It was a recurring dream. Sometimes it would find me at night, sometimes during the day when my mind would drift.
I'm in the ocean. Alone. Water all around me. All I see in every direction. My head is bobbing up and down. I'm floating and I'm sinking. My legs and arms are proficient at paddling, but my body feels fatigued. I can only float for so long. I close my eyes and allow myself a rest. I drift under the surface, submerged fully. My body is finally weightless. I feel my hair swirling above me. My hair is weightless too.
But my heart is too full to be weightless. I kick my legs, remembering my purpose - my little Niya - only a year old. I gasp for my life as I break the surface. I breathe in hungrily for myself and for my daughter. My love saves me.
Outside of this dream, I know that it is love that saves me. I know that my dream is not unique. This dream has crept into the hearts and minds of others. It is fear and suffering and life being harder than we had expected it to be. Life being different from how we had planned.
My daughter's first years were a time of struggle, confusion and recoiling from dreams and expectations on what I thought life should be. Parts of my heart and my flesh became rigid, dense and hidden. Naivete gone, the cruelties of life attacked and I hardened in response. My deep sadness was not alone though. A new, constant, unwavering companion took up residence: awe and love. Untouchable love. My daughter born, I had no idea what this love was or the depth of tenderness that one person could feel for another. The hard parts of my heart dried out and retreated. New, soft places grew - big and juicy, innocent and young. One idea of love gone, my greatest love found me. But I was still bobbing, still searching for land, for rest and safety for myself and my daughter.
Refuge and safety - I searched for deeper truths inside myself this time. I had just learned that you need a strong inner before seeking a strong outer counterpart. I returned to a yoga practice I had only just met during my pregnancy.
Class was a community of seekers. People looking for increased wellness not just in body, but in mind and heart. Exhaling in a group, holding difficult poses. Holding difficulty and challenge together. Holding the edges of self-imposed limits and then pushing gently further. Finding new space to grow into.
It's years later now. My ever awe-inspiring daughter is almost nine. Life has settled down. Our family has grown in love by one, a partner and husband for me, a papa for my girl. I still find myself in the ocean, but I enjoy the water more. I navigate it now with close friends and trust, my yoga practice and love. My body and head drop below the surface and my feet easily find the soft, sandy bottom below. I am weightless for a moment before springing off the sandy floor and rising triumphant into the sunshine and air.
My husband watches me practice yoga almost everyday. He is confused on why I am not a walking, talking, gentle body of constant serenity. He doesn't understand how I still struggle when I have all those downward dogs sprinkled into my day. Why do I still find myself bobbing in the ocean sometimes? My response is primal and coming from a place of trusted inner knowledge.
I found yoga years ago to help me move through places I thought were walled up and impenetrable. I practice because it helps me to stay afloat, to expand into new space, to remain alive and growing. I practice precisely because I am not a light beam of constant peace. I am human and beautifully flawed.
My practice gives me new perspective. I am in the ocean floating. All around me, in every direction, I see water. All around me, I see an endless field of possibility.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Lyme Disease: How Chinese Medicine Can Help
Lyme disease is tricky. If the person is lucky, they present with an obvious bulls-eye rash and overt symptoms that easily lead to a quick diagnosis. A course of antibiotic therapy to rid the body of the pathogen, followed up with acupuncture and herbal medicine to help the body return to balance, is usually an effective cure.
If the person is unlucky, years of illness can ensue with out a diagnosis. Some patients are told their bizarre constellation of symptoms is all in their head. Peoples lives become affected on all levels, disrupting home life and relationships and work. Many times patients turn to Oriental Medicine as a last hope in dealing with this chronic illness.
The complex nature of this disease effects each individual in different ways, making it difficult to recognize. Some people may present with digestive upset and chronic fatigue symptoms, while others have headaches and neurological concerns. Test results are not always accurate.
Oriental Medicine is uniquely suited to address Lyme disease, due to Lyme's chronic nature and its ability to manifest differently in various individuals. Acupuncture does not treat an illness, but treats an individual presenting with symptoms. Along with treating symptoms, practitioners will also work on re-building the immune system. Certain herbal combination can help clear heat and toxicity created by Lyme pathogens. Herbal formulas help support the work of acupuncture, penetrating deeply into the organ systems to further assist healing.
While Lyme can debilitate people and wreck havoc on personal and professional relationships, remember that there are multiple avenues to regain health. Oriental Medicine is a wonderful piece of a larger plan to rebuild vitality and bring life back on track.
If the person is unlucky, years of illness can ensue with out a diagnosis. Some patients are told their bizarre constellation of symptoms is all in their head. Peoples lives become affected on all levels, disrupting home life and relationships and work. Many times patients turn to Oriental Medicine as a last hope in dealing with this chronic illness.
The complex nature of this disease effects each individual in different ways, making it difficult to recognize. Some people may present with digestive upset and chronic fatigue symptoms, while others have headaches and neurological concerns. Test results are not always accurate.
Oriental Medicine is uniquely suited to address Lyme disease, due to Lyme's chronic nature and its ability to manifest differently in various individuals. Acupuncture does not treat an illness, but treats an individual presenting with symptoms. Along with treating symptoms, practitioners will also work on re-building the immune system. Certain herbal combination can help clear heat and toxicity created by Lyme pathogens. Herbal formulas help support the work of acupuncture, penetrating deeply into the organ systems to further assist healing.
While Lyme can debilitate people and wreck havoc on personal and professional relationships, remember that there are multiple avenues to regain health. Oriental Medicine is a wonderful piece of a larger plan to rebuild vitality and bring life back on track.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
More Than A Yoga Body
Today I have the opportunity to assist a class at South Boston Yoga. At least sixty people fill the room. Tiny pathways, better suited to small, soft mice, snake through the mat-filled room. Mats get closer and closer as kind yogis squeeze over to make room for the last few folks trickling into class.
I stand and watch as our teacher, David, makes his way to the front of the room and opens class with his charismatic greeting. Being the second day of January 2011, David asks people new to his class to raise their hands. These brave souls with raised hands receive an ecstatic "WELCOME" - instantly a part of the family.
As class gets moving, I tiptoe and balance through the room, touching people and gently guiding bodies to slightly deeper poses.
David is serving up a challenging class. I watch from the sidelines as bodies shake into new places and breath becomes deep and audible. Almost everyone I touch is covered in a slick layer of sweat and concentration. Feet together, knees together, hips sinking into chair pose - the breath deepens. From the edges of mats, sandwiched between deeply focused bodies, I silently witness minds and hearts finding their edge - breathing into it, expanding it. I stand quietly as David leads them down to plank, holding them there.
Mountain pose, diving down, bowing. All these bowing hearts and bodies, surrendering in full awareness of present moment. Side angle, twisting their hearts open and I am allowed the chance of touching this community of deeply sweaty, deeply present, deeply mindful people. Gentle touch guides their twist, their hearts unfolding towards the ceiling, towards greater openness. Laughs are interspersed with exhales as people find humor in their physical limitations and flexibility in their acceptance of themselves.
This class ends with a long savasana. I move from arm to arm, gently placing my hand under people's scapula, drawing their shoulders away from their ears. This is one of my favorite adjustments to receive and to give. Placing arms and hands back on the floor, sometimes I can not help placing one hand on top of a neighbors. Their is not much room in this class. But the people in class whom I touch, whose hands I place next to one another, who walked into class as strangers, do not retract their hands from their neighbors. They don't move their pinkies away from contact. They allow their hands to rest down, touching, joined in a simple gesture of trust and care.
Everyone rolls over to one side and sits up with eyes closed, hand over heart. We finish with three "OM"s. Everyone's voices finding a vibration that lifts the room further. We are at home in our human voices, each one a thread in something greater.
My heart is full. After a final seated bow, people rise to leave. Their faces are relaxed and free, shinning out a new gift of something shared and special.
I linger a moment. Sure, I don't always find this feeling in every class. But when I do, I am again in awe at the possibility. I am in awe at how I cannot explain with straightforward words where yoga class brings us. I do know it is somewhere that feels like our truest home, where people meet without names or jobs or status symbol. People meet with their rawest self, stripped down to basic, flawed and beautiful humanity. People show up and move and feel. I don't care where yoga came from. I know where it is now, today, as I leave a room of open hearts and open possibility. Bowing in gratitude - peace to all.
I stand and watch as our teacher, David, makes his way to the front of the room and opens class with his charismatic greeting. Being the second day of January 2011, David asks people new to his class to raise their hands. These brave souls with raised hands receive an ecstatic "WELCOME" - instantly a part of the family.
As class gets moving, I tiptoe and balance through the room, touching people and gently guiding bodies to slightly deeper poses.
David is serving up a challenging class. I watch from the sidelines as bodies shake into new places and breath becomes deep and audible. Almost everyone I touch is covered in a slick layer of sweat and concentration. Feet together, knees together, hips sinking into chair pose - the breath deepens. From the edges of mats, sandwiched between deeply focused bodies, I silently witness minds and hearts finding their edge - breathing into it, expanding it. I stand quietly as David leads them down to plank, holding them there.
Mountain pose, diving down, bowing. All these bowing hearts and bodies, surrendering in full awareness of present moment. Side angle, twisting their hearts open and I am allowed the chance of touching this community of deeply sweaty, deeply present, deeply mindful people. Gentle touch guides their twist, their hearts unfolding towards the ceiling, towards greater openness. Laughs are interspersed with exhales as people find humor in their physical limitations and flexibility in their acceptance of themselves.
This class ends with a long savasana. I move from arm to arm, gently placing my hand under people's scapula, drawing their shoulders away from their ears. This is one of my favorite adjustments to receive and to give. Placing arms and hands back on the floor, sometimes I can not help placing one hand on top of a neighbors. Their is not much room in this class. But the people in class whom I touch, whose hands I place next to one another, who walked into class as strangers, do not retract their hands from their neighbors. They don't move their pinkies away from contact. They allow their hands to rest down, touching, joined in a simple gesture of trust and care.
Everyone rolls over to one side and sits up with eyes closed, hand over heart. We finish with three "OM"s. Everyone's voices finding a vibration that lifts the room further. We are at home in our human voices, each one a thread in something greater.
My heart is full. After a final seated bow, people rise to leave. Their faces are relaxed and free, shinning out a new gift of something shared and special.
I linger a moment. Sure, I don't always find this feeling in every class. But when I do, I am again in awe at the possibility. I am in awe at how I cannot explain with straightforward words where yoga class brings us. I do know it is somewhere that feels like our truest home, where people meet without names or jobs or status symbol. People meet with their rawest self, stripped down to basic, flawed and beautiful humanity. People show up and move and feel. I don't care where yoga came from. I know where it is now, today, as I leave a room of open hearts and open possibility. Bowing in gratitude - peace to all.
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