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.

Privacy and Trust: Franzen on Fresh Air

Yesterday I heard a brief segment of Terry Gross' Fresh Air interview with Jonathan Franzen. Franzen explained that as a writer he is a bit of an exhibitionist. He takes his privately lived moments and filters them through his imagination to create fiction. Increasingly, he simply shares his private, interior life publicly.

Gross asked, how do you share responsibly? How do you share your experience, as it's relevant and compelling to larger, shared experience, while having a sense of respect for those in your life implicated in your stories and while protecting your own sphere? I'm paraphrasing as I can't find a transcript yet but here's my take-away: we have control over what we share. We share what stimulates the collective imagination and clarifies individual and collective experience. We keep secrets. Our secrets give us identity.

If our every thought and perception was shared in a sense, we would cease to be. The boundary between what is known and unknown about us breaks down. In this instance, there is no longer intimacy. Intimacy comes from that deep sharing of secrets. When you fall in love, you start listing your previous homes and jobs and moments so that the other person is allowed in to your memories and past. Intimacy comes from the trust, the sharing of secrets. When everything is known, there is no longer the hope or possibility of creating trust and intimacy.

Mind blown.

Last Sunday I lounged on a raft in a pool and had a similar conversation with some friends. A few had read my blog and mentioned this to me (thank you, kind people!). I shared that this blog came into being when my fantastic web designer suggested and created it as a way to direct more traffic to my site. I began blogging so that folks might feel compelled to take a yoga class with me or join me on a retreat. And I found that I like blogging.

Given that I'm an entrepreneur, I have to market. Given that I teach yoga, host retreats, and a number of other services that have to do with creating a charged or meaningful space for another, it's helpful to share something of myself so that those working with me have a degree of comfort. I've self-identified as a writer since I was a teenager, which also pushes me a bit towards the exhibitionist camp.

Yet, with the increased presence of social media and our collective increased sharing, I worry. I still share (obviously). But I worry. I worry about what I'm relinquishing that I don't even see or know or recognize or value. I worry about the implications of my tellings on those in my life. I try to behave responsibly, ask those involved how they feel, and proceed from there, but still. I worry.

I wrote about this before after posing a similar question to Cheryl Strayed at a Free Library event in Philly. She said a lot, but my takeaways were: she's waited 20 years to be confessional about certain events, she also talks to implicated parties, and ultimately, they're her stories.

And I read them. I read them voraciously because they connect to my own experience.

I think about this too because I've spent plenty of time being repressed and surrounded by repression. I'm fearful of once more living without emotional honesty nor transparency. I err towards sharing because it feels safer to me. I think we can all use a bigger emotional vocabulary. I want emotional literacy to be cultivated and practiced. Some secrets control us individually and collectively. I want these closets opened, the skeletons excavated.

But I realize that much of this feeling could be reactionary. How do we cultivate balance? Share in a way that promotes transparency and honesty? Withold what is dear for privacy and mutual respect?

Strayed and Franzen have each made choices about what they share and what they guard. Something is guarded and those details are precious. These secrets are only given to those in close proximity where intimacy is created and nourished. It helps me understand how I can trust myself and be trustworthy to those around me: I give thought to what I release and thought to what I hold close. There's substance to me.

It makes me think about larger social media as well. What do we give away and what is it worth? I will happily tell you about my current work projects or how we can work together. The quieter details of my private life? You have to buy me dinner first.

Sit nicely or create a seat as though for someone you love

In the past year I've frequently been asked to teach meditation. At first I balked. I felt unqualified as my own meditation practice is not nearly as consistent as I'd like it to be. But I have a policy: within reason, if asked to offer something then understand that it means that I am ready. This helps me stretch into studying and teaching areas where my knowledge might feel thin. I do have training in teaching meditation, it just doesn't feel like my strongest area. When asked, I decided to do the work and offer up what I could.

The process of teaching meditation has helped me tap into what I've been taught. This is why to be good students, according to yoga theory, we must teach what we know. It pushes us to engage with our learning differently. We have to really internalize the teachings to be able to communicate them to another student.

Recently, whenever I invite students to sit for meditation, I hear the voice of a teacher very dear to me, Lady Ruth. Lady Ruth teaches students to "place nicely" their bodies in yoga practice, their shoes when entering a building, their seat for meditation. I think this is her internalization of her teacher, Sharon Gannon's teaching about the word "asana" or seat of physical posture. Sharon Gannon teaches asana as our connection to the earth. When we stand in tadasana or mountain pose, our feet should be placed and engaged very specifically. Our connection to the earth should be considered, light, and respectful. This extends to every pose or asana. In sirsasana, or headstand, our head and forearms press the earth. They should do so with lightness and ease. Our connection to the earth should be generous and graceful. In Lady Ruth's characterization, it should be done nicely.

When I share this teaching, I hear myself say, "create a seat for yourself that's like what you would prepare for someone you love." It makes me think of my grandmother. If she were still alive I would offer her a very good seat. I would think of a seat that gave her support for her back and a nice cushion. I would want her to feel very comfortable.

There are different attitudes about meditation in regards to the comfort and importance of our seat. These various attitudes often stem from different approaches, and so many access points have great merit. However, for many meditation students the body feels very uncomfortable seated in meditation and this can be a distraction in entering quiet, steadied space. Creating a very good, steady seat can minimize those distractions and help a student on their practice of meditation.

I taught meditation in this way during last weekend's Mythic Beings Retreat. Students responded very well and I was glad. Students created very good seats and entered into meditation gracefully. They took care with themselves in practice. I heard them say or read their words about treating themselves the way they would treat someone they hold very dear. Many of us absolutely do not treat ourselves the way we would someone we love. It can be a powerful transition to offer ourselves that level of care. It informs those around us to treat us with respect as we do them. It sets a beautiful example to those who look to us of how to be honorable with yourself and those around you.

Of course, all of this held in balance. We could sway too far in any direction. The goal is to not become self-centered, only catering to our own perfect throne to meditate all day. The goal is to be in balance. Most of the people I work with, myself included, spend most of our days pulled in many directions. We often overlook our own needs, like good, balanced meals and sufficient sleep. Bringing these needs into focus and meeting them can increase our capacity to be equally attentive to those around us.

If I worked with many people who were very indulged, maybe we would do manual labor together to create balance. Wherever attention is needed, offer it.

It's incredible that such a simple teaching can have profound impact. What if we held ourselves in the world with the care we would offer and hope for the person we loved the most dearly? What if we loved ourselves dearly? What if we inspired those around us to treat us with care and respect? What if we treated others the way we treated ourselves-- with great reverence and consideration?

I think we can see all the good that would stem on a broad scale. But what if we zoom in again? I think of the young women I'm grateful to have in my life. Thanks to their parents and those in their lives, I think they are growing up knowing their worth. I want to affirm that in every step. I want to show them what it's like to be a woman who loves herself. I want them to know how whole and good they are and to walk through the world with that bearing.

And I'm grateful to my teachers for sharing this profound message with so few words.

O cabin, my cabin

April & May are bat shit crazy in our world and then, happily, June comes. June is still crazy, but within in June is the Solstice, the auspicious date of Kevin's birth. We try to get away on that date. One year we visited his Aunt outside of DC and saw ball games. Another year his parents took us to Baltimore for ball games. Twice we visited another Aunt out in the Olympic Peninsula and basked in all things Pacific Northwest. This year when asked Kevin said, "Let's get a cabin in the Catskills." 

I went to hunting. I found some really cheap stuff, which is usually where I press the magic confirm button, but there was something a little higher than my normal price range, not too high, but on a creek. I kept turning away telling myself I could pay less. And then I thought, "on a creek." There was something about it and something about that proximity to water.

I started dreaming about this one room cabin on a creek. And then I realized that I needed to just book it. So I did.

We arrived when it was raining. Our little cabin was sweeter than I had anticipated given the photos. It was also only a 15 minute walk to downtown Woodstock. I kept asking Kevin, "Could we live like this?"

Right now, the answer is no. We would have to figure out how to work remotely. Or how to become independently wealthy by running landscaping and yoga businesses so we could retire. Unlikely.

We've both lived in Suburban and Urban environments but never Rural. We keep feeling drawn.

On our first full day of Kevin's Birthday Adventure we ran off to Kaaterskill Falls. These falls are beautiful and epic and were quite empty on a random Monday. We opened up our books and hippie snacks (tamari almonds! kombucha! spicy pumpkin seeds!) and stayed awhile.

Back "home" at our cabin was equally delightful. Meditations by the creek. Swimming in said creek. Hikes. More reading. Kevin kept the coffee brewing. We lit incense to keep the mosquitoes at bay and just because.

I had one other adventure in mind: The Blue Hole. This is one of those things of yore-- a swimming hole that is pretty legit off the grid. You have to triangulate blog posts. It's a bit like a scavenger hunt. All good things ask effort.

We set out, got lost, bickered, recalibrated, and ultimately found it. 

One must be pure of heart to enter the clear waters of the Blue Hole.

I would tell you where it is but I think that would deny it's treasures. Search it out. You'll find it.

The water was shockingly cold from its mountain spring source but so refreshing. We lounged on the big, flat, sun-warmed rocks. Kevin jumped in a lot. I tentatively put feet in. We hiked around and watched small waterfalls skid off the vertical rocks.

Back at our sweet little cabin we tried to concoct how to make a life like this-- on a creek, quiet, and small. A village in walking distance. We're still not sure, but we know that we feel really good within it.

Kevin took this photo of me taking it all in. I look so much like my grandmother here. Something about the stance, my body. She was born in Johnson City, Tennessee, birthed my Mom in Chattanooga, and raised her and my Uncle on a suburban farm in Atlanta, GA. Maybe there's something in frequent barefoot walks that I see in myself and her.

Until we figure it out, we keep living softly.

Dates with my Self

May is stupid busy in my world. Landscaping is in high gear so I'm working hard to keep up with billing and scheduling let alone covering both Kevin and my domestic tasks. The house is a mess. Groceries are bought sporadically.

I also Officiated 9 weddings last May, which added a new level of chaos. I would find myself on an hour long commute to some country wedding venue pounding almonds because I hadn't had time for a proper meal. Yet, when I faced a couple making this beautiful commitment to one another, I was present.

My activist life often feels in full swing in May. There are events that I want to attend and support however I can.

So I was shocked this past May when I found a previously fully booked day suddenly wide open. I called Kevin in a bit of a panic. "What do I do?" I mean, I had so much to do but I was overwhelmed and as such, I didn't know how to organize myself.

He said, "Take yourself on a date to Asbury Park." 

Whuh...?

It sounded revolutionary. He said, "Take yourself to Asbury Park. Sit on the beach. I would go with you but I have to work to stay on schedule. Take your laptop and if you feel like it, do some work from a cafe."

But. "But won't you resent me for doing something fun while you have to work?" I asked, because I would. I'm a bad person.

"No. This is good for you. I do things that are good for me. Do what's good for you."

(Note to self: don't resent Kevin for taking care of himself.)

I did it. It was amazing. I got myself to the beach, which was empty as it was a weekday in May. I laid out my blanket and book with lofty aspirations to read and promptly fell asleep. I woke up to the alarm I had set to remind myself to feed the meter. I decided to go to the cafe, eat lunch, and work from my laptop. I did. And then I went back to the beach and ran. And I found a massage clinic in town and got a massage. And I took myself out to dinner at a Thai spot on the way home.

And I remembered that I used to do that. I used to jump on the train as a teenager and wander, notebook in hand, through Philly, through Brooklyn, wherever. 

But I forgot until Kevin reminded me.

About a month ago I spotted August 18 on my calendar. It caught my eye because it was a day that was blessedly empty. I work for myself and I usually never have a day off. I have lighter days where I might only work with one client but it's pretty rare that there's a day where I'm not scheduled at all. This was an unscheduled day.

I touched the paper of my calendar fondly. I vowed to protect it.

I did. I received a few requests to book a yoga session or a meeting or a something on that day and I said a beautiful word. I said, "No." I didn't explain. I just said, "no," and scheduled them on a different day.

Oh, sweet, cherished day.

I slept in on Tuesday August 18. I was a bit backed up and did have to get groceries and a few other things in the morning but by 2 pm I hit the road. I took myself to Atsion Lake, where I had vowed to take this second date with myself. 

As I approached the lake the beach looked EMPTY and I thought, "Score!" I rolled up to the kiosk to pay my $5 car fare and the young woman pointed to the sign that said, "No swimming on Tuesdays." 

"I checked your website and it didn't say anything about no swimming days. I came from 40 minutes away." 

She did seem sympathetic. "You can go to Bass River to swim."

OK. 

It was my date with myself. I should be spontaneous to show myself a good time. 

The trek from Atsion to Bass River wound me deeper into the Pine Barrens, through Batso Village, and then into another state park. Man, I formally take back all the smack I have talked on New Jersey. The Pine Barrens are stupid pretty. The ground was soft and strewn with pine needles. Wild blueberries grew on the shoulders of the road. There was water peaking through the tree trunks for miles. Gorgeous.

I made it to Bass River park and joined a solid percentage of the working families of New Jersey with small children. This is a super affordable day trip as all the park only charges $5 per car. Packed cars of extended families unloaded picnic gear as they grilled and watched the kids charge into the water. 

I found a spot at the fringe of the shade and opened up my blanket. With the same ambition I pulled out my book and then promptly fell asleep. I woke up and watched the water. Then I watched the sky through the pine needles. Then I watched my fellow revelers: those sitting quietly while a baby slept on a blanket, those feeding excited kids hot dogs, those sitting and talking while digging their feet in the sand.

I swam in the lake and returned to my blanket. I sat with the thoughts that I had time to think.

At sunset, I wound back through Batsto Village and the wilds of the Pine Barrens. 

August 18 is a goddamned holiday.

I'm now looking at other blank spots on my calendar. I feel tender towards them. I feel tender towards myself and my need for quiet, private, unstructured time. I'm guarding these days. I'm caring for myself.