Celebrating the Sacred Feminine

I attended a workshop at Yoga North recently called, "Down There." It was a wonderful educational experience and revolved around the pelvic floor, the net of muscles at the bottom of the pelvis that support our internal musco-skeletal structures and hold the contents of the pelvis securely in place. I'm speaking of the muscles that surround the urethra, vagina, anus and run from the pubic bone to the tail bone.

This group of muscles a long with others in the inner and outer thigh, spine and diaphragm work together to create mobility, stability and strength in the body-very important in any yoga pose or day to day activity. If we fail to bring awareness to these muscles, as women specifically, we risk possible incontinence or weakness that becomes so endemic that our vaginas can lose elasticity and fall out like a tube sock. Shocking, yes, but more common than you think. But I don't want to talk about that today.

I want to talk about why women in our culture lack awareness of or are afraid of their pelvic floor.

For starters, it isn't easy to talk about vaginas in a patriarchal culture that has a religious tradition that shames the female form, calling it unclean or dirty. The blood we shed each month (the only blood that comes out of a human body that isn't from a wound) has been deemed shameful as well, and so we suffer (I mean seriously, how many times have I hid a tampon up my shirt sleeve as I have skulked away to the bathroom?).

Hiding what is rightfully ours to covet as a sacred time is common practice and in so doing we suffer from a lack of celebratory awareness of the very things that make us female. We suffer in the pain of childbirth, menstruation, menopause and in the cultural norm of being crazy PMSing lunatics that shop in the "sanitary" aisle.

No wonder our vaginas fall out.

Coming into sacred contact with my pelvic floor has led me to question these common practices of shame and avoidance and crazy making. What if instead of believing that I am crazy during the time of my cycle, I were to ask myself what truth is embedded when I am more connected to my emotions and my body? What would happen if I were to begin to believe that through my cycle I am more whole, sacred, connected and that led to more awareness, balance, and strength in my body?

And no, this isn't the time of "The Red Tent," that wonderful book where women all cycled together and spent their time in a tent rubbing each other's feet and drinking wine. We are expected to continue as normal, as if we aren't more in tune or uncomfortable or sleepy or crampy or irritated because we might be confusing truth with bloating.

So how then can we honor what is rightfully ours to uphold when society does not allow for it? How can we expand our lives as women to include ourselves in the sacredness of the feminine?

I have heard and practiced several things over the years:

*Lighting a candle at the beginning of your cycle and allowing it to burn for the full 5-7 days. (This can also become a household norm so that family and friends are aware that it is your sacred time)

*Doing a personal ritual-hot bath, walk in the moonlight

*Journaling

*And of course, taking a pelvic floor class at Yoga North!

I find in my own body that when I lack awareness of my pelvic floor, I default back to the patriarchy and I start to believe that perhaps it is all just a shameful, annoying mess. I give up, collapse and weakness in my body ensues.

But the more I practice and the more I integrate pelvic floor work and sacred femininity into my life, the more I remember my intuition, my truth and my connection to my body. In turn, the more I experience my practice, the more I gain the benefits of pelvic floor stability in my body's musco-skeletal systems. As within so without...ya know?

I invite you to get curious about your own relationship to the feminine and what that means for where you are in your life and in your yoga practice.

Namaste.

Stillness is Boring?

I seek stillness, peace and calm in my day to life. I do yoga, I meditate, I walk in the woods, I sit by the wood stove.

Why then, for god's sake, am I bored? I pondered this with my teacher recently. It went something like this...

My teacher was looking at me in that way she does when she knows I am on the verge of grasping something but am not quite there: with compassion and the fortitude to let me come around to it in my own timing.

I had been complaining again about the boredom in my life, so much quiet time, so much stillness, so much silence. I was feeling uneasy, could feel myself grasping for something, fantasizing about how to reach the heights of thrill through speed, rushing, pushing and doing.

My teacher, she was just smiling. She said, "Just sit with what you call boredom."

"What?" I thought.

"Sit with it, there is something there for you in the word," she went on, still smiling.

I looked at her smiling and a light bulb of epic proportions blinked on in my head, alive and buzzing with the knowing of direct experience. I replied, "Are you saying that I am looking at boredom in the wrong way?"

She said, "Hilary, everything you seek (peace, calm, quiet- a slower life) you have found." And I said, wide eyed, "You mean I've been labeling those things boredom and haven't been aware that I'm already there?!"

She laughed. I laughed in abject surprise. I'm not really bored. I'm peaceful. Only thing is, I've also been addicted to thrill. Which is why peace got confused with boredom.

What a freaking revelation!

And it's no wonder, in a society like ours, so externally focused on the next big thing, material possessions, Hollywood, speed, technology, doing, doing doing, that I got confused when I finally found what I had been looking for.

The valuable lesson that I learned is that BEING does not feel like DOING. BEING just is, it isn't good or bad or boring or thrilling, it just is.

I humorously value the "boredom" in my life much more now and when I feel the pull to seek the thrill, I settle back into my breath, sink a little bit further into being and smile.

I invite you to ask yourself about your own "boredom." You may make some surprising discoveries.

Happy New Year from Riverview Street

I hope this posting finds all of you well and happy at the beginning of this new year. The dawning of a new year is often a time for hopes, dreams and reflections and sometimes resolutions to do something differently, make a new choice or to set off on a grand adventure.

Kiki and I are in the midst of such a grand adventure, this time on the North Shore, much, much closer to home than India. Kiki is in the middle of training to be an Ayurvedic Practioner and recently completed her Indian Head Massage certification and while I finished the second level of teacher training for Hatha Yoga last year, I just recently completed that certification as well.

All of the work, training and traveling have led us here, to Riverview Street, where yoga classes, Ayurvedic services and massage will be available beginning on Tuesday, January 18.

Tuesday Yoga will be from 6-7P

Wednesday Yoga will be from 5:30-6:30P

*Classes are by donation ($5 suggested)

Kiki will be offering Indian Head Massage and Hot Oil Face and Body massage on Tue, Wed and Fri by appointment.

Please check out our website for an up to date calendar, directions and contact information.

We are looking forward to having you join us on our new adventure!

Happy New Year and Namaste.

www.yogaforeverybody.webs.com

The Openness in Endings

In order for something new to occur, something else must often end and in those close, tense, grieving moments of change and loss there is also a flow, an opening. Ripe ideas, passions and moments alive in people burst forth into new terrain leaving their incubators behind. All too often we get attached to the incubator, try to bring it forward with us, unable to perhaps see how we can set out on our paths without the group, the person, the place to our greatest good, serve our highest purpose.

For the first time I'm finding openness in the endings, trusting the flow, trusting that yes, things will always change and I will always survive intact, better than before, more full with life-open ended.

Yoga For EveryBody

Yoga for EveryBody is a donation based yoga studio on the shore of Lake Superior. Give yourself the gift of health and wellness this new year and join us in our Riverview Street studio for a class! All ages, all levels welcome.

Visit our new website! www.yogaforeverybody.webs.com

Instructors:
Kiki Erspamer RYT200 and Ayurvedic Head Massage Practitioner

Jodi Christensen RYT500

Hilary Buckwalter RYT200

Ayurvedic Head Massage is available by appointment, please contact Kiki: www.love-life-yoga.com

Mission: Our mission is to unravel common myths about yoga and to make yoga accessible to anyone regardless of age, body shape, practice level or ability to pay. We believe that yoga can be beneficial to anyone and that it provides for health, wholeness, and flexibility. Yoga for EveryBody is Yoga for YOU.

Description: Yoga classes will be held weekly and will incorporate the use of props to facilitate ease in postures and movements. Classes will focus on building strength through core stability and will also utilize relaxation and meditation techniques.

As a donation based studio there is no fixed fee for classes. There is a suggested $5 donation, however, no one will be turned away due to inability to pay. Yoga for EveryBody instructors also use the barter system, please inquire with your instructor to discuss appropriate options.

Organization Overview: We are a group of yoga teachers who have worked and studied together that have a desire to share the benefits of yoga with others.

Products:Yoga classes and Ayurvedic Head Massage


Class Schedule:
Tuesday's beginning January 18th- Gentle Yoga with Kiki 5:30-6:30P

Wednesday's begninng January 19th- Yoga for Relaxation and Flexibility with Hilary 5:30-6:30P

A tea social hour follows each class.

Class fee: $5 suggested donation or barter

Like us on Facebook!

Facing the World

Facing the world means that I am living my life fully, that everything is in perfect timing for my success; especially when it appears otherwise.

Facing the world means relinquishing control, trusting that life is unfolding and that other's lives are unfolding as they should.

Facing the world means letting go of addiction in whatever form it is showing up in; worry, thrill, sugar, alcohol, arguments.

Facing the world means settling into the stillness and recognizing it for what it is; exactly what I have been looking for, exactly what I have been missing because I have been too busy facing in all of the wrong directions seeking the right thing.

Be curious, ask yourself which direction you often find yourself facing; towards others? perhaps one particular person-thing-obsession? What would it look like if you faced the world?

Honoring Grief

I met with my grief counselor yesterday for the last time. She is retiring next month and I have a toolbox full of goodies and insight to spirit me on my way. I've been seeing her regularly now for the last seven months after some prompting from a friend, when I realized that I really wasn't sure how to navigate the waters of grief after my father's suicide in October 2009.

Grief is a tricky thing and it can send you into a tailspin of raw experience, confusion and turbulent emotion. A grieving person has had their life forever altered. A loved one is gone, perhaps suddenly, perhaps after a long battle with an illness. In any case, it can be debilitating and there is no determined length for the adjustment process; it can take years, if not a lifetime to integrate the loss, to spin your way around the grief cycle.

Our culture and society do not seem to allow room for grievers or for grief even though grief is a process that is experienced within a social context. There are no requisite number of days to wear black. There isn't much time to process before returning to life as usual. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was the last American president to wear a black arm band when his mother Sara passed away. In our culture today, aside from the funeral, most rituals of wailing, head shaving, and wearing certain clothing are gone.

How on earth then, is anyone supposed to know that we might need more time? Extra care and support? Understanding and empathy?

A person with a cast on their arm has an obvious injury that society allows for, as a person in the hospital with an illness has a physical manifestation of the fact that she may need more support and care. It is not so with grief.

Grief can be lonely and silent. When the tidal waves of emotion wash over you, it can leave you feeling rudderless and crazy, uncertain and fragile. The waves can come out of nowhere at any time, they don't care about appropriateness or timing, they have their own schedule.

Grief is a sensitive time. I can liken it to being turned inside out, like a fish that has come up from the depths of the deepest darkest ocean, too far and too fast. Resisting the pull, the tearing, the scream, only serves to prolong the process and make it worse. Surrender is the only option.

I am here to tell you that despite the pulling, tearing and screaming, there is hope. There is hope and creativity and insight. Hope can be found in accepting the process, in seeking a solid support system, in honoring your grief; for it is yours and yours alone and it cannot belong to anyone else. In fact, an important factor in the resolution of grief is social support from others. The bereaved need support, not only for the reality of the loss, but for the validity of their grief, and of themselves as legitimate grievers.

So how can we honor our own grief you might ask? By expressing it and accepting it without fear. By learning to understand our own way of processing the grief. By rooting ourselves in things that nourish and comfort our wounded souls. By not being afraid to cry and wail and shake. Perhaps even by wearing a physical symbol of grief to let the world know that you are going through something critical, important, valuable and sacred that will ultimately change who you are as a person, if you will allow it.

We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey. ~Kenji Miyazawa

Like a Rock Tumbler

It is amazing how one seemingly innocuous action can set into motion a myriad of intermingling inner experiences, all going off in succession like fire works.

We've all been there. Mistakes, errors, situations beyond our control (aren't they all?), ducking and covering until the storm passes only to stand up and dust ourselves off to find out that we were actually the one who pushed the red button.

This is difficult to admit; the choices we make and the responsibility we have for them-especially when things don't work out the way we would like, when we complain and gossip, suppress and refute, turning accountability outward.

Choice and consciousness. Cause and effect.

Choice and consciousness are the great rock tumbler of the Universe. When the Universe shakes out the stones that burden it, consciousness catches them and spins them, knocking them into each other; grating, breaking, polishing, shining, healing.

If we can be present to this process and admit our culpability, we then have the power to make a different choice, to cultivate inner awareness.

However, if we remain unconscious to this process, we keep getting tumbled, experiencing the same situations and results over and over and over again, ad infinitum.

Mistakes and awareness of choice are opportunities to become more competent at living this life.

What would you have to change if you told yourself the truth about your choices?

Sit Your Tongue Down

My friend Kiki and I were sharing wine the other night and I was complaining about my jaw pain. I was telling her that I've been to chiropractors that tell me they cannot "fix" me (one even recommended I see someone about negative thinking), to massage therapists who try to work out the kinks and have also had a splint made to wear while I'm sleeping which has led me to fantasize about becoming a boxer or perhaps a Harbor City Roller Dame.

While all of these methods are helpful and even healing, they have not gotten to the root of the problem: that I am responsible for the thoughts and the tension that are lodged in my cells and muscles. As a yoga instructor I intellectually know this to be true, however, that does not mean that it is always easy for me to accept when I am in pain and want to be FIXED in the short term rather than take the longer road to healing my mind.

Well, thank god for Kiki.

As I explained my predicament, she said quite bluntly, "Sit your tongue down."

I looked at her perplexed, "What?"

"Sit your tongue down," she replied, "you know, relax it in your mouth, let it settle."

I tried what she suggested and at that precise moment, Cherubs and Seraphim began to sing as the ceiling at Zeitgeist Cafe opened and white light began to shine down on my smiling face.

I had not realized until that very moment that I often have tension in my tongue and press it on the roof of my mouth. I felt how this made my jaw tense and in turn, my neck and shoulders creating a menagerie of dysfunction.

All this time I had been seeking answers outside of myself. In fact, I had been convinced that if only I had my back adjusted regularly, wore my splint religiously and used massage as maintenance I would feel like a million bucks. Turns out, not so.

Turns out, sitting my tongue down consciously throughout the day has far outweighed any of the other things I have tried. Perhaps it is also because it brings me into awareness of the present moment and how I am sitting-lying-standing-breathing-holding my body-tongue-neck-shoulders.

That being said, try it. Go on, right now, just try it. Sit your tongue down.

Thank you Kiki, I am so happy you didn't get sucked down the toilet in India.

Namaste.

Wielding the Sword of Self Responsibility

I am currently reading, "Strong and Fearless, The Quest for Personal Power," by Phil Nuernberger, Ph.D. I seem to always shift around in my seat uncomfortably a bit when the topic of self responsibility is on the table. I tell myself that I am self responsible and then end up confused when I confront feelings of insecurity or blame.

Phil says that it is our skill level that makes us feel powerless and ineffective, dissatisfied and cynical. Instead of responding to life with skill and confidence, we react and can then find ourselves playing the role of the victim; the place where everything is someone or something else's fault. "Self mastery means that we have the knowledge and skill to use all dimensions of our humanity-physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual-in a conscious and skillful way." (p.22)

He further says to look at self responsibility as two distinct concepts "response" and "ability," the capacity to respond rather than react. As I read this I began to think about my own ability to respond rather than act out of habit.

When I am feeling unhappy I am quick to blame something outside of myself rather than look inward at my own choices. This causes conflict in my relationships and in my environment, and that is never very fun.

Phil says that to take charge of our lives, we must take charge of ourselves.

It is both compelling and uncomfortable to look inward at how I create my own circumstances and situations. And it is precisely staying with that uncomfortable feeling that lead to new senses of awareness and personal growth, which in turn lead to more self mastery and the ability to make conscious choices.

Today I sit stewing in a pot of patience and discomfort. At least this time I have my sword.

For more on Dr. Phil Nuernberger, visit: http://www.mindmaster.com/sis_who.htm#

No Pain, No Gain? or The Day My Ego Got Busted

My first day at teacher training at Yoga North went something like this...

Anne, one of the instructors asks me to do a downward facing dog in front of the training group. My ego smiles, I know I've got this. I move into the triangle like posture, palms on the ground, heels all the way to the ground behind me. I feel so good about "how far" I can go into this posture. I am a good Yogi.

Anne begins to point out to the class that I am not breathing. My neck is straining. My hips are not aligned. My knees are pushed back into a double jointed bracing position. My triangle looks more like a lumpy half circle and as I break into the awareness of my complete and utter lack of body awareness, my face begins to burn. I realize that I am actually not breathing. I realize that I am actually in pain. I realize that I am confused, aren't I supposed to be in pain? Even just a little bit?

The answer to that question dear friends, is no.

Busted!

Turns out, I can't do triangle pose the way that it is often portrayed on the cover of Yoga Journal. Turns out, I can't do many of the yoga postures as portrayed on posters, in magazines and as demonstrated by other Yogi's. Turns out, postures are unique to the person doing them, depending on their level of core strength, flexibility and body awareness.

WHAT?! But this doesn't make sense Hilary! What about "No pain, no gain?!"

Straining and pushing our bodies into postures or positions that we are not ready for can create MORE tension, MORE tightness and MORE dysfunction in the body (and the mind). These are the very benefits one is supposed to glean from a yoga practice; less tension, less tightness and less musco-skeletal dysfunction.

It is my experience in my body that if I cannot breathe in a pose or if I exhibit any of the other symptoms of having an obsession with what the external body "looks like" vs. "feels like" - red face, straining tendons and ligaments, and pinched, crunched muscles- then I have probably fallen into the Pushing Through the Pain to Glory camp.

Pushing Through the Pain to Glory can be associated with the western view of exercise. Yoga often gets lumped into this category, as simply or only exercise and as exercise that one should push, strain, sweat and muscle through.

My experiences at Yoga North have led me to believe differently, that perhaps there is another way, a way beyond the ego's obsession with externalities, a way into more ease, spaciousness and functional movement in my body.

The fable of the Tortoise and the Hare really nails it; patience vs. ego. It is my experience that slow and steady really does win the race. Cultivating body awareness and pure movement in the joints of our body is slow and steady work. Learning to breathe into a posture or through a movement is slow and steady work. Learning to relax into a pose with stability is slow and steady work. The Tortoise vs. the Hare, homeostasis in the bodily systems vs. dysfunction and pain.

I invite you as I invite all students to find the places in your body and in your life where you can breathe comfortably, without strain or pain. I invite you to make room for spaciousness and ease in your joints, in your mind and in your yoga experiences. I invite you to experiment with the possibility of having less pain and tightness in your body. I invite you to experiment with having less pain and tightness in your life..

And take a lesson from me, who learned it the hard way and ask yourself, with the current state of your yoga practice or exercise regimen, what will your bodie's level of functioning be like when you are 70 or 80?

Happy exploring!

Namaste.

Letters From Jamaica: Trespassing in Babylon

I tend to learn a lot from two things: traveling and retrospect. I stumbled across some old travel journals while cleaning and thought I would share. This entry is from my trip to Jamaica in March of 2010.

**

On a flight destined for Miami, I contemplate my privileged life. At the Minneapolis airport this morning, immigrants staffed the counter at Caribou Coffee, so gracious at 5am; ready with smiling faces and paper sacks to hold my turkey sandwich and fruit cup wrapped in plastic. They are serving coffee and I am about to leave for Jamaica, a land of extremes; tropical beaches, gang warfare, coconuts, resorts and poverty. I am the requisite Spring breaker in white linen pants toting sunglasses and an IPOD.

I observe my fellow Minnesotans as I wait for the flight attendant to begin the safety briefing. The man seated next to me is going to Haiti, probably to help out with the relief effort. Me, I'm going to a tropical "paradise" to recharge and relax; a sea of salt and pepper pin heads spanning the seats in front of me, bound for Florida.

Travelers Resort, Negril, Westmoreland, Jamaica:

It took nearly 24 hours to get here. Errol's, the place we were going to stay on the beach has fallen into ill repute. No one appears to be staying there and the restauraunt is not functioning. We are cajoled and serenaded anyway but decide that it may be too risky for a newly pregnant lady and head next door.

Corruption holds hands with poverty in this tiny island nation. Shanty towns, goats, Rastafarians, hustlers. We quickly realize that relaxation is not easily attained in this tropical paradise. The hustlers are relentless and we attract undo attention with our dreadlocks. Islanders dance jigs for vacationers trying to make a buck. Slavery is alive and well, a post-colonial hang over. It keeps our brains busy, too busy to relax.

The beach is beautiful, the sun is warm and the mangoes are to die for. We are handed joint after joint in this land of ganja and know that these "gifts" will come back to haunt us today on the beach. The hustlers have grafted exquisite tactics of manipulation including physically stuffing pot in your pockets, demanding payment and all the while regaling Bob Marley, singing "Roots, Rock, Reggae," playing on the ignorance of tourists whose only knowledge of Jamaica is in fact, Mr. Iron Lion Zion himself.

Trust has fallen by the wayside in this land of corrugated shanty huts and palacious homes in the hillsides. Gates, security, police officers, fat pink tourists; these things all guarantee that the circle will not end. "One Love" appears to be lost on all of us. Tourists buy cheap towels imprinted with these powerful words and have no idea that it is meant to be taken into the heart. Likewise for the folks selling them, trying to survive.

Later in a car riding through Sheffield, I meet my entitlement.

After witnessing a domestic dispute in the country in which a man and a woman chased another woman down a hill and smashed her head in with a bamboo pole and a three ring circus at a waterfall where a nine year old boy was put in charge of hustling us, I wanted two things and two things only: safety and security, topped with a dash of detachment and fuzzy denial. I wanted to reject my ability to see. I wanted to check out.

At the hotel afterwards, I promptly ate a cheeseburger and drank two beers. Ah, the good life. The right to participate as I "choose." The right to see when I feel like it. The right to ignore the reality of the place where I am half guest, half interloper. The right to purchase security guards, out of range of the hustle.

Fantasy vs. reality. Entitlement. Arrogance. Checking out. The precious jewels of wisdom hidden within. Short tennuous connections are easily broken by fear and greed, the strands of common humanness so fragile, nearly invisible in the tropical sun. It appears that we are all lost children of Zion, that spiritual point from which reality emerges culminating in unity, peace and freedom.

Staying Present in the Messes

Sigh.

Sometimes I remember why numbing myself used to be so much fun. Not fun in the really fulfilling sense of course, more so in that "I'm going to check out on reality for a while," sense.

In our Western lifestyles we seem to avoid pain and unpleasantness at all costs. I've got Ibuprofen, Ben and Jerry's and a nice bottle of red wine. It seems to be more the standard than the exception to self soothe with food, alcohol, pharmaceuticals and consumption. Why is this so?

Is it the smiling faces on sit coms, the lack of war coverage, the advertisements urging us to consume that enable us to bumble a long resisting the dual nature of our existance? Isn't it true that life is both ugly and beautiful, good and bad, painful and pleasurable?

Why is it so damn hard to just sit still in the unpleasantness?

The Yogis say that if we can accept the dual nature of reality that it will ease our suffering. In other words, if we can learn to not get too attached to the "good," and not get too used to resisting the "bad," we will naturally move into contentment, peace, ease and wholeness. Pain as it is, pleasure as it is.

Typically, when something feels good, I want more of it. And when something feels bad I want a pint of Chunky Monkey and re-runs of Northern Exposure. And if that doesn't work, an entire bag of peanut butter M & M's usually does the trick.

Our attachments, expectations and desires can be real assholes.

I have come to realize that trying to fix and control my pain sticks a nice little thorn in my side that constricts movement and flow, while worrying becomes a hamster on a wheel, it gives my mind something to do but there are no results. The real kicker is that we can't be any kinder to others than what we are feeling on the inside. This is where the messes happen because we end up releasing our demons out on to the general populace, and usually, those that are closest to us.

So it happens, a big fat mess. Now what??

Chunky Monkey or breathing? Frustration or tolerance? Tension or ease?

Perhaps it is enough to simply stay present to the experience, knowing that like all things the mess will change and morph and grow into something new, perhaps even something beautiful.

Perhaps the mess is merely an opportunity to come closer to our true nature, to clear out some clutter, to grow closer in intimacy. I have a sense that if we resist the mess, we run the risk of throwing more crap onto the pile. Embracing and staying present with it on the other hand, is trusting the journey...and in the end nurturing further self awareness and fulfillment.

In this way we are provided with insights and tools; patience, love, compassion, fortitude and discernment; flowers grown and fertilized in the mess. And let's be honest, those tools and insights stack up quite nicely against the endless barrels of Chunky Monkey and sit com re-runs.

I think that today, I'll choose the former.

Franti Fever

I have been following musician and activist Michael Franti for a few years now and remain in awe of his journey, his talent and his committment to grassroots peace activism.

I recently saw him perform with his band "Spearhead" at the State Theater in Minneapolis and am still reverberating from the experience. Once outspoken about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Michael has found a new route down that path...singing about love and humanity.

His journey parallels my own in that I used to get so much satisfaction from sticking it to "The Man." I used to attend rallies and protests, write angry, verbose editorials and loved to argue about politics, international affairs and the tyranny of the US government.

At that time Michael went to Iraq and Palestine while I traveled to Afghanistan, desperate to see the war unfolding with my own eyes. I returned heart broken, aloof and despondent and began to let go of politics all together. I was in search of something deeper and more meaningful, something that would help me make sense out of the world in which I found myself.

That something ended up being yoga. Michael ironically also found yoga and began to practice with his teachers David Life and Sharon Gannon in San Francisco. I watched his music and his message change as the music in my own life was forever altered. The cracks and fissures once blown open by witnessing 9-11 and attending George Bush's second inauguration were filled in with quietude, calm and a settledness that flowed through the cracks down into my bones. My angry voice became a sweet, chanting voice. My writing became more curious rather than authoritative.

A year or two later I found myself standing in front of a set of massive speakers watching Michael sing about the common threads that bind us all together. I watched the room sway in unison as if we are at some kind of fundamentalist revival. No one sat down for the entire show and I was beaming, elated, on fire with the power of the undercurrent that ripples beneath all of our lives. He has turned madness into joy and he feeds it back to his fans spoonful by loving spoonful in uplifting lyrics and reggae beats.

He has stumbled upon something more powerful than hate, more powerful than bombs, more powerful than raging against something be it a system, mindframe or political party...he has tapped into that which makes us all human and it is undeniable. He leads by example and proves that all of us are capable of making that leap to love.

For more information on Michael Franti, his music and his connections to the yoga community visit: www.michaelfranti.com

Following the Reverse Current

Home from a pilgrimmage to a Dave Matthews show, I walked wearily to the Knife River this afternoon in search of solace and comfort. In the Fall like midday sun I meandered down the trail feeling the breeze on my face, smiling as the already fallen leaves crunched under the soles of my hiking shoes.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, raising my arms up over my head in an arc over and over as I walked, trying to take in as much of the changing season into my being as I could; conjuring up thoughts of transition, change, settling, acceptance.

I made my way to a favorite rock, one I often do yoga on in the morning mist while the pups splash around chomping on sticks. I had the gift of solitude today, the dogs enjoying a day in town with my roommate, and so the stillness and quiet seemed new and lovely.

Flat on my back on a warm rock below a bright blue sky I breathed until I fell asleep. I fell asleep with a lake breeze rushing upstream over my body and water rushing downstream around me. Twenty or so minutes later, I woke myself up snoring with a start, and then a smile, followed by laughter.

I rolled over on to my belly, staring at the rushing water, still sleepy, feeling held and supported. I watched the water swirl in patterns. I watched the water rushing over stone. I watched the grass blowing in the wind. I watched the clouds passing across the sky; life in motion, always changing, circulating.

I watched my surroundings and became one with them, no longer separate, and wondered what I could learn from the stone, the flow, the quiet rushing. As I looked at the surface of the water I noticed movement below it and much to my delight two large trout came into focus, following the reverse current.

The Great Ones say that fish come swimming into our lives to remind us of the value of returning home to regenerate, swimming upstream through emotional waters to gain insight, understanding and wisdom.

I watched the two fish for some time, seemingly suspended in the current, enjoying the moment and admiring their perserverance.

In order to complete our own journeys, we must understand our own histories in order to see our path clearly. We can learn from fish to leap and jump with joy at the prospect of a new day and the challenges it may bring; knowing that wherever we are, we are always on our way home.

Bringing Fragments into Wholeness

Concrete picnic table; lichen covered, splotches of gold and gray. Magical sunlight warms my skin as my ears absorb water splashing on rock.

I ponder self care.

I am learning that support people and care givers need care and support also. I am learning my thresholds and levels, my mechanisms; fear of change, fear of committment, a desire for safety; a journey of healing that is life long.

My study of trauma and its effects on the mind, body and spirit trifecta have led me to believe in my own felt sense. In order to heal we must trust the messages our bodies are giving to us; trusting in gratitude that the body is sending messages that healing needs to happen.

At times we busy ourselves with caring for others or with the tasks of daily living that at times seem never ending and we are less able to hear these messages. In this state, when healing needs to take place, we can also become easily overwhelmed.

On the other hand when the time is taken to heal, shifts happen.

I have found that by caring for myself and taking the space and time to listen to the messages I am receiving from my body that I feel calmer, less worried, less critical of myself and have a deeper sense of well being; fragments brought into wholeness.

When I am in this place of healing, expansion also happens. I become more open, loving, receptive, able to surrender. I have been told that expansion happens in so far as healing takes place; they dance in tandem, one unable to move without the other.

Allowing ourselves to have the healing we need and allowing ourselves to be in whatever stage of healing we are in is a gift we can give to ourselves. In the photo pictured I am in "Legs Up the Wall" pose, deep in surrender. Give it a try sometime and take some long deep breaths...see if there is anything your body is trying to tell you. Listen, and see what happens.

Just a Little Patience

Patience: Patience is the state of endurance under difficult circumstances, which can mean persevering in the face of delay or provocation without acting on annoyance/anger in a negative way; or exhibiting forbearance when under strain, especially when faced with longer-term difficulties. It is also used to refer to the character trait of being steadfast.

Man, do I suck at this.

Antonyms for patience are hastiness and impetuousness. Impetuousness, now that's more my style. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm "hotheaded" which is a synonym for impetuous, but I do have a rash, impulsive streak that could use some tending to.

I often hear the word patience. I use the word patience. I try to cultivate this word in myself. Yet, I only recently realized that I have no internal concept of what the definition of patience means.

I never thought of it as a state of endurance under difficult circumstances without acting on anger/fear/annoyance, etc. I've more so treated patience as a jaw clenching means of bearing down and waiting with a furrowed brow...its been a holding on instead of a letting go.

Patience is allowing. Patience is presence. Patience is trust.

I have found recently that when I am at my emotional edge that patience is the first thing to go; there is no sense of steadfastness, merely uncertainty bound and gagged by fear. In that space I am easily pushed over the edge to disconnection, intolerance and impulsiveness.

On this sunny Sunday morning I am in gratitude that I looked up the definition of patience, wondering, what does this concept really mean? I am happy that I did. I've had one of those "ah ha!" moments in which a shift has occurred. I feel like I get it...time to put it into practice.

“The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.” -Arnold H. Glasglow

Touche, Arnold.

Knock, Knock. Its Time For Your Circumcision.

Ok, not really. I was just trying to get your attention because I am in the midst of planning a right of passage for a friend that involves moving from one stage of life to the next; letting go, stepping into and embracing the change...and I think that the meaning imbedded in these rituals is awesome, beautiful and relevant (and much like a circumcision, change can also be painful and terrifying).

Rites of passage are often ceremonies surrounding events such as milestones within puberty, coming of age, marriage, birth and death. Initiation ceremonies such as baptism, confirmation and bar or bat Mitzvah are considered important rites of passage for persons of their respective religions as well.

These rituals serve a tri-fold purpose in which the person is separated from the old way of living and being in the world, spirited through a transition through ceremony and finally re-incorporation where the the person has completed the rite and assumed their new identity. Examples of this are getting a haircut in the military, black belt grading in martial arts, and going on a vision quest in the Native tradition.

These rituals are the embodiment of the circular symbol of birth, life and death that accompany each change, each small death, each stage of life we revolve through as human beings. They are the demarcation, the line that is crossed from one place to the next; birth to child, boy to man, girl to woman, woman to mother, man to father, maiden to crone, crone to death...waxing moon to waning moon, fall to winter to spring to summer, seed to plant to flower to seed, and so on and so forth.

Leaving one life stage and moving into the next once can be, as I mentioned, beautiful and yet terrifying and painful. In a culture like ours, the American Diaspora, we tend to avoid pain and resist the movement, the demarcation, between life stages. Birth can now be painless, death can be made-over, and aging can be halted, botoxed, dyed away and finally hidden in a filing cabinent for old folks before being preserved and buried.

What are the implications when the rights of passage in a society are either circumvented or otherwise removed by a culture of consumerism and the fear of the connection to the natural world and its processes?

One could posit that we are already seeing the implications in our society full of Peter Pan's that don't want to grow up and beauty queens that don't want to age, not to mention the way that we treat our elders and our environment. Wisdom is being pilfered and lost by generations of people that have outcast themselves from ritual, myth and deep symbolism rooted in nature. We remain stuck and drifting in adolescence only to have mid-life crises where we typically struggle alone to overcome the surge of instincts and emotions that drive us right to the door of change, much to the bewilderment of our family and friends.

Rites of passage and symbolic ritual held in community can be a calming, restorative and wonderful experience for the initiate even when pain and fear are present. Acknowledging and preparing for the change in life stages can bring awareness and a settling admist the uncertainty of what lies ahead. It can also work on a subconscious level which intuites and understands the language of symbol and images.

To hold space for someone, to spirit them through the change and welcome them when they reach the other side with love, compassion and understanding is an honor and an amazing thing to be a part of. How would each of us feel if we were cared for in this way through our own changing life circumstances and stages? What would the implications of that be?

In a few short weeks time, my closest friend will walk the circle to motherhood; the ultimate hero's journey, a wonderful, creative reconstruction, a new beginning for both mother and child...an adventure and the experience of the fully human life, replete with ritual and symbol to mark the passing. I look forward to observing the transformation; watching it expand in circles from the source.

And now, some words from JC.

"Furthermore, we have not even to risk the adventure alone; for the heroes of all time have gone before us; the labyrinth is thoroughly known; we have only to follow the thread of the hero-path. And where had thought to find and abomination, we shall find a god; where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world." -Joseph Campbell

How Slow Can You Go?

The red squirrel nation was thick in the treetops today; squealing and sputtering, alerting me to my own loud presence, feet crunching on twigs and dried pine needles. I stopped in front of a white pine, the dogs sitting next to my legs, as we all looked up, watching as a squirrel ran up and down getting closer to us each time. I stared, laughing, as it ran down shrieking, tail twitching back and forth. It was seemingly as curious about us as we were about it. Either that or it was simply pissed off that we were standing so close to the tree.

As I stood there watching this tiny furry creature I started to think about slowing down and what it really means. How slow and simple does one have to be in order to have a healthy and balanced life without dis-ease? How much stimulus and stress can a human organism handle?

I contemplated this as I continued down the trail to one of the spawning areas on the river. Sitting near a waterfall while the pups patrolled for cougars I ate dried mango slices from Mexico and watched hundreds of dragonflies swarming in the air feasting on small gnat like insects; the food chain in flight against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. The dragonflies were the color of my moss green metallic water bottle and had transparent wings. I had never seen so many at once. I pondered that perhaps I have missed out on a lot in my previous fast paced life, and wondered even if perhaps it was still too fast (even though I'm not working and I sleep a lot and take naps and sit by rivers frequently).

This brought on more questions in my busy mind: Are humans only meant to focus on one task at a time? What are the consequences of constant over stimulation without adequate rest (for the mind & body)? Is Attention Deficit Disorder a by product of too much, too fast for an organism struggling to be in the present moment?

The day before I had procured a sandwich from Amazing Grace and spirited it away to Lester River. I had the pups with me and had planned on sharing half of it with them when we got settled somewhere on the river bank. I was most excited about the pickle. For me, the pickle makes the sandwich. Those sandwichs are awesome but they are more awesome with the pickle.

The dogs were playing in the water as I chomped on the sandwich; sun shining, cool breeze, East Duluth paradise on a river rock. I picked up the pickle with a twinkle in my eye, mouth already salivating. I was making a conscious choice to savor this pickle as I took the first bite when suddenly I noticed that Che had poop hanging out of his butt and was running around, scared because he didn't know what it was.

I began to chase him trying to pull the poop out with a big leaf, noticing that the long grass he likes to munch on was the culprit. I was laughing and he was running and I finally caught him and pulled it out (ah, kids!). Sighing, I returned to my sandwich looking for my pickle. I was ready to enjoy the rest of it!

But alas, there was no pickle. I was confused, where was my precious pickle? I could still taste the sour vinegar in my mouth and that was when I realized I had eaten it completely during the poop chase.

I missed out on my pickle!

I ate it unconsciously because I could only focus on one thing at a time. This revelation led me to a more solid belief that if I am multi-tasking I am probably missing out on something, perhaps something even as awesome as the perfect pickle.

That being said, let it be known that I, Hilary Danielle Buckwalter hereby question the value of multi-tasking, in the name of sanity, health, pickles and all that is holy.

So there you have it, more questions. How slow is slow enough?

How slow can YOU go?

Macro Meditation: One Day at a Time

Meditation: the dynamic discipline in which attention flows without breaking toward a single inspirational focus within the mind, until the mind becomes completely absorbed and all distracting thoughts disappear. -From "Conquest of Mind" by Eknath Easwaran

Training attention. This is what I was pondering yesterday on the trail with Che. Training attention not with grandiose hopes of a remarkable spiritual experience, simply training my mind to focus in service of mastering the thinking process.

Admittedly, I have been off of the meditation wagon for quite some time despite India, despite my longing for it, despite blogging about the untrained horses run amuck. I have also noticed the fruits of this lack of training and have watched my mind have a field day; reveling in emotional reactions, giving in to constant cravings (as of late its been Gobstoppers), identifying with "me & mine."

And even though I haven't been meditating as often, I've still been watching the circus, and man, I'm ready to get back to basics.

In his book, "Conquest of Mind," Eknath says that every moment, from the time we get up in the morning until we go to bed, is an opportunity for training the mind. He also says that training the mind is one of the most difficult tasks a human can undertake...

So why would I want to do this? And believe me, I was really mulling it over on the trail as the first cool breeze in weeks uplifted my senses.

Because the benefits far out way the task at hand; transforming the powerful currents of negative thinking that swirl deep in the unconscious mind. This in turn nourishes kindness, compassion, awareness which nurture deeper relationships and ways of being in the world. Sounds lovely doesn't it?

So why is it so hard?

We all carry deep conditioned tendencies to particular ways of thinking and acting, usually negative or self willed (so says Eknath), which have been dug in to the mind through many years of repeating the same thought over and over. When we meditate we come in to contact with these hidden parts of ourselves and it is here where we can learn to make our responses to life a matter of free choice.

The Buddha said, "All that we are is a result of what we have thought." Eknath says that what the Buddha is trying to tell us is that if our thinking is based on stimulus and response (rather than awareness and choice) then most of us live like puppets, moved by patterns of thinking built up over years of repetition.

But it is possible to cultivate that space of free choice, to recondition the nervous system, to rise above duality.

"Yoga," says the Bhagavad Gita, "is evenness of mind." This means that through good and bad, highs and lows, ups and downs, when you can accept all-even those you don't like that you have reached freedom.

I realized yesterday sitting next to the river watching Che bask in the present moment (that's the great thing about dogs, always Awake!) that I have tasted that place. I have tasted, touched, smelled, felt and intuited that place and I want more of it. So I decided I would start with a walking meditation, taking a slow pace back down the Superior Hiking Trail, watching my breath.

As I walked I noticed things I had missed, in particular how the mushrooms (with which I have a particular fascination) were popping up all over the trail in a vibrant display of pinks and yellows.

Breathing, I took out my camera and crouched down turning it to the macro setting; designed to capture a smaller perspective, perfect for focusing attention. And for the next two hours I was completely absorbed in the tiny bright world of fungi, my breath, the mushrooms and the click of the shutter registering as meditation; unifying consciousness, deepening concentration.

I left the forest with a deeper appreciation for the ability to focus and the sense that this is a process that takes its own time (much like Everything!).

The best we can do is to take it in digestible pieces; one day at a time with consistency in practice and compassion for ourselves.

I leave you with Buddha's Twin Verses, from the Dhammapada:

All that we are is a result of what we have thought: we are formed and molded by our thoughts. Those whose minds are shaped by selfish thoughts cause misery when they speak or act. Sorrows roll over them as the wheels of a cart follow the hooves of the bullock that draws it.

All that we are is a result of what we have thought: we are formed and molded by our thoughts. Those whose minds are shaped by selfless thoughts give joy when they speak or act. Joy follows them like a shadow that never leaves them.