This Wholeness: a recap of the Jivamukti Yogawood Retreat to Vietnam

This past January, Julie Kirkpatrick and I took 20 students on a yoga retreat to Hoi An, Vietnam. It was a big endeavour to coordinate travel for all these Holy Beings across the world, but completely worth it. I've only begun to download all the photos. I'm seeing so many more incredible images from the various participants-- but I'll only share those with their permission! I'll do my best to recap this experience from my own records.

From various parts of the US and Switzerland, we all flew into Ho Chi Minh City. This is about 20 hours of travel, minimum, so there were some bedraggled and brave souls touching down in Vietnam's capital. Most of us arrived late Saturday evening, stayed the night, and then flew out to Da Nang the following morning. This was a quick commuter flight up the coast. From Da Nang, Hoi An is about 20 minutes away. On our ride from the airport we stopped at China Beach, made infamous for it's RnR during the US-Vietnam war.

The group stayed in three boutique hotels in a small radius in Old Town Hoi An. Breakfasts were at each individual hotel, everyone was on their own for lunch, and we had dinners together in various top notch Hoi An restaurants. Each morning, we walked along the river and through the bustling market place to a patio we had rented for our yoga space.

After practice, participants spent their days taking in the bustle of Hoi An, visiting temples and pagodas, taking boat rides on the river, cycling through the surrounding rice paddies, commissioning tailor-made clothes, shopping, learning to make lanterns, taking cooking lessons, and much more. The more ambitious amongst us went further afield to neighboring towns like Hue while others (like me) went hard on the inexpensive massages. A 60 min massage ranged from $12-18. At a certain point I was averaging about one a day!

Hoi An is known for its food so there was a lot of sampling. In between massages I was a fan of matcha tea lattes. Not only is the food delicious and locally grown, but it's really beautiful. That strikes me every time I'm in Vietnam-- there's this rare ability to make everything beautiful: your meal, the moment, the land. There's an intricacy and attention that moves me.

Evening practices were more gentle or restorative. We incorporated meditation, chanting, and sometimes philosophy discussions. Unfortunately, Vietnam is not the quietest place in general! There are constant motorbikes going by, music, and the general hub bub of life. Julie taught us amazing meditation techniques to let the noise bring us to a centered space, so that we learn how to let our circumstances facilitate peace and not feel at odd with our circumstances. A good lesson in general and a great lesson when you're traveling.

The nearest city to Hoi An is Da Nang. The Solar Wheel, the big ferris wheel shown below, is said to be one of 10 biggest in the world! We visited Da Nang one day on the hunt to visit a local fortune teller (that story to come). While waiting for the fortune teller we wandered through some local farm plots. They were so beautifully tended. They showed the same sweet attention I find again and again when in Vietnam. This was among the many reasons I was so glad to go back and visit this place again with all these dear yoga retreat participants. We got to take in the beauty and the cacophany with equanimity and bring these lessons back home.

As this retreat was so far away, and in a time zone 12 hours off from most of the group's usual EST, we spent 12 days. This requires more than one post! Stay tuned for recaps from Marble Mountain, My Son, and An Bang beach village.

Into the Great Wide Open: A Yogawood Jivamukti Retreat to Colorado

Into the Great Wide Open: A Yogawood Jivamukti Retreat to Colorado

Oct 6-10, 2016 (Columbus Day Weekend)

Chautauqua, Boulder, CO at the trailheads to the Flatirons

Enroll at www.yogawood.com under "Retreats"

Each morning, practice meditation and yoga in the Great Room of the Chautauqua Mission House, where we'll stay. After practice, enjoy a catered, organic vegan breakfast. The rest of the day is free to hike the Flatirons or walk the short distance into Boulder. Enjoy evening restorative or yin yoga practice before a catered, organic vegan dinner in the Mission House.

Accommodations: All lodging is in Chautauqua's historic Mission House (unless we fill, in which case we have the option to open up additional cottages).

There is one room with twin beds. This room will go to the first interested enrolled participants! All other rooms have one queen sized bed. Each room has its own attached bathroom. If you’d like to share a room but do not have a roommate, let us know! We’re happy to make a match.

Tuition:

early registration discount: if you pay in full by 5/1/16, $150 will automatically come off your tuition

Base Tuition $500

Shared room: add $550 to the base (so that's $1050, or $900 if you pay in full by 5/1)

Private room: add $950 to the base (so that's $1450, or $1300 if you pay in full by 5/1)

Included: Daily breakfast and dinner service, two yoga practices, and accommodations are included, but your time will be your own. Join us for as much or as little as you choose!

Not included: Lunches. Travel to and from the retreat (which, for many of you, includes flying to Colorado). Transport to Chautauqua (see below-- we have discounted shuttle lined up for you if you fly to Denver!).

We *cannot* hold space without your tuition payment. The listed rates are based upon full payment by May 1, 2016. If you pay any portion of your tuition and room rate *after* May 1, 2016, the price increases by $150. We are able to offer discounted tuition only with early payment.

Cancellations: We understand that things happen. We will refund all payment but a $100 administrative fee before May 1, 2016. There are no refunds after May 1, 2016.

Transport: For those flying into Denver, we’ve arranged discounted shuttle service. Check into your own private portal to reserve your ride! http://greenrideco3.hudsonltd.net/res?USERIDENTRY=YOGAWOOD&LOGON=GO

Sample schedule (subject to change):

Thursday 10/6:

Arrivals throughout the day. Check-in 4 pm.

7 pm Dinner and orientation.

Friday 10/7-Sunday 10/9:

7:30-9 am asana practice

optional Q & A time afterwards

9-10 am breakfast

6-7 pm yin or restorative practice

7-7:30 pm meditation sit

7:30 pm dinner

Monday 10/10:

7:00-8:30 am asana practice

optional Q & A time afterwards

8:30-9:30 am breakfast

Check out 10 am

Departures throughout the day

Believing your story to not be your story

My friend just wrote on Facebook, "The most important thing you can do for a victim is believe them."

And I exhaled and thought, "Thank you."

So much of my own healing process from trauma has been trying to get the people closest to me and most important to me to believe me. I'm pretty sure that they can't, because believing me would cause some irreperable harm to the way they view the world. That's too much for some. I'm starting to understand that.

So I'm left with either feeling crazy, like my version of reality is suspect, or working to believe myself.

I'm working to believe myself. I'm working to be OK with not being completely understood. I'm working to be OK with having no control over how other's perceive me.

It made me think about a process I've seen with several yoga students and a process my teachers have likely seen with me. More than one time, a new yoga student arrives either a minute before class starts or late. They are carrying so many items: bags, jackets, change of clothes, a ton of stuff. Their stuff is messy and they noisily struggle with it. They walk across the studio with their shoes on, which tracks dirt and dust on a surface close to students' faces while they practice. The noisy, late, disruptive new student huffs and breathes loudly. I instruct to let the breath be soft but the cue doesn't land. The new student's body requires extra attention so they don't hurt themselves.

I have totally been this student.

And I've witnessed the following: the teacher works with the noisy, messy, late, tense, loud, uncoordinated student. Over time, the student takes up less space in the room. They arrive a few minutes early and bearing fewer belongings. They put their shoes away neatly. Their breath is calmer and steadier. Their body is benefitting from the movement and winding more safely through the poses. Their presence is a joy.

And I wonder if that intial encounter is because this new student is not often seen. Not often believed to be who they are.

I took up so much space at so many moments in my life. "Believe me! See me! Please!" And as I was seen, I felt calmer. I was, and now am, OK.

In yoga, there is a teaching to put forth what you hope to receive, but of course, relinquish expectation of receiving it. I've found this to be unbelievably effective. Recently, I've felt like I can't get my professional life together, I run around too much for too little money, I feel burnt and ineffectual. I started saying to others, "I think you're good at what you do. I think you deserve success," and they brightened in front of my eyes. And they reflected the same sentiment back to me. We saw one another and both calmed.

The word "victim" is laden and fraught. Some feel like it's simply effective language to identity the person harmed in an exchange. Some feel like it becomes a dimishing identity. Both are largely true. Now, when I see someone who feels victimized and asks to be believed, within reason, I try to do that. I try to honor their experience and say, "I see you." When I do that, they tend to feel less bound by the story of their victimization and themselves as a victim.

Being a yoga teacher you get to give to others the thing you yourself need. And you start to figure out how to be there for yourself and feel less trapped by others. I believe myself. And that means I don't have to be stuck.

Mud and the New Year

I stomped around in the mud. I did some other things too, but today, one of the best bits was muddy.

It's a Sunday so I woke up at 6:30 am, chased my cats around, ate some oatmeal, and went to teach 8 am Jivamukti yoga. This is what happens on Sundays. I really love teaching this class because I get 90 luxurious minutes, which means I get to include a more well-rounded practice. When I trained with Jivamukti they taught us 14 points to include in any official Jivamukti class. I thought, "alright, I'm game." And then I started teaching them. And I watched students bodies really open up. I watched them emerge from meditation and savasana noticeably more peaceful.

So I love teaching this class because I get to offer what I was taught and watch how wise it is, how much it serves.

I also had almost a week where I didn't teach, which hasn't happened in some time. I taught the day before Christmas Eve and then almost didn't teach a week. I say almost because I did teach a private client last Wednesday, between Christmas and New Year's Eve. Still, a big break. I was really glad to come back to teaching. It felt really nice to be with people in that specific way.

Kevin and I decided that after I taught we'd head up to Bald Pate Mountain, near New Hope, PA. Earlier this year he visited this fantastic permaculture spot called Fields without Fences in the area. Some of the folks living up there said Bald Pate is some of their favorite hiking. On New Year's Day Kevin and I headed up and everything was closed. Initially, our arrogant white people training kicked in and we thought, "we can still hike! They can't close the mountain!" And then we started seeing hunting signs. RIGHT! Never mind. We found another nearby hike where we were at less risk of errant gunfire.

We read online that Bald Pate is open every Sunday year round so we decided to head back today.

I've been hiking since I was a kid and I have a pretty good sense of navigation. Unfortunately, these two features of my experience have sort of coalesced into me having an unfounded sense of confidence and less reliance on maps. Kevin is still fooled by my confidence, which is unfortunate.

We set out on a 4 mile loop up to the lookout on the Delaware River. We made it and it reminded us of all sorts of things. It made us think of how we imagine that region to be 60 years ago. It reminded us of places we've been-- the landscape, the plantlife, the random Europeans on the trail. We smiled and told jokes and splashed mud on each other. We stood in the sunshine on the summit and decided we'd do a secondary loop on the way back. In a moment that would be foreshadowing were this a novel or a movie and not us in real life, Kevin said that his bud Mike usually takes a photo of trail maps. "Oh, but it's simple!" we both thought. So well marked!

So we began following the red blazes for our little loop. We knew that when we hit white, go to the left. What could possibly go wrong?

Red blazes came to a crossroads with white signs with arrows in them. It's white, right? So we go left. Forrested mountain trail became a field under telephone wires. We wound back into woods cordoned off with blue rope, as part of the trail had fallen into a gulley. Kevin started talking about everything that could possibly go wrong. I think our ultimate fate would be to be eaten by bears. I was still sunnily confident. Eventually, we'll see someone! We'll find a road! Kevin said his concern was largely a reflection of me. I think he thinks that I won't survive in the wild. Likely true.

We came to a road and then we came to more white blazes. We looped back to the telephone wires. Ultimately, we found our fateful too soon left onto the white trail with arrows. Apparently, white with arrows is very different from simply white!

Finally, a few miles and vertical switchbacks later, we found the main trail. With the blissfully white blaze. A runner passed and I asked, "is the parking lot this way?" He confirmed, in his French accent (seriously, Europeans in full force!). Kevin said, "why are you admitting that we don't know the way?!" And we talked about the areas each of us is overly confident or proud. Basically, it boiled down to I felt like the mountain was wrong and Kevin felt like we were wrong. (The mountain was obviously wrong! Poorly marked! This is no reflection on me.)

We stomped around in the mud. We argued and talked and laughed. We're both really happy.

A week before the winter solstice, I started feeling things. I feel things all the time, but I often don't listen. This time, I listened. I felt a little grouchy and something in me said, Meditate. I'd been thinking that I should make an altar but part of me is always dismissive, like it's too woo woo a thing to do. But the whole point of making an altar is to do something different. You make a cleared away space. You tend to it. These actions benefit you. So I ignored the part of me that witholds and I made what was an altar when I was a teenager, and more recently a set of shelves, once more into an altar. I cleared the excess stuff away and put in the items that feel significant. Shoot, I never knew where they should live anyway. They live in the altar.

Once I had done this, I felt ready to meditate. I did.

As I meditated, something in me said, "Write a love letter to yourself." As soon as I heard this, tears ran down my cheeks. So I knew it was something. I knew I should do this.

When I concluded the meditation, I sat down and wrote a love letter to myself. I wrote to myself all the things that I respected. I remember the main thing I kept telling myself is that I see how hard I try to do the right thing. I see the struggle to do the best that I can, even though I often feel so muddy or confused. That there's intention there.

And once I had done that I heard something within me say, "Now write your letter of intention to your mentor to become an Apprentice towards certifying as a Advanced Jivamukti teacher." And I wrote my letter of intention.

About a week later, it was the winter solstice. I had taken the day off as this is a thing I'm trying to do each week. Be off. Completely. I saw an article on rituals to do on the solstice and I printed it out. It said to do some type of physical activity for 40 minutes that raised your heart rate. I went outside and ran. Afterwards, it said to write responses to questions about how the past few seasons had gone. It asked about what I felt or thought during the past winter or spring or summer or fall. I began remembering last winter. Last winter was a period of grief. There had been quick, successive, hard hitting loss. It was raw grief. I remember how it felt. It felt much different than I had expected. In some ways, it wasn't as bad as I thought grief would be. It was simply different. It was a space of intimacy with those I'd lost and those who remained that I hadn't expected. I didn't have space to hide what I felt in that season.

It was followed quickly by spring and spring's relentless activity and overwhelm. And of course, the joyful introduction of the new group of cats in our life. The summer was a lot of travel and professional development that continued into the fall.

I realized that purpose has and continues to feel present in my life. I still work on solid financial stability and the biggest piece I'd like to work on is having more faith: trusting myself, trusting in general. I did some yin poses to stay in my body. I offered some fruit to the earth in thanks. I burned the writing I had done. I felt like I made peace with the changing season.

By the time New Year's Eve rolled around I felt done! I've never really understood New Year's Eve. I'm not a partier. I'm not an extrovert. This sometimes confuses people because I do value relationships in my life. I define introverts and extroverts based on where you source energy. While I really love people and my relationships, I need time by myself to replenish my energy. If I'm around people continually, I feel sort of depleted. I read an article on New Year's Eve that it's an extrovert's holiday. I think so! It feels like one last debauched dance before something ends. To me, New Year's Day seemed the thing. I like mornings, I liked new beginnings. I've always felt the beginning is the thing to tend to, not the end.

I had a nice New Year's Eve though with friends that I really value. New Year's Day, Kevin and I decided to go on a hike. It has been a big season of family and travel and holidays so quiet time outdoors felt right. We realized we shouldn't get shot at on Bald Pate Mountain, so we found a few other hikes in the region. As we wandered around in the woods, I thought about resolutions. My reflections and observations on the Solstice felt really good. It felt like seeing where there was imbalance in my life and setting intentions towards finding center again. Maybe that's a resolution: restoring equilibrium. Towards those ends, yes, continually work on financial stability, continually work on faith in Self. And be outside more, I thought. Kevin concurred. The hikes should happen more often. We're thinking once a month, minimum, maybe more frequently in the summer. Time for just the two of us to wander.

Patience is satisfaction

I've written in this blog before that I am not a patient person. This remains true. Recently, I came across a piece of yoga philosophy that explained that lack of patience stems from dissatisfaction. If we feel dissatisfied with the present then we impatiently want to run to the future, or retreat to the past. Now, this isn't necessarily an indictment of the present but rather a reminder to the impatient person that the responsibility is on us to be present.

Being present is weirdly challenging until we practice presence and reap the big fullness of it's vast moment. When I am present I am content. When I practice contentment, or in yogic terms, Santosha, I'm paying attention to all that is good and enough in this moment. I see small details and enjoy them. I find gratitude for what is. When my focus is on now there isn't attention to wander into what I perceive to be missing and what impatience propels me towards.

My own contentment is my own responsibility. What an empowering understanding.

Bhakti and Identity Politics

Frequently, I find my social justice political self running up against my spiritual yogini self. It's a really good, generative tension, but it often leaves my head spinning.

Case in point, last month Jivamukti yoga focused on Spirit Guides as an entry point and deepening in all Jivamukti yoga classes. This is one of the many reasons I love Jivamukti yoga: it constantly pushes me. If I'm a student in class, I'm pushing up against some edge, like my overwhelming fear when a teacher instructs us into a handstand (generally in the middle of the room). As a Jivamukti teacher, I am constantly calming myself when panic emerges at the call to teach my students about Spirit Guides as they move through a yoga asana class. Seriously?! What do I know about Spirit Guides? How do I make this relevant to yoga asana? How do I make this relevant to their larger lives? How do I not feel like a total kook?

But the deal is that Spirit Guides appear in the texts informing yoga. They are a related idea and Jivamukti says consistently: go there. Go into the areas that challenge. Don't shy away from what feels too "out there." Figure out why it is a part of this tradition.

I know people who live in my midst who are members of cultures that do have a strong tradition of connections to ancestry and spirit. I am consistently working to be aware and conscious of how I'm incarnated this go round, as a white chick with a ton of privilege, so I can speak authentically. I can claim the experiences I know and also have deference for that which is out of my range.

In the midst of this, there are larger national conversations about identity politics, or really understanding the implications of walking through the world incarnated as a women, or a person of color, or another identity that is "othered." From my vantage point, based on what I've been taught by teachers in this field, it serves us all to listen to these experiences and not try to claim them as our own if they fall outside the range of personal lived experience. This sets up more honest exchange. Having an awareness of how one's identity shapes experience is part of teaching about appropriation, when people assume comfortable aspects of a culture or experience. I've long been concerned about appropriation as a white teacher of a traditionally Indian practice. Appropriation can go from disrespectful to dangerous when those with power (at this moment in time often "First world," wealthy white folks) claim aspects of say, Indian spirituality, while having no understanding of what it's like to live in brown skin in a largely light-skin-biased world, without feeling the implications of US foreign policy in Southeast Asia, nor the impact of living under a global economic system that consistently priveleges Europe and the US. Hence: appropriation. "I'll wear a bindi, because it's pretty, without understanding that many Hindu brown-skinned women face prejudice for wearing the same."

Jivamukti, while an overtly political yoga school (especially when it comes to animal rights), hasn't spoken officially on this topic (to my knowledge). I don't say that as a slight. I love my yoga school and tradition. I feel like my teachers are truly steeped in these teachings, are working towards their own enlightment, and liberation for all. Towards that end, they constantly teach us to step inside our stories to get out of our stories, meaning, understand all that we feel we are in this incarnation and then understand that we're so much more. We don't have to be bound by the rules and slights of this world.

With deep spiritual understanding, that is a profound and liberating message. I have heard what I feel is a watered down version of that message that sort of implies skipping the step of recognizing who each of us is in this incarnation. "Go ahead and wear the bindi because in the end we're all one!" sort of "color-blindness." In my mind, that limits all. That limits white people who are often blind to the experience of being raced in this world. For white people to become more empathetic, responsible members of the world, we need to listen. This type of color-blindness obviously is also limiting to people of color, who continue to feel like they aren't heard or respected.

I'm trying to wade through by being accountable to who I am now, with some level of understanding that we are all much much more.

Last week I went up to Woodstock for a Dharma talk with Sri Milan Baba Goswami of the Vallabhchya lineage. He spent much of the talk explaining Bhakti, a path of yoga to realize liberation through relationship. A bhakta is devoted to their isvara, an avatar of God that they relate to. In Sri Goswami's lineage, he is devoted to Krishna. Even within this devotion to Krishna, we try to identify our specific relationship. Some worship Krishna in his incarnation as a baby. Their worship for God has a parental care. Some worship Krishna as Radha, feeling a sense of devotion that you would have for someone you were in love with. There are a multitude of ways to realize this relationship. As we would in any relationship, reflexively we come to understand who we are in this partnership. Sri Goswami explained that bhakti yoga asks us to gain a lot of self-awareness so that we come into this relationship offering love with ever increasing clarity.

I've been thinking about bhakti as it potentially relates to identity politics and appropriation. I remembered back to last year when I knew I would be traveling to India to certify as a Jivamukti yoga teacher. I called my friend, Sheena, and Indian-American yoga teacher, scholar, and activist who also did her yoga training in India. I asked her how I could be a respectful student or what I should watch out for. She patiently related some of her experiences as a student in the Himalayas studying among a diverse student body. She gave me great suggestions and helped me understand some of the ways that the learning process might differ from what I was used to. At the end of the conversation, I thanked her and asked her how she felt. I care about her and really hoped that my behavior in studying yoga in India didn't trouble her. Or if it did, I wanted a chance for us to process. She said, "I think I needed you to ask me about this and I'm glad that you did. I feel good and I give you blessings on your journey."

I felt so heartened. It was really profound. Both she and I spend time thinking about how we can build respectful spaces for ourselves and others. We do this individually and have at times done this together as co-teachers and collaborators. We often think of identity politics and appropriation in academic circles and with lofty language. It was so beautiful to see that we can step into what we believe our politics, in a very real way, by trying to be honest and accountable to one another. By no means do I feel like that one conversation let's me "off the hook" to be aware of my privilege and how I move through the world. But it did teach me that trying to behave respectfully does not have to be complicated. It can be like this relational aspect of bhakti: seeing everyone as an aspect of the Divine. As such, trying to have clarity around who I am to them. Working towards openness and mutual respect in all our encounters.

As a white person, I try to think a lot about how I and other white people can do better to be empathetic to those who experience racism, classism, and forms of oppression. Again, the blurry space between my studies in yoga and my studies as an activist feels pretty fruitful. To the best of my ability, be honest about who I am and experiences that I understand. Acknowledge what's out of my range, what is a stretch, and where I am in relation. In this clarity, grow together.

Just a waitress

For about a decade, I was a waitress. Most of the time I really loved waiting tables. It always felt a little bit like contract work. Sure, you answered to a manager and had some requirements, but by and large you are paid directly by the customers so you have a bit of say so over what you earn. I loved figuring out how to serve each table best. I loved the puzzle-like logistics of moving so efficiently: put in the appetizer on table 2, start the tea for table 3, bring extra napkins now, fill the rest of the drinks. It's a far more complicated job than many appreciate, it compensated me pretty well, and kept me active and on my feet. In so many ways it is and was for me, a great job.

On more than one occasion we'd be a little slow. I might find myself in conversation with a table. I'd divulge some more personal detail about myself: I'm an activist, I write, I teach yoga. Whatever I said, often their response was, "Oh! I knew you were more than just a waitress!"

WTF.

I never figured out a savvy response to this. Every time I heard it I was so angry for so many reasons. My class consciousness raised it's ire. And my pride.

When I first started working as a teenager, I read bell hooks. I remember hooks writing specifically about blue collar jobs. She had plenty. She said she always did them to the best of her ability because doing work well is a good thing. She didn't dismiss blue collar work to only excel in white collar work, she simply did all work well.

Obviously, not everyone has the choice over the type of work that they can do. For me, her advice was formative. I read about Audre Lorde's early work experiences at a number of jobs and thought, "I'm going to really do this." Waiting tables was work that was available to me and it meant that when I wasn't at the restaurant I could devote my time to being a social justice activist. For the duration of my twenties, this is what I did.

I always wanted to say to these people, "But I am JUST a waitress. I absolutely am. Right now, I am waitressing. That is what I'm doing. I'm doing it well. There is no shame in that." And what about all the other people who in their classist minds were "just waitresses"? What were their markers? Different education? Different speech patterns or norms of interaction? None of these things make a person more or less intelligent and none of these things by any stretch make someone better or lesser than another. I wanted to say, "I knew you weren't just a lawyer!"

I felt so defensive about all the other blue collar workers out there. How did these people treat them? The "you're not just a waitress" customers always seemed so relieved that I was other than my current job, in their estimation. Why? What is so wrong with service work? In our economy, it's absolutely necessary.

In so many ways I was so grateful to work in the service sector. I had to move fast and develop a different skill set. I felt like it sharpened my mind and made me more agile. I honestly think everyone should work in the service sector for a time if not for the duration of their working years.

Now, when I do work I try to be wholly committed to that particular work. If I can be "just" a waitress, or yoga teacher, or writer, maybe I can also relinquish identifying with my work. I don't want to be circumscribed by how I earn my living and I don't want to do that to others. There's a strong likelihood that I would dismiss so many passionate, creative, talented people out there "just" doing their job.