Where do you stand?

Witnessing this moment in our country's history I osculate between horror and hope.  

Story after story of systemic racism breaks my heart daily.

Peaceful protests - arms linked in solidarity fill me with hope.

People I love and respect defending and justifying violence disgusts me. 

People I love and respect pledging to protect and support our marginalized brothers and sisters inspires me. 

Speeches that vomit hatred for another in the name of religion are vile. 

Actions of love, respect and service to another need no public declaration - God is there. 

I lose faith in humanity when I see someone being treated less than human. 

The resilience of the human spirit gives me strength and courage to keep extending my hand in service. 

The roots of hatred are so deep. It's overwhelming. 

It feels like we're digging up the roots of an ancient oak tree with a plastic beach shovel. 

But the mighty oak tree started as infinite potential stored in a tiny acorn.  

In this moment, we hold in our hands the same infinite potential for love and mutual respect. 

Like the tiny acorn, we are right now buried in darkness. We must allow ourselves to soften, be broken open, and continue to reach for light. 

Witnessing this moment in our country's history begs the question....What side of history do you want to be on?   Are you contributing to the horror or the hope?  How does your choice feel? 

The Yoga of Motherhood

At yoga this morning a woman said (about motherhood) "even though it was really hard I wouldn't have it any other way. "  Her daughter is grown and she has the 20/20 vision of hindsight on her side.  My initial thought was how lucky she is that she doesn't have any regrets.

My kids are mostly grown too. My vision, however, was not as clear at first.   For a second I missed the part where she said "It was really hard..."   I sometimes regret not having the option to be a stay at home mom.  I sometimes still worry that I could have done things better. I sometimes still feel somehow deficient.  Still.... I wouldn't have it any other way.   As we all know, motherhood takes us to the brink of insanity nearly every day but it also shows us our infinity capacity to love.

As I was reflecting on my experiences with motherhood I could see very clearly that it has provided plenty of  opportunities  to practice the teachings of yoga.

Things like "non-attachment" might seem foreign to some but to a mom, it's a daily experience.
"Where's my favorite coffee mug?"  Oh... there it is in the basement with paint brushes in it.  Eating soup with a fork because all the spoons have mysteriously disappeared.  I could write a book entitled "The Nicholson mysteries"  about all the exercises in non-attachment.  The mystery of the missing spoons is just the latest edition.

Learning to stay one pointed in the midst of chaos.  There's a story of a yoga master that was able to meditate in the middle of New York City.  He's got nothing on yoga-moms.  Have you ever tried to cook dinner with kids fighting, barking dogs chasing each other while still wearing your work clothes and not loose your mind?  When I started meditating my kids were little.  I would set a timer outside my bedroom door.  It didn't take long before I'd hear whispers and then fighting on the other side of that door.  Still, I flexed my discipline muscles and continued to sit in "meditation" until the timer went off.  As I learned "one pointed concentration" my kids learned boundaries and the importance of self-care.  They may have caused chaos but they rarely opened the door.

Ever heard of ahimsa?  Ahimsa is a first principle in yoga --  Non-harming.  That might seem obvious to new moms rocking their sweet little ones who coo and smile at them all day.  It's much harder when your teenager screams "I hate you!!  you're ruining my life".  I never understood how anyone could hurt their child until..... PUBERTY.  I shudder to think what kind of mother I would have been without my yoga practice.

All I ever really wanted from the yoga practice was equanimity of mind.  I wanted to be able to maintain composure regardless of what was going on around me.   Lucky for me God is generous and gives me lots of chances to practice.  From, everyday chances like when the dog destroys yet another sofa to extreme chances like when my daughter nearly dies in childbirth.  What I've learned is that although it's important to maintain composure in the moment it's also important that we acknowledge our emotions and allow ourselves to feel them.... Even if that means meltdowns in the shower.  Teaching little kids how to deal with really BIG emotions is done by example.   If we don't allow our children to see us feeling our feelings then they grow up without the tools to process their own.  This is one of the many balancing "poses" moms practice daily.  The balance between maintaining composure so that kids feel safe but also allowing them to see us feeling our feelings.

Perhaps the most interesting experience of motherhood is the ability to hold two opposing emotions at the same time. The moment you can feel so much love that your heart could burst and at the same time wanting to loose your shit when you see your daughter carved "I love you Mom" on your beautiful wood dining room table.  The moment  your kid comes home way past curfew and you feel relief that they are still alive and at the same time wanting to kill them for ignoring curfew.   How about that feeling of pride when you see what truly great humans your kids are and at the same time feeling so much guilt and self doubt worrying about all the mistakes you've made.

Every motherhood moment is simultaneously filled with the greatest joy you've ever known and with the most overwhelming fear and anxiety.  Motherhood is not "having no regrets"   It's about doing the best you can.  It's about loving fiercely.

"Even though it's really hard, I wouldn't have it any other way."   I couldn't agree more, Vicki.

Deconstruction in progress

Letting go of delusion is painful.  It feels like my skin is being ripped off inch by inch.  The pain is searing and I fear that I won't survive.  The "me" I thought I was will most definitely not survive.  It would be impossible to survive the deconstruction that is happening.

I fear the pain, I fear what it will be like to move through life in such a raw and vulnerable state.  I fear how others will react.  I fear the validation of my beliefs.  I fear that there's no end to the delusion.  I wonder if the saying is true.  Is the evil you know better than the evil you don't know?

If my strength and self-sufficiency have been a delusion does that mean that my perceived flaws are also a delusion?  There is just as much possibility that what's beyond the delusion is liberating and wonderful as there is that it will be scary and horrible. Is it possible that feeling empty is a blessing?

I find myself resisting my practice. I'm resisting because it is the very thing that's causing the delusion to fall apart.  The delusion has been my means of protection.  Without it I'm exposed.  I'm standing naked in the middle of my life.  Vulnerability is scary.  Who will protect me?

Om Hreem Shreem Dum Durgaya Namaha     

Since I was nine years old I have played the role of mother and protector.  In reality I was just a child in need of mothering and protection.   The delusion of strength and self-sufficiency was necessary and served me well for many years.  Sadly, though, it has also become a hindrance.   I've worn the delusion for so long that I began to believe it was my own skin rather than a suite of amour that can be removed when the battle was over. 

I was reminded yesterday that the reason I feel vulnerable, alone, and without protection is because I have forgotten the presence  of God.  It is the hand of God that is systematically removing the delusion.  It is no longer needed.  The suit of amour is no longer necessary when I remember the presence of God.  

Yes, it is painful.  Like the pain of surgery when the doctor has to cut away disease so that the patient can heal and be whole again.  When God is the surgeon what is there to fear? 

Is it worth it?

Had I known the depths that my yoga practice would take me I doubt I would have had the courage to step foot on the mat.  Truth be told, I started taking yoga classes as a way of relieving stress.  I was in search of love and light and cotton candy.  I was bound and determined to be peaceful and happy even if it kills me.  Some days, it seems that my practice is doing just that... killing me.  In reality, it is killing "Me".

In yoga-land they use the analogy of peeling away the layers of an onion to describe the peeling away of the masks and stories that we have created around this idea of what or who "Me" is.   When I peel an onion it makes me cry.  The same is true with the peeling away of the layers of "Me". There are inevitably tears and pain involved when we start to peel away the masks.  We feel raw and vulnerable.  There's also fear.  Fear of what's underneath the  mask and stories of our lives?  How will people react to me without the mask?  Who am I under the stories and masks?

What keeps us peeling away, despite the pain and fear, is the promise of discovering who we really are at our core.   What is the essence of who we are without the stories, without the masks?  It's the promise of nirvana or bliss that keeps us returning to the painful practice of peeling away.  Some days I want to give up.  Some days it seems the onion has no many layers that I'll never reach the center.
Other days, I feel lighter for having discarded so many layers already and I feel inspired to keep going.

It seems to me that the beginning layers peel away rather easy.  It actually feels liberating and freeing to let go of the story that I needed to live up to the standards set by Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart or Leave it to Beaver's mom.   The beginning layers are more superficial.  As you let go you feel invigorated and it propels you onward.  Like peeling paint from the front porch.  At first, the pieces that weren't so attached come away easy and I think to myself  "How hard could it be?".

Once the superficial layers get cleared away you start to work on the layers that have been there a little longer.  These stories and masks are ones that we have been carrying for a lot longer and we're more attached to.  They get harder to shake loose.  We start to question whether or not it's worth the effort to remove them or maybe, like the front porch, we want to just paint over those layers and pray for the best.

This journey of self-discovery is not for the faint of heart.  The deeper our practice is  the deeper it takes us into the dark corners of our minds.  At some point, we reach those stories that we are sure are entwined into the very fibers of our being.  How will I ever peel those away?

While peeling away the paint on the porch, we got to a point where some of the wood was coming away with the paint.   That's what it feels like for me right now.  It feels like some of the very fibers of my being are being peeled away along with the story.  The pain feels more like grief.  Grief is a natural response to loss. Even if the loss is just a story of who we thought we were.  I didn't, however, expect grief to be a part of the practice that was suppose to bring me to love and light and cotton candy.

There is fear, and vulnerability in the rawness of letting go of these deep layers of the story of "Me". Who will I be when this layer is gone?  This story is, by far, the most painful to let go of.  Will I have the courage and strength to tackle the next one?  How much more pain and grief must I endure before I reach this elusive state of bliss?  Is it even worth the effort?  Today, I surrender to the feet of the Divine Mother who soothes all pain and grief.

Love is a verb

Today someone said "Love is a verb. An action word not a noun."  I immediately had a flash back to Catholic elementary school.  Verbs are underlined in red pen and nouns are circled.   If the sentence is:  I love you.  It's obvious the word love would get underlined.  Why have I never given this any thought?   At what point did love become a feeling instead of an action word?

The thought that hijacked my brain today is "What is the action that I take that is love?"   How would you answer that question?  Go ahead and tell me.. I really want to know.   In yoga-land in particular people are always proclaiming their love for each other.  That's the easy part.  Saying I love you is easy.  But what's the action behind the words?

Over the past year there have been multiple occasions when I needed help.  Help with things like home repairs, broken down cars, learning how to use that DAMN weed wacker!  I needed help. I'm not really comfortable asking for help.  I have this belief, I'll admit a stupid one, but a belief that people should be paying attention and should just realize that I need help.  When I realized that wasn't getting me anywhere I swallowed my pride and reached out.  So many people tell me they love me and offer their assistance.  "If I can help you in anyway, call me."  Sadly, I discovered that those were mostly empty words.   I have certainly learned who my friends are and who I can actually count on this past year.

Don't worry.... I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty... The point I'm trying to make is that I have learned how to love through this experience.  I learned  not to  offer my help or love unless I'm prepared to back it up with action.  Something weird happened to me.  One day, after my frustration and mental temper tantrum completely wore me out, I realized that the reason I'm experiencing these things is to teach me valuable lessons.  (yes, I know, I'm a slow learner!) Like when I feel sad that my kids don't have dinner with me I  remember how that feels when my own mom calls and asks me to go have dinner with her.  Even if I'm tired and I'd rather stay in I remember how the feeling and I go.  That's an action of love.

Love is a verb.  The action is to live your life in such a way that everyone around you feels your love. Then, words won't be necessary when our actions transit love.  It's not enough to say  "Love is the best medicine"  Even the best medicine in the world won't cure you if you don't take it.  Love is verb.  There must be an action that makes "love the best medicine".  

Just to be clear... The action of love doesn't have to some grand, dramatic gesture. Some of the most profound actions of love have been things like, a woman I hardly knew saw the severe burn on my hand and offered me some burn cream.  Another woman who volunteered to come to house in the middle of a heat wave to help me sand my front porch.   A friend who showed up my door with her tiller and car filled with tomato plants who worked her ass off to help me plant my garden after my surgery.  Someone's parents who extended a hand to help my daughter with her car.  There were others... but these random acts of kindness are love in action.

I ask you again,... What is the action that you  take that is love?   Love is verb, not a noun.