) truly is."

It is directly contrary to a demotion of our intrinsic self-worth, but a clear recognition and broadened shift in perspective toward God, or a higher universal power. As I write these words, I recognize my own hesitance toward humility in uttering the word "God." Growing up in a Christian home, I identified as such. All throughout my life, I felt a strong pull and connection to the loving, all-accepting, all-forgiving God. It lit my heart on fire praying and singing at church, songs devoted to praising this love.

But, Christianity, as other religions have as well, soon became too confining, too restrictive to my soul, aching to be free and unencumbered to the harsh judgment and condemnation. So, about five or so years ago, I shut it down, completely. Little did I know, by opening up to other modes of thinking and believing (reincarnation, self-enlightenment, self-responsibility), I closed my heart to the love that this God energy is and has always been. I inadvertently tried to filter out the fear pushed on by many religions and instead sought out my own self-advocating vices to reclaim the love I've so desperately sought after. All this to say, I think somewhere along the line, I made the "mistake" of severing my ties from God, from Father and Mother, from Source, whatever name resonates with you, though I've realized that this severance is not possible. It's merely the illusion that we are separate. 

So, I strapped my big girl boots on and piled burden upon burden upon myself, believing I had reclaimed my inner power and strength to overcome such suffering. Oh, but what a lonely, painful road it has been. Sure, I've had plenty of moments when the light and love has entered my heart, through connections with others, connection with my higher self, and through inspirational words in self-help books. But, only fleeting moments. Moments I've constantly tried to re-create and seek after for a long-lasting feeling of wholeness, fullness, comfort, support and relief.

But, I'm exhausted, worn out, worn down, broken down. I can't do it anymore. I can't keep living this life of illusion, pretending to be some yogic, healing warrior, who can't even heal her own heart. Times of pain and suffering…all the guilt and shame that's accrued has brought me back to my knees, my war-torn, scuffed child-like knees, where I lay down my pride, my ego, and once again ask for God to enter my heart, to free me from this pervasive, invasive fear in my mind, to relieve me of the self-hate, the shame and the guilt. I pray to God to lighten this burden that grows heavier each day.

And, I welcome this holy, holy, moment, a moment when my ego is fighting tooth and nail to keep me the same, to convince me of its bullshit, that it can figure this mess in my head out, that it can finally solve these fucked up stories in my head of low self-worth. That if I give it one more chance, it can finally "fix" me. The resistance to surrender, to humility, to grace, to letting go and letting God, a God I had inadvertently forsaken for the ego God in my mind. To reclaim the faith.

And, don't get my wrong, I've accrued plenty of knowledge along the way on this "enlightenment" seeking path. I have plenty of knowledge to sit here and advise you how to just be here now, to be present, blah blah blah (forgive me in my pain-staken state...no screw that, no apologies here….I choose to instead stand for once, in my own god damn life, unapologetically, feeling all the shit that I'm feeling and to not apologize for stepping on anyone's toes or offending anyone...after all this is MY story, my messy, glorious life of "fuck ups" and "mistakes"). I put those in quotes desperately trying to convince myself that there are no such things as mistakes, only lessons.

And, sure that's all well and dandy, but for me, lessons are just another way to shame and guilt myself, because after all, I've believed that the own-ness is on me and me alone. That, to ask for help is strictly out of the question for a self-entitled yogi or whatever bullshit label I've put on myself to keep doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. And, yes that is the definition of insanity. Well, job well done, indeed because, yes I have felt that chaotic, insanity all too well over the years. The eating disorder, the obsessive compulsive thinking, the bipolarity of the looming depression and addictive anxiety rat race, the marijuana hazed and numbed-out state I've been using to un-feel, to check out and bail out on any discomfort, the rawness of the rejection in relationships only to feel like I'm always the one who's not enough.

And, the babbling brook that I am these days could go on and on about all the vices I've been using to soothe this pain and suffering and burden I've been desperately trying to take on, alone. The perfectionism, the rigid rules in my head, the condemning and critical judge, all these voices threatening to shake the loose ground beneath my feet, the sand I have built beneath my house.

As I am rereading this book, A Return to Love, by Marianne Williamson, and her reflections on A Course in Miracles, she writes about the biblical story where Jesus talks about building our house on sand or rock:

"Our house is our emotional stability. When it is built on sand, then the winds and rain can tear it down. One disappointing phone call and we crumble; one storm and the house falls down. When our house is built on rock, then it is sturdy and strong an the storms can't destroy it. We are not so vulnerable to life's passing dramas. Our stability rests on something more enduring than the current weather, something permanent and strong. We're depending on God.

She writes:
"I had never realized that depending on God meant depending on love. [But]:
God is the love within us.
Whether we "follow Him," or think with love, is entirely up to us.
When we choose to love, or to allow our minds to be one with God, then life is peaceful. 
When we turn away from love, the pain sets in.
And whether we love, or close our hearts to love, is a mental choice we make, every moment of every day."

And, on that possibly "imperfect" note, I will end this post, thanking God, grace and love for this moment when my heart is open to humility. To surrender to the love, to relinquish the gripping control and fear of other's judgment at these words. I notice the hesitance in myself to remember that my Christian roots may be very much the part that needs healing and integrating in this present moment, and to allow God, love, forgiveness and grace back into my heavy heart.

And, on that humble note, I end with an "Amen," and "So be it."

Atha Yoga Anushasanam

This Sunday, I will be teaching my first, official yoga class and there has been no question in my mind as to what the theme of the class will be: the Heart, the great elixir. Since graduating from my training program a little over three months ago, I've had ample time to prepare myself to sit in the seat of the teacher. I feel ready, in a weirdly comfortable way, a sense of preparation I've felt for quite a while now. Sure, there will be nerves before I actual take the seat of the teacher come next Sunday and I know I may falter in giving "perfect" cues or saying the "perfect" thing to tie together the deeper meaning of the various asana postures throughout class, but one thing is certain, my heart is clear and ready to lead, even if just for this hour and a half.

And, that is just it: letting the wisdom and strength of the heart guide my actions and allowing it to be the inner compass to recalibrate back to the now, over and over. That has and will in all honesty, continue to be my life-long practice. And, what better way to jump start my teaching than to do so in the heart, the center of transformation. It is within the heart that we find the spaciousness to hold, to sit with, and to eventually integrate and transform even the seemingly most polar opposites of the mind. As my teacher would say, the heart has no problem with polarities or opposition. It's the mind that says you have to pick one and stick to that form, whether in thought, feeling, belief or action. The heart knows in its infinite wisdom that grace exists in the space between the polarities, between the inhalation and the exhalation, the exchange between two opposing forces. In this space, there is flexibility, freedom and choice. And, softness.

For me, the journey back into the heart is a constant one, one I would like to say is getting easier and maybe it is in terms of realizing there's truly no end goal or state to be achieved. Much like yoga, I'm settling into the deeper knowing that yoga: union, bliss, enlightenment, remembrance of Self, isn't a state to be achieved or attained by means of arduous practice. Not to say things like asana, meditation, or other various forms of conscious practice have no purpose, because they so greatly enhance and expedite the process and journey of remembrance. But, through my own practice and intentionality on the heart space, it's become clearer that each breath is merely an invitation to re-member, to come back into the sacred temple of the body, to the moment, with heartfelt acceptance, compassion and love.

It's the practice of becoming conscious time and time again when our default is to go unconscious, on autopilot, especially in times of boredom, mundaneness, discomfort, or habitual checking out. But yoga invites us to do otherwise, to cultivate the opposite, to check in, instead of check out. To Show Up for what is, even the uncomfortable, especially the uncomfortable. To recognize and tend to the constant ebb and flow of thought and emotions, but to not be swept along for the ride. Showing up doesn't mean surrendering to the chaos of life but it does mean bringing vigilance in attention to the constant fluctuations of mood, thought and feeling. And, as overwhelmed as the mind becomes by this task, the heart is ready, just waiting for us to call it to action.

My own journey back into the heart has been one marked by strife but also strides of freedom and reclamation. As someone who has lived the majority of her life living in the extremist, black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking, the heart has invited me to experience, even if momentarily, the gray area, the space between two opposing forces. My extremist thinking has tricked me into believing that two options exist: binge or restrict, over-exercise or do nothing, anxiety-driven or depression-induced, perfection and rebellion. The polarities persist: the light and the dark, the ego and the Self…but the heart keeps on keeping on, each inhalation meeting the next exhalation. The effortless exchange between the two emanates from the heart space, inviting us to feel into any opposing force, to unite the two with consciousness in the heart and to offer it up for transformation.

Coming back into my heart and into my body (an ongoing process), I was met with "un-yogic" feelings, seemingly paradoxical to this center of love and compassion. What I saw and felt was anger, resentment, guilt, shame, fear, judgment, self-criticism and self-loathing. It has honestly been an overwhelming, frightening and sometimes debilitating process to continue to face and move through all this darkness and shadow. The shadow has been something I have pushed away, feelings I resisted by means of food or body abuse. I have resented it as a foreign entity invading and desecrating my temple, unwelcome for the mess that it made time and time again, by means of self-abuse with words, thoughts and actions.

But, little by little, I've come to realize that in order to heal and come back into wholeness, the shadow parts must be integrated and held in unconditional love and compassion. Not an easy thing by any means. Talk about seeing the worst parts of yourself day in and day out. Becoming conscious was one thing. But, no sooner did I start becoming aware of these shadowy parts of myself, that I met these dark parts with more judgment, self-criticism and hatred. So, yes I missed the mark on that, meeting myself, the whole of myself, the light and especially the dark, with love, heartfelt acceptance and compassion. But, it's a work in process. And, thank goodness my heart has never called it quits on this responsibility to show up for myself time and time again.

In the first sutra of the first chapter in the Yoga Sutras by Patanjali, it says:
"Atha yoga anushasanam" which translates as
"Yoga is NOW"

Now, it doesn't say anything about yoga being after you are able to come into full wheel or handstand, nor does it say after a state of perfection is attained, in any essence of the sense. This has been literally like someone knocking me over the head, sometimes over and over, that I've got it all wrong. Yoga is union, right here right now, perfect imperfection, acceptance of what IS, not what it should be, or what it should look like. That, in and of itself, has kind of unraveled and left me pondering all the things and "doing" nature I've mistaken for who I am, to prove my sense of worth, to attain acceptance from other or from this ideal I've created in my own mind. Patanjali says nothing about this. Enlightenment is now, not off in some cave or high mountain top after a ten-day vision quest or fast. Wholeness is nourished when you see who you really are, as you are, in this moment, accept what you see and heal what needs to be healed.

This has been pivotal on my journey and ongoing recovery from disordered eating and exercise addiction. To meet my body as it is, to move and love in this body, not in the ten-fewer-pounds body, or the body a month from now, when I've finally kicked the binging once and for all, or in the ideal image of perfection in my head (whatever that means). But, in THIS body. A constant practice, to re-member and breath deeply into this body, this moment, this feeling, to use exercise not in a way of self-abuse or another means to reject the body I have now, in hopes of a different one in the near future. But, to use food and exercise to heal and reclaim the body I am in right now. It means showing up for this body, with love, acceptance and compassion. And, when I do that, even if for a brief part of my day, man what a difference it makes. A welcoming softness and sweetness where rigidity has existed and ruled.

So, that is briefly (okay not so brief), but in short or long, this will be my teaching for my first yoga class (whew). To show up for what is, to attend to the breath and the heart. To remember that Yoga is NOW. To savor the sweet space between polarities. To lead if only for a few breaths, with the heart, instead of the incessant stories in the head. To let this inner compass guide your movements a little more each day. And, to do so with heartfelt acceptance, compassion and love. Atha Yoga Anushasam.

The Shadow

The darkness unnerves me still,
Its looming, dooming presence.
Threatening to abolish the light.
A pervasive, invasive fear.
Percolating in the shadows.
Do I dare venture?

Heart quickening, breath shortening.
I teeter on the brink of
Self-evacuation.
To run, to numb, to hide.
To retreat.

Back into the spaces,
The cracks of old wounds,
Past hurts,
Tantalizing me with their stories,
Convincing, rehearsed.
Discomfort residing in the comforts
Of this fear all too familiar.

But the light within beckons,
A mere glimmer, a glimpse
Into the blackness of the night.
Glittering over my half-closed eyelids.
A softening sweetness.

The lightness deepens, expands, widens.
But the Shadow remains.
Unavoidable.

The Shadow,
The dark side of the Moon.
In all her glory, she reflects her
Light toward Earth.
Our Mother.
Goddess of Love and Light.

The Shadow,
The other half,
The unseen. The obscure.
Without its presence,
Light dim and weak.

The Moon is both and,
Shadow and Light.
Dusk and Dawn.
Morning and Night,
Illuminating,
Intoxicating.

And somewhere in between,
The Space,
That holds both,
Deep in her bosom,
Nourishing, nurturing.
The infinite, unknown.

The Shadow,
Just as much a part,
Of her as is the Light.
The infinite capacity, spaciousness
To hold it All.
The Fear.
The Love.

The Shadow thirsts for the warmth,
Of Light.
To guide her home.

Nowhere to hide in the space,
Exposed and vulnerable,
But held.

Embraced as One,
They dance on into the darkness of Night,
Into the illuminating presence of the Moon,
All One.
Whole.
Complete.

Anywhere but Here

It is a blessing and a curse to be introspective, aware of one's state of being in a consistently persistent, exasperating manner. Or, rather an intermittent moment of awareness to one's perpetual and habitual tendency to be anywhere but here, anywhere but the present moment. I call it the "Anywhere-But-Here Syndrome," a phrase my ego would like to call its own, but as it turns out, I'm not the only one with self-evacuation protocols in place. And, I'm evidently not alone in falling victim to the incessant chattering and chaotic whirlings of the mind. Yes, I had to google the coined "syndrome" just to prove to my (sometimes) proud ego that I'm not the only one mulling over such prevalent dis-ease on both an individual and societal level.

Returning back to the words awkwardly and a little forcibly appearing on the screen before me, I set aside my neurotic "googling" behavior of temporarily satiating my mind's hunger for security, affirmation. My mind is undeviating in its hunger for more, more, more. More knowledge, more time, more pleasure. Scarcity mode of thinking: the fear and belief that there is never enough, a bottomless pit waiting to be filled, full, but to no avail. It is simply never enough to appease the mind's incessant wanting. Scarcity-based thinking inevitably perpetuates the belief that the present state is not enough as is, that there is always a hole to be filled, driving many, myself included, into addictive thinking and behaving. Observing this conditioned thought pattern, I inwardly pat myself on the back for a "job well done" of nearly perfecting this practice. Yes, it is a practice. Whether that practice is conscious or not and serves your highest is a whole different matter.

Becoming conscious of this often times debilitating pattern of thought and behavior is where it all begins and ends, quite possibly. And, unfortunately, for myself and many of you fellow recovering perfectionists, this is where the judgement card comes into play, the condemning voice, perhaps the bully within you constantly on the prowl for "bad" behavior. The self-judgment and criticism for our perceived shortcomings come strong and hard for most of us. For me, its the judgments around not being enough, not doing enough, an aversion and rejection of my shadow qualities: the anger, guilt, selfishness, laziness, greed and addictive behavior. As of late, my inner perfectionist, has lavishly adorned herself with the new label, "Spiritual Saint," minus the merciful, compassionate nature. She is the voice berating me for anything less than perfect attendance to the here and now. She points out and ruminates on my inability to show up, authentically, wholly 110 percent of the time. Anything less is met with criticism and self-rejection.

The voice taunts me, "Look at you, you fraud. You only want others to think of you as this perfectly zen, kumbaya yogi who has her shit together 100 percent of the time. If they only knew your shadow, your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities." Maybe, just maybe you can relate to the voice in varying tones, traits and degrees. So, not only do we have to confront a prevalent way of self-evacuation, by means of autopilot, checking out or numbing out, but now, we have the judgements added to the mix. It is a windy, curvy road inward, a journey home to ourselves, where we encounter all of these voices: the judgments, the fears, the stories intertwined but precariously positioned on particular expectations and images of ourselves.

And, somewhere along the way, we (meaning I) forget the whole purpose of the quest, the journey inward. To awaken to what is. Not to push away, cast aside or dilute the deemed shadow qualities. But, to turn on the light to it all. And, in the words of my teacher, once the light is on, with the cobwebs and dust settling in the corners, you can't unsee. The practice is to see it all, and to see it all and embrace it with compassion. You show up for what is, not for what it once was or what may be. You show up for the given moment, regardless of whether the dualistic mode of thinking has already gone in to seek its claim on the labels of "good" and "bad." In my own practice, and boy is it that, it's a constant recalibration back to my present state, feelings, fears, discomforts and all.

It's as simple as driving in traffic, that is in terms of explanation factor not necessarily the ease of a practice. Yup, the doomed, witching hour when all you want is to get to your destination, to be anywhere but where you are, with no patience to show up to the in-between, the transitionary time. So, you evacuate the present moment. And your mind is off spinning into a thousand different directions, what you're going to make for dinner that night, oh and maybe you should call that friend of yours you've been meaning to call to kill the time, and man, now you're going to be late for work and that's going to set your whole day off, and now you're angry. You're angry at yourself for leaving too late, at the driver next to you in the Subaru with a "Save the Earth" sticker on its bumper for congesting your route and now look at you, how horrible of a person are you for sending your unjustified anger to that kind individual who probably is just as fed up as you are. And, the whirlings of the mind are just getting started.

But, all the meanwhile, amidst the chaotic fluctuations, where are you? Well, considering I just experienced this same drama early this morning in route to work, I'd have to say I was sitting front and center in the "I deserve to be angry" seat. Because, of course, who likes to be stuck in traffic, rushing to work? But, the point is, I created the drama on top of the drama. Our reaction to the current state of things follows a similar pattern, the tailspin into a dissatisfaction of the present moment, a habitual checking out.

Through my yoga teacher training program, which has since…dare I say it…come and gone and metamorphosized into this next phase of integration and creation, the daunting unknown of what now has come bubbling up to the surface. Of all the things I learned in my training, the most prevalent teaching here and now (no pun intended) seems to be this: yoga asana is merely a tool to purposely create drama and study ourselves in it, our tendencies, our modes of thinking and reacting, and pure and simple, but not so, our only task is to Show Up for what is, by means of the breath. To show up for the sensations, the thoughts, the feelings.

Currently, so many fears are whirling in my own inner world, namely the fear of this next convoluted phase of my life, yet another awkward transitionary period to reflect on what was and to move forward into what is to come. Coming into stillness, but not staleness. It is a moment of pause, an often times painfully uncomfortable and unsettling feeling that I should be "doing" more, that I'm not doing enough to work toward the intentions I have set out for myself. Knowing my procrastinating tendencies perpetuated by worry and fear, I will now, give them a voice to whoever is listening out there. Here it goes.

My heart truly wants to be heard, to be expressed, to be given a voice, a platform to stand on. And, the ways in which my heart is yearning to be expressed is in the form of the following: teaching yoga asana, offering Reiki sessions and semi-starting my own business (more on this later), returning to school to work toward a masters in counseling, and writing, in whatever shape or form that comes in…blogs, poetry, a book. My heart wants to lead. Scary? Yes. Uncomfortable? Absolutely.

It feels as though my dreams are circling and drawing me in, but the winding path toward them is unclear. And, of course all the meanwhile, the ingrained stories of unworthiness are fighting to survive. This transitionary phase draws me in, beckoning me to sit in the stillness of it all, that the here and now is alright even in its confusion and stagnation. In fact, it is more than alright, it is perfect in all its perfect imperfection, not necessarily in the dualistic good/bad qualities but in its inherent worth for being the only moment guaranteed. Each moment invites us to show up, to savor. For it is in the practice of savoring, that we are coaxed into not merely allowing, but appreciating what is. A daily, moment to moment practice. And, to allow for ourselves and others, a little more space for grace in the stillness for our own unique journeys home. That is my practice.

Wholeness

Where You end and I begin,
The separation is not clear.
The womb from which my heart began,
Forever tied to the beating of your own.

As one you birthed me into this world,
A separation that etched out my heart,
My body, the temple of my Spirit.

It is no mystery why we both are here,
Intertwined in similar stories,
Mistaken beliefs of unworthiness.
Forgotten.
Veiled.

But, perfectly imperfect we press on,
Picking up the pieces,
Making amends for all the generations,
That came before,
To boldly, unapologetically proclaim
Our power, our voice, our love.

Though the ancestors before us,
Shied away,
From the Truth,
The heart.

Building up walls, instead of safe passages.
Fortresses, instead of temples,
Desecrating the temple with fear,
Instead of love.
Darkness,
In place of light.

But I stand before you now,
Seen, vulnerable, awake.
As mother and daughter, we stand,
Singing a similar melody,
Distinct in voice and pitch.

An agreement we made long ago,
To journey alongside one another,
To do the best we can, in each moment,
Releasing ourselves from the burden,
Of perfection, of something to be attained.
To recognize our innate self worth,
By simply breathing.

To forgive one another for mistaking,
Who we are as broken,
Something to be fixed.
To free ourselves from the burden,
Of unworthiness, guilt, shame.

To reclaim our roots,
Of wholeness and worth,
To flourish yet again in our beauty
And love.
To remember,
The core of who we are,
Boldly reclaiming the lost jewel in the city.

That all we are is a burning flame of
Love.
Burning down all the walls,
The fortresses,
Resurrecting the temple,
Sacred
Whole.

Mother, daughter,
Crone, maiden.
All one.
Unfurling from the other.
A continuation of the seed,
Planted long ago,
A reclamation of all forms.
In wholeness once more.

Reclamation

A pain unnamed,
Masked, hidden.
A feeling unfelt,
Buried, burrowed,
Forgotten.

A wounded innocence,
A buried gem,
Hidden, in fear,
Of misuse, abuse.

Dusted over by layers,
Of fear,
Conditioning,
Distrust,
In Self.

Its pureness salvaged,
In wholeness.
Pain masked by silence.
Invisible.
Unseen.
Waiting.

A vulnerability,
The truth discarded,
Cast aside.

The veil dropped,
The armor in precarious perfection.
Cold, hardened, withdrawn.
Preservation of an innocence within,
A jewel in the city.

The fear of being seen,
In the truth of the heart,
the unstruck instrument,
The inner compass.
Hidden behind the veil,
Of illusion.

To be seen,
Reclaimed.
Raw, exposed, vulnerable.
A seductive dance,
Controlling the outward elements,

In hopes,
Of stifling inner chaos,
Of feelings unnamed,
Unfelt,
Unmasked.

Seen.
       In perfect.
                     Wholeness.
                                   A reclamation.

Hunger

Seduction at its finest,
A tantalizing flux and fluctuation of thought.
A gnawing, a hunger.
Mistaken for physical.

Duped yet again by attachment,
To fill, to fix, to fade,
The gnawing of a feeling unnamed.
For naming it would mean tuning in,
Into the unknown of a feeling,
Raw, vulnerable, undone.

A reaction convoluting the gap,
Between feeling and fix.
Awareness and action.
Allowing no space for choice, no room for grace.

Duped, tricked, seduced.
To numb out this unnamed, unfelt feeling,
A gnawing of a need not met.
Resorting to the commonly practiced comfort,
Food as refuge, solace.

Belly full, soul empty.
Aching felt, guilt brewing,
For the perpetuation of self-induced suffering.
A hunger remains.

To Be Seen

To be seen,
Heard, felt, held in beloved arms.
The heart holding space for what is,
In this moment, you are loved.
In this moment, you are held, nurtured.

No judgments, conditions, expectations.
All is as it is, with each breath.
The heart feeling deeply, reverently, adoringly.
For the inner wounds, the scared and abandoned,
The fearful, disjointed parts tucked away in darkness.

The sacred space for breath to flow,
For healing, transformation,
Reconciliation of the darkness,
Threading the stitches, rooting down into earth,
Unearthing false identities,
Stories we've told woven into the fabric of these images,
Of ourselves, of others.

The lies we've taken on as our own,
The falsity in beliefs we clutch so tightly,
Debilitating fear of loosening, letting go,
Of what we believe to be true,
The precariousness and fragility with each faltering step.

The heart, the spirit, stifled by aching pain, felt deeply in our bones
Taken on as our own, latched onto the stories of past,
Hurt, trauma, loss, grief.
As measures of our worth, inadequate and lacking,
In need to be filled, covered, fixed.
A brokenness, a void.

To feel deeply, expanding the space for dawning to break,
Opening up to the light and the dark,
Spaces within.
In this expansive silence,
We meet our Selves,
The seed we've forgotten, the inner light overshadowed.

In this presence, we see it all,
The inner trenches of shadow and light,
To hold steady for both to exist as is,
Without fleeing, freezing, fighting.
In this moment, we are whole, complete.

An inward reclamation of who we are,
Freeing the fires within to transform,
The beliefs, the veils covering the seed,
Of who we are.

A journey of fierce courage and persistence,
But one of softness and sweetness.
The two dancing in the flames and embers of transformation.
Letting love be their guide,
Compassion, heart-centered.

An unfolding choice each breath, each moment,
To shift, nurturing the seed within,
To step back into the light.
Inviting the light in others to shine forth.
In authentic wholeness.

Unearthing the entanglement.
Returning to the roots,
And rooting deeply into being, steady, held, loved,
At home in center, in Self.

You are seen, heard, beloved,
As you are, in this breath, in this moment,
A light in the darkness,
The reclaimed seed,
Whole and complete.
Rooting into the earth.
Grounded, held, loved.