Our network of fantastic women

Last year, I had the privilege of having Alejandra Ramos feed the participants in both the Mythic Beings Retreat as well as the Yogawood Change is the Only Constant Retreat to Good Commons. This morning Alejandra shared her talent and taste with the viewers on Good Morning America. Check it out here:

Alejandra Ramos on Good Morning America

Congrats, Alejandra! Join a retreat-- a big world opens to you.

The Catalyst of Our Story

On this New Year's Eve, Kevin and I went to watch the movie, "Wild." We both relished the memoir by Cheryl Strayed. It's her swan song. It's her big moment of claiming her life and she shares that process with the reader in full color.

Watching a cherished book transform into movie is always delicate. What will they edit out? What will they highlight and emphasize? I thought they did a wonderful job clarifying the central story for those who had read the memoir and those being freshly introduced to the story. I mainly wanted to see "Wild" adapted to film to know the scenery of the Pacific Crest Trail. It didn't disappoint. What surprised me a little was my own ability to visit her journey with fresh new eyes. I didn't expect to be able to find pain the most beautiful catalyst-- because that's the potential, right?

I've long had a theory that none of us makes it out unscathed, or put differently, that we all have a story. We all have scars, we all have been hurt. Some of us pretend otherwise. Some of us loudly proclaim our stories. In my own life, I'm seeking to transform the pain, to let the moments that hurt me most also propel me towards my best self. If there is a point, that's it right? Otherwise. Well, that's a darker investigation.

Strayed's grief lead her into her darkest self and then ultimately onto the trail. She literally learned how to carry herself again. She learned how to live again. It was an actual walk-a-bout, which has a pretty good track record for folk's reconciling with the great overwhelm.

I never hiked or backpacked a trail. I did blaze out on my own and it was scary as shit. It also taught me my mettle. I gained confidence knowing I could care for myself, that things are tough plenty, but there is a way through.

Kevin and I have been talking recently about that weird tension between loving and wanting to care for another but also create the space for independence and freedom. Of course, we try to do that for one another. That's the line between interdependence and co-dependence, right? That's the space we create for intimacy and vulnerability. That's the space we make for the important, deep living.

It feels pertinent that we shared this story on New Year's Eve, the big day of accounting for many of us. We tally up the last year's highs and lows and make some determinations for what's ahead. In the space of "Wild," I resolve to make the pain beauty. I resolve to make the pain beauty. I resolve to stay in it, all of it. I resolve to let it all be. The pain. The beauty. To be. I resolve.

Winter Mountain Retreat President's Day Weekend!

Winter Mountain Retreat to the Catskills with Dee Joline and Carrie Sarlo-Randazzo

President’s Day Weekend

Friday Feb 13 - Monday Feb 16

Journey a quick three hours north for a warm and bright weekend at the Menla Institute in Phoenicia, NY. Enjoy six sessions of both vigorous and restorative yoga taught by two of your favorite Yogawood instructors, sleep in the gentle elegance of the Menla Mountain Lodge, be nourished by fireside organic vegetarian meals, book a treatment at the on-site Mahasukha Spa, or venture into the excitement of winter in the Catskills mountains. Know that Best-of-Philly massage therapist, Carrie Sarlo-Randazzo, will massage students while Dee leads practice. A short drive to snow tubing, enjoying the shopping or great dining in Woodstock and other neighboring towns, visit a winery, or ski in one of three mountains within a half hour radius. We’re told the most popular downhill ski mountain is Hunter. Yoga classes will be timed to give you a full day of skiing at Hunter on Saturday and Sunday. As many have off for President’s Day Monday, you may even get in some more trails before heading home!

In addition to this being President’s Day weekend, our retreat is also over Valentine’s Day! Bring yourself and let us cherish you or feel free to bring your sweetie and steal away for a snowy walk hand in hand. All are welcome.

Our retreat participants will be housed in homes on Menla’s campus. Examples of rooms are shown below:

Take both vigorous and gentle practices with Carrie and Dee in one of Menla’s beautiful studios:

Book a treatment directly with Mahasukha. All information can be found here: http://menla.org/spainfo.php?sub=Spa+and+Healing+Center

*Please note that we urge you to book treatments in advance. The spa will be staffed based on appointment. Bookings can begin Jan 12, 2015. Contact kdryden@menla.org

Though Belleayre Mountain is closest, and Windham Mountain is also in the vicinity, most prefer skiing the trails at Hunter Mountain.

http://www.huntermtn.com/

*As this is a holiday weekend, we recommend that those planning to ski, snowboard, or snow tube book ahead.

Not a skier? Not a problem. Curl up with a book, take a walk on one of the many trails, and simply be. For a good picture of all the area has to offer, visit http://visitthecatskills.com/

Investment

Private room, shared bath $795 (There are only 4 spots!)

Shared room, shared bath $595

Enroll! https://clients.mindbodyonline.com/classic/admhome?studioid=13187

Please email maiga@yogawood.com if you have a preferred roommate. If not, we will pair you with another participant and make sure both of you are in communication and comfortable with the arrangements.

Inclusions:

Dinner on Friday Feb 13. Three meals on Saturday Feb 14 and Sunday Feb 15. Breakfast and lunch on Monday Feb 16.

Yoga practice on all four days.

Accommodations.

Exclusions:

Travel.

Optional Spa Treatments.

Skiing or other optional activities.

Cancellation Policy

We understand that things come up. As this is a sweet, spontaneous offering, we can only transfer your tuition to another participant if you make the arrangements. To keep our obligations to our providers, we are unable to offer refunds.

There is no cell reception at Menla. However, there is free wifi in the yoga studio to check in with loved ones.

Sample Itinerary

Friday Feb 13

Check-in and arrival 3 pm

Rigorous vinyasa 5-6:30 pm

Dinner 7 pm

Saturday Feb 14 & Sunday Feb 15

Rigorous vinyasa 7:30-9 am

Breakfast 9-10

The day free to ski, snowboard, snow tube, explore towns, hike, arrange a spa treatment, or snuggle with a book!

For those sticking around Menla, lunch 12-1 pm

Bonus afternoon practice with Carrie for those enjoying Menla!

Restorative yoga practice 6-7 pm (with adjustments and massage from Best-of-Philly massage therapist, Carrie!)

Dinner 7-8 pm

Monday Feb 16

Rigorous vinyasa 8-9:30 am

Breakfast 9:30-10:30

Lunch 12- 1

Check-out 1 pm

Suggested Packing

Good winter gear! A warm coat for appropriate for outdoor activities, including Menla’s lovely trails, good snow boots, gloves, and hats!

If you plan to ski, bring what you have and hope to have.

Yoga attire appropriate for 4 sweaty practices and two gentler practices.

The studio has mats & props. If you’re especially attached to your own mat, bring it!

Downtime clothes good for reading, going to meals, or taking a stroll.

Sleepwear and warm slippers.

A good novel for evenings of any time you spend hanging out.

Flashlights for evening walks.

Toiletries, including shampoo.

If you like having wash clothes, bring them!

Read Menla’s suggestions here:

http://menla.org/about.php?sub=Plan+Your+Stay

Cracking the Code on Grief

I really felt like Kevin and I cracked grief.

The Steps:

1. Run away

2. Eat

3. Be in nature

4. Get a tattoo

I told Kevin that we nailed it, or are in the process. He smiled at me, "You know how it drives you crazy when folks tell you what to do with really complicated situations or how to feel when things are especially intense?" I nodded.

"Maybe keep your code to yourself."

Right. On my blog.

Hudson Journal

Years ago Kevin I landed in Banos, Ecuador. I felt an overwhelming urge to settle into that valley and write the stories around me, within me. Instead, I heeded the voice in my head saying, "Go on! You're in Ecuador for a limited time! Go to the Galapagos! See! Experience! Write later."

I regret that now. I didn't fall in love with that trip the way I did with almost every other. I think a lot why I felt off was because I didn't listen to something intuitive and something off the script.

I'm getting better about that.

The day we lost our beloved Lazarus, Kevin and I listened to his impulse to go north. He packed us bags, found some bed & breakfast online, and we drove north. The next day, we bumbled around the small town, let ourselves cry, ate food as we wanted to, and just listened. We found our friend Taina's poster for her concert the following weekend in the window of a bookstore. That seemed like an invitation inside so we heeded it. Kevin found his weird esoteric books and settled in with a hot coffee. I wanted to read about death as a beautiful, natural, and spiritual process. I picked up some Pema Chodron, a tea, and tucked in next to him. The book sat on the arm wrest and I felt the call to write. Instead of talking myself out of it-- "I write faster/better on a keyboard"-- I picked up my notebook and pen and let go.

Passages from what I wrote:

"Hudson is design-y, art-y, kind of industrial, cold, and beautiful. I like it but I don't think I'd be content anywhere right now.

But it's a place that feels like a place. It feels like 'America,' like it knows itself confidently. It feels dilapidated and charming.

I've been wearing the same clothes for two days. Kevin packed me fresh clothes but I just don't care enough to change.

Yesterday, I was nervous energy in motion; changing the bedding, as I've been doing multiple times daily. Airing out the pee pads. Washing the peed on clothing, bedding, and towels. More laundry. More ensuring Laz's haunts were comfortable and clean. Cautiously vaccuuming. I wanted this latest vet to be convinced of our care.

When the tasks were done, I took a short run. After healing from a broken foot, I'm so grateful to run. I breathed and the air was cold. My body felt warmer. My mind didn't feel settled, but like the volume of the buzz decreased.

The latest vet, a referral from our regular vet, came and confirmed. Inoperable tumors on tongue and gums. Renal failure. Thyroid, Rotten tooth.

I heard some. Kevin heard some.

In later reflection, I asked Kevin, "how did we miss this?" And he reminded me that she'd said, "rapid onset," "quickly developing." We didn't miss anything. We did everything we could.

The only option was pain management. Most cats with mouth tumors die of starvation.

The feeling I'd had for days was confirmed. It was time. It was simply time.

Ever since he was a kitten Laz couldn't abide confinement. He howled and escaped if we didn't give him access outside. We didn't intend him to be an outdoor cat. He insisted.

I felt like he was clawing for release again. In the worst moments of the last days he cried and howled inconsolably. I would prepare the softest food for him. He didn't want it. Fresher water? Sitting together? I think he was asking me to release him.

Kevin needed to hear that there were no options. I was so anxious seeing him like that-- I wanted him free. But Kevin was right. In retrospect, we needed the comfort of knowing it was time.

After, I finally felt calm. Depleted. Sad, but relieved.

We headed north and a wall of exhaustion hit on the NY Thruway.

Kevin and I are a good balance in crisis. Most importantly, we're good to each other. Some of my everyday worries wandered in and out of my thoughts. I simply don't care. Death feels more real. I keep thinking of the Mexican saying of putting bodies in the ground. Knowing we're all seeds."

Rituals

The windshield wipers swung against the fast and wet snow while Kevin and I shot north to the Catskills. I crawled in the back seat and tried to make a nest out of our hastily packed bags. Kevin was going to put on his ear phones to hear podcasts on his iPod. It made me feel alone, so he turned on the radio and listened to podcasts he'd already heard. So we could hear the same thing.

I checked my phone and saw an email came through. Friends of ours made a donation to an animal shelter in Lazarus' name.

I get a lump in my throat writing this.

I never understood, before, how kind it is to make tribute at the time of loss.

I told Kevin and he shook his head. "Sometimes I don't know how to handle other people's kindness." I agreed and told them that.

There are so many rituals and cultural norms that I often feel like I missed out on. I don't quite get the importance nor significance. I'm starting to understand. These gestures make me feel like Laz was important to others, not just to Kevin and I. They let me know that we won't be the only two remembering. Others will remember too. It makes the loss less final. The impact of this precious being continues.

Kevin and I started talking about the herbs growing in our yard that we could gather to leave for Laz. I realized the practice we were discussing. It's a visit, a remembrance, an understanding of xantolo, that sometimes the veils between what is physical and what is spirit are thin.

I've lost before but this loss taught me how much I don't know about this experience. It's taught me how unique and distinct each loss is.

This loss is "clean." I never took Laz for granted. I loved the crap out of him and he absolutely knew it. I have no regrets. I just miss him. I miss him so much. The grief is adjusting to this new reality. He's OK. Everything is as it should be. It's simply a transition.

There are losses that are far more complicated.

The other evening Kevin and I held each other and looked at the portrait of Laz our friend Mike photographed. It hangs in our dining room and will stay there. I said to Kevin, "I keep thinking of the Rilke quote about our joy being proportionate to our sorrow. We're getting really joyful right now."

Mike's portrait of Laz

I think of the pain it takes to understand so many of these experiences that are universal, that deepen our understanding. I'm grateful for deepening compassion and trying to stretch into the discomfort. It hurts worst when it's resisted. When I make space to feel, the pain mutates. Nothing is permanent.

Lazarus

We called him Lazarus R. Cat. We thought he spoke with a British accent. When Kevin rediscovered his love of baseball, and connected to his favorite team, the Baltimore Orioles, I joked that Laz was a Yankees fan.

He was regal and ridiculous.

I was told that he was a Persian Ragdoll and invented stories about that too. His long hair could elegantly disguise sand? (I know nothing about Persia.) We thought he deserved a pampered life with scented water and peeled grapes. I think he agreed.

He was born when I was 14, but we adopted him when I was 15. He wasn't quite a year, but he did stay with his mother longer than most cats. All of that time to nurse may have given him a foundation for the health and longevity he enjoyed.

His mother's family called him, "Co-Pilot," because he would perch on driver's shoulders in the car. We quickly ruined him on cars because we only drove him to vet check-ups. When he was 16 he got an ear infection. We had to drive him to the vet for his follow-up visit. He HOWLED. Afterwards, we found vets who offered home visits. That was his last trip in the car.

When I was 18, I went to college in Massachussetts. I got to see Laz on visits, but increasingly sporadically. I missed that cat. I lived the transitory life of someone in that age range-- various dorms, apartments, but never with permission to keep an animal.

When I was 21, I moved in with Kevin to shared house in Pennsauken, NJ. They had several rescue dogs and a big back yard. When I was 23 we got a message from my Mom: too many family members had cat allergies. She asked us if we wanted Laz to come live with us.

Kevin drove out to get Laz. As he parked the car, a big, white, fluffy cat ran from the pines and into Kevin's arms. He carried him to the door. When my Mom arrived she said, "Laz has been roaming for a few days! I wasn't sure we'd be able to find him!"

He found us.

We gradually transitioned him to living at our home. We had a big, beautiful, black rescue dog named Misa. We were clear with Misa not to corner Laz. She was so kind and gentle and gave him a wide berth while he acclimated. Laz took full advantage and found advantageous positions of height-- like a table or bookshelf, so he could swat at her knowing she wouldn't retaliate.

They loved each other. I would find them curled like Yin Yang symbols.

Laz loved dogs (some, not too rowdy) but hated other cats. It was like he resented that anyone would try to approximate him. He and our housemate's cat battled endlessly. Laz *tolerated* kittens we rescued when we found them and their mother, who passed in the woods by our house. Laz would bristle and back up, but he didn't mess with them.

He played his whole life. He had relay races in the upstairs hallway. My hoodie strings were always enemy combatants. Freshly washed locks of hair should be attacked too. He maintained his independence and spent a lot of time outdoors. He liked to hunt too, which often cut down on our responsibilities to him.

I know this sounds crazy, but he was funny. Not like, silly cat doing things I interpret as funny, like he knew what he was doing. Knew he was funny and was funny. Like, dry wit. 

When he was about 14, he roamed for two weeks. We were so nervous we coated the neighborhood with flyers. One night, I heard him. I ran down to his cat door and found him! I grabbed him and took him to Kevin. I remember that night laying beside him and praying, "I promise to never take him for granted. Thank you so much for bringing him back." I never did. I was so happy to come home to him and watch him run down the steps to say hello. Kevin and I always said he was the best part of coming home. On summer nights, we pulled up in front of the house to find him wandering the front yard. We would lie on the grass and watch the stars with him.

He had two health issues. Two. Once, he got some type of fever. We didn't know if he drank contaminated water or just had a virus. The vet treated him and he recovered.

The second time he had an ear infection that was treated with antibiotics. He had a proclivity to get ear mites, so Kevin and I became proficient at cleaning his ears. Which he absolutely hated.

Apart from that he was strong and solid. We would shave him in the summer so he could feel cool in our house without AC. He seemed to resent the process but enjoy the feeling once it was over. His coat always came back, thick and full, by late August. 

He was a huge and integral part of our life. In the early morning, he snuggled next to us and ran to the kitchen as we blearily woke. When we came home, he ran to the door to greet us. Our nightly routine was always Kevin and I fighting over who got to take him with us to bed. He laid between us until we fell asleep, and then he got up to do his rounds. We called him our "chaperone."

When we worked in the garden, he came with us. When I hung laundry on the line, he played by my ankles. If I weeded, he rolled around in the lavender and smelled delicious. He's our every day, domestic life. He made us giggle and want to be home. When I was sick, he laid with me to binge watch Netflix. When he saw us pull out suitcases for a trip, he turned his back and gave us the cold shoulder. He was communicative, smart, and hilarious. He was my best friend.

I'm so grateful to have grown up with him. He knew me since I was a teenager. Taking care of him made me a warmer person. Today I heard a quote from Rainer Maria Rilke, "The great secret of death, and perhaps its deepest connection with us, is this: that, in taking from us a being we have loved and venerated, death does not wound us without, at the same time, lifting us toward a more perfect understanding of this being and ourselves." I'm thankful for him. I'm thankful that I've always known what a gift he is.