Maui yoga path

“How are you doing today?” asked Deni Roman, of the woman signing in before me at this morning’s level 1/2 Iyengar class at the beachside Maui Yoga Path.

“Tired, “responded the woman.

“Well, one day when your life is more balanced you’ll answer vibrant,” offered Deni, her smile accentuated by her bright mauve lipstick, pacific sunshine sparkling on her golden nose piercing.

I don’t think I’ve ever answered vibrant to that question, whether it was true or not. Why would I deserve to be vibrant when there is so much suffering? Yet isn’t it true that vibrancy is contagious? Could my vibrancy spark it in others?

This morning’s class was proof. Deni’s lively and playful approach to teaching asana and philosophy ignited a great energy charge in me. Her classic Iyengar approach was coupled with her own wisdom and that borrowed from the Iyengars.

“You’re only as old as your spine is young.” “Life is a series of events that are going to happen no matter what-why not hold your center, stay peaceful and observe it.” (My paraphrase)

The only thing I worried about in the 75 minute class was how much sand I was getting on the mat, and whether I should shake it out during or after class. I decided that since Deni’s studio is on the beach, I probably wasn’t the only student who’s ever gotten sand on her floor. After an exquisite class, which was centered on the pelvis, I stepped outside to give my mat a shake. There right in front of me were two whales breaching. I watched as their tails lift out of the water, water spouted from their blowholes and I gave thanks to all the moments and all the people that weave together to create my truly vibrant life.

Downunder Japan, published by Fineline Press, NZ , is now available for  purchase.

It’s a  collection of stories about Japan, in which two of my stories , The Invitation and Taima are included.

www.finelinepress.co.nz

This is an open Family class for children aged 3+ and their parents and Caregivers. We’ll learn some yoga, some concentration techniques, play some games and dive into a fun afternoon of yoga.

Cost is $6 per person. All you need to bring is a mat and a smile!

Most of my kitchen was about to be painted dark charcoal, except for a nook near the window, which will be a warm yellow. The idea was to make my two decade old kitchen look contemporary. On a budget. I hired a painter- friend to help me pick the colors according to the Indian principle of Vasthu, similar to the Chinese Feng Shui.

This was being done without my husband’s knowledge.  It was  a completely pre-meditated act, planned a week in advance.  The second he left, the painters tape went up. I was feeling guilty and worried about his reaction, but I’ve wanted this for a long time. Plus-it’s a win-win for us all. My friend makes some extra money before she leaves for Mexico, I get a sleeker looking kitchen, and hubby comes home to a happier wife.

As I was clearing the kitchen appliances off the counters he called from sunny California.

“How are the girls doing?” he asked. “Well, there’s a   “rain warning” issue for today, so we’re just kind of hanging indoors.”

“Well, just give the girls paints,” he said. “Make it a painting day.”

And so with his blessing we did. Guilt free.

And it’s gorgeous.

Though we’ve got ten’s of thousand’s of songs in the cloud and on the pc, if I’m home alone, or hanging out with my toddler, I find that most of the time I keep my home remarkably silent– which some of my friends find strange. When I do crave music, I choose the mantras of Wah! Savasana, Krishna Das or Deva Premal.

There is a line in the text Savitri by Sri Aurobindo that states that if we were to ever hear God’s voice, it would be in the still quiet after the exhalation, before the next inhalation–a great incentive to pay more attention to the breath.

I have twice taken the ten- day Vispassana meditation course in Kyoto, Japan. Ten days of silent meditation. No eye contact or exercise, let alone speech.  We were allowed to ask the meditation teacher one question per day, but that was it. Though it seemed torturous at the time, the wisdom that infiltrated me through that silent period was paramount to my personal growth.

In the summers my family and I take part in a Family yoga retreat run at the Salt Spring Yoga center. Baba Hari Dass, who leads the Mount Madonna retreat center in California, and took a vow of silence many decades ago, flies in for the retreat. He is able to give concise answers of extraordinary insight to even the most complex philosophical queries on the portable chalkboard that hangs around his neck.  I’m not condoning we all stop talking to one another, which would certainly prove a communication crisis of epic proportions– as one of my girlfriends found out. Her husband decided one day that he needed some burning spiritual questions answered and the only way he could do it was to stop talking. This is exactly what he did, for a month; to the confusion and frustration of his wife and two- year old son.

One of my private students has branded her own form of yoga “Talk Yoga.” While some find peace kayaking across a morning lake, or skiing fresh powder, this client finds peace in her verbosity -though not the norm for a yoga class, it works as a stress release for her. I had one client who hated savasana (corpse pose, or relaxation) at the end of class. When she came to my class she explained that she found it a waste of time, and she’d rather make tracks to get home than lie on the floor uncomfortably with a bunch of strangers. I, unlike her previous teacher was willing to accommodate, on the condition that she at least think about why savasana was bringing up so much resistance in her. She eventually came to love the quiet of the pose.

I’ve seen people cry in the quiet of savasana, blink furiously to keep the eyes from closing, even had a student who needed extra heavy blankets on her feet to keep them from moving about erratically. Diving into quiet is not for everyone right away. I figure it’s a bit like swimming, some take to it naturally, others need alot of time, patience and guidance to find the beauty in it.

For mothers, especially ones of inquisitive toddlers, such as me, finding quiet pockets in the day proves extremely challenging, making nap times such incredibly golden moments. Lately, with the lights sparking on the Christmas tree and the shorter days, I’ve been taking solace in the quiet by resting on the couch, catching up on past issues of Today’s Parent and my new indulgence, Chatelaine.

I wish you all a golden New Year, full of quiet, reflection, yoga and grace.

A friend of mine, who has been battling cancer for too long, passed away yesterday. This is one of her blog entries from last year, after she spent a day taking care of my little one. Rest peacefully, dear Kim.

For what ever reason this last couple of weeks has been extremely busy for me (as you can tell from the absence of blog entries). I constantly feel rushed and under pressure.

Yes, this was the first tree decorating that our three- year old was fully participating in. It truly is her first “magical Christmas.” We unpacked boxes of shiny red and gold baubles, and the tree decorations we bought in Maui two years ago. I shuttled between the kitchen and the living room making dinner, downing oil of oregano with chasers of Emergen-c for my flu, and attempting to orchestrate the decorating.

“You’ve got a better eye for this than I do, “I said to my daughter, why don’t you oversee the decorations tonight,” I told her, remembering that she was fully involved last year and decorated the tree in well planned  reds and gold’s.

“You know mom, I used to think decorating the tree was the most magical thing in the world,” she said as she fished some wire hooks out of a plastic baggie, “I wanted the whole family to be around and it was the best thing ever.” She unwrapped a clay star she made in grade one, “but I’ve just realized, that it’s really just another chore, isn’t it?”

I looked at her. What could I say? Though it’s enjoyable, the thought of moving the living room around to make room for the tree, climbing into the attic and decorating the house, then dealing with all the needles, when I have the flu and story edits due the day after tomorrow did seem a tad like a chore, but there was no way I was going to let on to that.

Well, is this the first year you’ve felt this way? I asked.

“Yes, basically. Last year I was really into the designing of the tree, keeping a theme, but this year, I don’t know, it’s different…”she trailed off.

“Well, at least you got thirteen years of magic out of it,” I said, looking towards my little one who is just at the beginning of her Christmas tree decorating days, “and I’m sure it’ll come back to you again at some point.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have so much homework,” she added.

Dinner turned out, homework was done, and I even managed to vacuum the living room. The tree turned out beautiful.  My husband couldn’t believe how much we accomplished. I must say it was a moment of pride.

This morning, I wandered into the living room to find the tree lying on its side, needles for days and decorations helter skelter.

“Oh well”, I thought as I mopped up the water and stuffed newspaper under the soaked rug, “it’s another chance at magic.”

“But I don’t want to change,” lamented my three- year old yesterday, as we talked about her upcoming birthday.

I explained that though she is growing taller and stronger, it doesn’t mean she is going to change into a different person. I don’t know how much of my explanation she understood; the interesting thing is the fact that at only three- years old she is expressing her fear of change.

Personally, I’ve always welcomed change, even if it took a perceptively negative form, such as a move to a much smaller home, an operation, or even separation from a partner. I’m not saying those changes happened without me worrying about them, but change keeps me motivated and living fully charged.  I suppose it’s because with change inevitably comes a whole new set of possibilities such as discovering a new country or neighbourhood, friend or  way of living that otherwise would have remained unknown.

My older daughter was born nine days late and used to prefer “hanging around the block”, over a road trip or a journey to India. (I learnt those lessons through experience)She refused to go to friends birthday parties, because she didn’t understand the point  of meeting someone once, then probably never seeing them again. As a teen, she is becoming slightly more adventurous, but nothing like I was.

When I was little going for a drive, it didn’t matter where to, was the best thing ever.  I hoped to break my arm to see what life would be like with a disability, and wrote “Please let Mum and Dad get divorced” on top of my Christmas list, as their constant fights were unbearable.

“Mama, when I lived in a different country, I used to have a shoe store,” ( or pet store, or …you get the point) my three- year old, who was born nearly a month premature, states often, which makes me wonder if she will be more of a traveler than her sister was. Perhaps some of us more predisposed to fearing change than others are?

“Why didn’t you make the zucchini muffins you always make?” complained my teen last week.  “Why do you always have to experiment?” The day before yesterday it was “ What’s with the little star pasta in the kale soup-you never put that in before, can’t you just make it like you always do?”

From their cues, I am taking my lead and remaining very mindful of their need for regularity, though it goes against my natural rhythm.

At my ayurvedic meetup group last winter, the instructor, Madhuri Phillips, informed me that for my dosha it would be best for me to eat and sleep at regular times. That idea was preposterous. Regular mealtimes? With my teaching four nights a week, and my daughters dance schedule,  that would be impossible.” Do any busy families eat at regular times?” I wondered.

It’s been a year since I was given that advice and though there have been changes in our lives, I’ve tried to keep them reasonable. My little one started preschool, I painted the kitchen, my older daughter started secondary school, I earned a certificate in creative writing and changed  hairdressers, but guess what?  I get  dinner on the table between 5.30 and 6pm each night. The regular bedtime-thing? We are close to achieving that too. One change at a time.

Related articles

• What’s Your Dosha, Baby? (food-alovestory.com)

Can you imagine my horror when my five- year old neighbour leaned against my doorway singing the popular LMFAO riff, “I’m Sexy and I know it?”

I didn’t want to draw any attention to her words or her actions, as she held one hand on her hip, and sang the words in a way that clearly demonstrated she had some innate idea of the power of her words, though literally she didn’t understand them.

We are blessed to live beside her lovely Christian family. The children are homeschooled for moral reasons; the longer they can keep their girls safe and sheltered from the bombardment of advertising and mixed messages in school, the better. They don’t watch TV, with the exception of an occasional movie or video that their parents choose. The only place she could have picked up that line would have been from the other children who live in our complex.

I’m vigilant about what my three- year old is exposed to; what we say around her, what music we listen to, and the tone of our voices. When the neighbours come to visit I am especially careful. A few months ago, the girls decided to play dress up at my house, which is harmless enough-or so I thought. The same girl, who was singing the aforementioned line in my doorway, descended my staircase in a child’s red devil Halloween costume!

Devil is not a word used in her home, neither are magic, witch, or Halloween, and I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for any upset in our neighbourly relations by allowing her to march outside in a red velour costume complete with a forked tail and little horns so we quickly changed into a one piece unicorn outfit, which she was equally happy with.

There was a funny incident last summer when the neighbour children and my three- year old were playing on their tricycles. The girls told my daughter about Jesus and their Sunday school activities. With pride, my daughter began singing “God is good, God is great, let us thank him for our food,” which she sings before snack time at her preschool.  This went over well with the neighbours and they started teaching my daughter their version of the same prayer when all of a sudden my little one held up her hands and said “No.” Then she slowly folded her hands to her heart, and let out three long Om’s. I was watching this scene unfold from the kitchen window with a mixture of amusement and concern. It’s so interesting, the unexpected life lessons a day can bring.

With my teenage daughter now going to concerts and listening to Rihanna and Drake nonstop, it’s a challenge to balance appropriate entertainment such as The Fresh Beat Band, for our little one, with the influence of the teen world figuring so prominently in her home.

I thought  I had it pretty much figured out, until recently.  We were driving home from a morning at the aquarium. The Raffi CD I was playing  had just come to an end and without missing a beat my innocent little  three-year old  switched from singing “Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea”  to “I’m Sexy and I know it.” I almost drove into the deep blue sea when I checked into the rear view mirror and saw her move her head and hands in a barely there, but budding gesture of sassiness.

What is it with the power that word has over our children?