Category: yoga

Breathing into Stillness & Magical Mudras #KidsYoga #yogamudras #yoga #mindfulness

On By Alethea KehasIn yoga2 Comments
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Yesterday’s Theme. Photo Credit Pixabay

I’m halfway through two of my yoga for kids sessions, and I have achieved a level of comfort and ease with my preschool yoga routines. We begin our half-hour together by finding our names on pieces of construction paper cut out in the shape of our class theme. Yesterday was carrots to go with the bunny stickers that were passed out at the end of the class. A story follows, and yoga is often incorporated into the narrative. We play games and take turns teaching poses. Hardly anyone runs off the rug or talks out of turn. It’s magical at times and quite fun. Each week I try to add another element of the philosophy of yoga to our practice. Yesterday, we listened to a chime and observed how long we could follow the sound waves until they disappeared. Three times our sense was tuned to the chime in attentive stillness.

This half hour is followed by a forty-five minute elementary school class. I must gather my things into my bag, hurry downstairs, and assemble myself for the awaiting students. Kids who are restless and talkative await me. Although the class is smaller, with about half as many students as my preschool class, it is at least three times as challenging. I find I struggle to fill the minutes with yoga, and find myself turning into a recess monitor. The five or so kids are full of kinetic energy. They want to wrestle and explore their bodies in ways that feel disruptive to the natural flow of yoga I am used to. It takes me out of my comfort zone.

I have one child who farts audibly throughout the class, and there are no windows that open to clear the air. He refuses to go to the bathroom. I have another who touches everything I bring with me. When I turn my attention away for a moment, he is digging into my belongings, flipping through the pages of the storybooks, rearranging yoga cards, and  banging my chime. I know he probably needs yoga more than the rest, but he tries my patience like no one else can.

Group energy feeds the individual and collectively it grows. Sometimes this can be wonderful. When a circle of people are joined in the energy of love a space can fill with the embrace of its powerful light. Alternatively, I often feel as though I am in the midst of a small gang of hoodlums whose chaotic energy reverberates off the walls in this yoga class. It feels like everything yoga should not be.

The children whine and argue with one another. They condense space so that bodies bump and push together. Unlike the preschoolers, they pay little attention to storybooks, and half of them refuse to engage in yoga postures even when I ask them to lead. Yesterday, they were particularly challenging. I discarded my attempt to do storybook yoga with them and moved onto one game and then another. Bodies continued to argue, push against each other, and ignore my instruction.  I felt frustration and irritation grow its ugly form inside of me before the class was halfway over. The voice of anger began to creep its way into my throat.  Someone had just handed me a ripped yoga card from a deck that had been lovingly gifted from a dear friend. I took a deep breath.

I didn’t care who ripped the card. I didn’t ask. Instead, I quietly asked for tape.

Kids like to help, in general, when asked. I felt the energy begin to shift to the small mission at hand. Soon a roll of scotch tape was retrieved from some mysterious place in the classroom and placed in my hand.  I ripped off a strand and slowly began to mend the cardboard. I ripped another and reinforced the back. I gathered the deck together and placed it inside my bag, then sat on the floor.

“Sit on the rug with me,” I told my students. “Close your eyes. Place one hand on your heart and the other on your belly. Breathe. Good. Breath again. One more time,” I urged. “Open your eyes. Take your arms in front of you and place one over the other,” I demonstrated. “Hold them like this without touching.” We took another deep breath. “Can you feel the energy move through your hands?” I asked. “I can feel it swirling through mine, can you?” All attention was focused on this mudra designed to calm. It felt like magic.

Fluid magic.

I didn’t pause to doubt or question what I felt and observed, allowing myself instead to slip past constriction into the fluid space of the intuition. We had transformed our collective energy of chaos to that of calm. “Reach your hands to the sky and breathe. Exhale and twist.” We were doing yoga. Together. Arms followed my voice and bodies turned and stretched in their own space. For the last ten minutes of class we moved in a rhythmic wave, our bodies peaceful, our minds settled into our practice.  The miracle that can be yoga had been discovered together, and I think we each left the room transformed from when we had entered it.

 

 

Is the struggle real? #YogaPoetry #poetry

On By Alethea KehasIn Poems, yoga6 Comments

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Beautiful things happen when you enter

the space of infinite becoming

where each aspect of the self unfurls

its petals to the stillness contained within

in soft waves of light

you are birthed

whole to all that you are

and discover essence is not confined

to a body

love drips

like water through the pores of skin

dissolving this sheath that would be armor

do not allow yourself to be held

too long in the coat

beauty is a timeless seed

requiring darkness

to germinate

a hidden code revealed only

when the self lets go of all

that it thought was real

and becomes Life

itself

Yoga with Kids Week 2: Finding My Rhythm with Frogs #KidsYoga #kidyoga #yoga #mindfulness #yogagames

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, yoga4 Comments
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Image Credit: Pixabay. The frog that became a sticker.

I spent the bulk of the past five days in a worried funk. Pretty much all I could think about was yoga with kids. Although I only wrote about experiences with the younger preschool and kindergarten classes in my last post, the next day brought two new classes. One filled with middle schoolers. Let me first say the high school class that followed it was simply lovely. I had three polite and eager young ladies who were attentive and respectful. It was a huge and welcome breath of fresh air.

The middle school class, on the other hand, proved to be just as challenging as my classes with the younger kids. It consisted of a large group of girls who all knew each other, and a trio of boys who didn’t know the girls, but knew one another. The girls gathered in a crowded group in the back of the classroom, while the boys queued up in front of me. The giggling intermixed with bold commentary began from the group in the back of the room as soon as I introduced the “Cat & Cow” warm up poses. “Downward Dog” proved to be even worse.

“I’m not doing that.” “I don’t want anyone to see my butt.”

The wall-to-wall mirror behind me became an unavoidable source of distraction, and our hour together felt much longer than it should have.

Seasoned yoga teachers will know that teaching yoga to kids is nothing like teaching yoga to adults. It’s an entirely different game. Actually it’s a series of entirely different games. Each age group has its separate rules and obstacles.

I’m still learning the games.

By the end of the week I was more than doubtful that I would grow to love teaching yoga to kids, and whether I would discover a magical formula to do so well.

The next class I had ahead of me was another preschool class. A fresh opportunity with ten new and eager faces who had never met me.

I just needed to convince myself that I could have a different experience than I had with my first two classes.

I did some more research and started to listen to that inner voice that rarely leads us astray.

I asked for help, and got some really good advice. Especially the tip about using sitting circles or mats, which serve as a magical anchor to keep restless bodies in place.

I ordered the mats knowing they would not arrive in time. I worried, but I need not have. The inner voice spoke louder, offering me alternatives my logical brain refused to find.

One day, I went to the library and found myself drawn to books about frogs and toads, even though I was there to find any and all books on yoga with kids they had available. I took both sets of books home.

Another evening, I found myself walking the dogs at dusk, so enthralled by the chorus of frogs at our favorite pond, I impulsively took my phone out to record nature’s symphony.

A theme was developing for me.

Another day, still in my fog of stress, I went to the dollar store and mulled over the arrays of cheap toys. I thought maybe I should get some stickers, so I bought a sheet of colored stars and a blow-up globe.

After I took my purchases home, I began obsessing about how I would use them. I thought about giving stars for good behavior, but it didn’t feel yoga-ish. The globe, well, I thought maybe I could use it in some sort-of game, but visions of kids throwing the nearly weightless ball at each other caused me to leave it on the kitchen counter as I readied my bag.

Instead, I begin to realize I have all I might need. I have my frog, well actually toad, book in verse, and I’ve found that the first page has a wonderful poem about them singing in spring. I’ve got my live recording  of an amphibian chorus from the pond ready to go on my phone. Instead of obsessing about my lack of sitting circles, I realize I can might be able to make lily pads to go along with my theme. In fact, I know I have at least a few pieces of study green paper. Ten minutes later, I have ten lily pads bearing the names of my new students. I also have ten new stickers. Not the stars, but frogs, which I’ve made myself thanks to Pixabay and a stack of printable labels in the same drawer that held the green paper. Frogs on lily pads. Perfect.

I pack all of these up, along with my chime, portable speaker, water, roster, animal yoga pose cards, and my pink rose quartz frog that sits near the water fountain in my home yoga studio.

Still, I think I may need more props. I don’t want to be under-prepared. I eye the bin of Beanie Babies. Nope. Not going there again. Instead, I open it and pull out one dog to use as a mascot, just in case. I eye the globe one more time and put my magic chakra ball in the bag instead. It slings easily on my shoulder. Light and manageable.

I arrive early. There’s amble time to set up. I’m greeted by the director, a friend of mine, who shows me around and allows me to select a space that feels right. I tell her about the sitting circles I’ve ordered but have not arrived, and she shows me a stack of quilted mats. Perfect.

I select five and arrange them around the square rug. The lily pads are placed atop, alternating as best as I can guess, boy, then girl, around the rug. Next, I take  the yoga pose cards out I’ve prearranged, and set them in back of the sit mats. Finally, I sit at the front of the rug with my phone, roster, quartz frog and homemade stickers set beside me.

Small voices begin to mingle from the front of the room, and I know my students have returned from their outdoor recess.  I am lucky today the rain has held off and these young bodies have had a chance to run outside and play.

“Can you find your name on the mats?” I ask them as they line up before me. They are all so darn cute, but I know better than to let down my guard. Instead, I smile and welcome them with the warmth of a teacher. Hey, I think, maybe, just maybe I can do this.

And, I do. Ten little bottoms find their lily pads and look at me with anticipation. No one gets up until I ask them to, and barely a voice talks out of turn. We have fun together. We learn and we play. When one child unexpectedly cries during our game of musical mats, she finds her way to my side, nestles in for a hug, and clutches the magical pink frog I place into  her hands until all is well. Soon she is smiling again. We all are.

Even though it’s not a perfect class, to me it’s a near-glorious half-hour, which is over too soon. Stickers are left for the end ,and find their way on faces, lily pads, and clothes. Tiny frogs thank me as they dance out the door. I can hardly wait for the week to pass.

 

I Begin my Adventures Practicing Yoga with Kids… #KidsYoga #kidyoga #yoga #yogagames

On By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, yoga26 Comments
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Photo Credit: Pixabay

I thought I would be writing another post about my recent travels to Italy, but instead my mind is filled with yoga. In particular, yoga with kids. Two Februarys ago, I felt a calling to move from my long  comfortable role as a yoga student, to that of a teacher. Although I could sometimes see myself standing in front of a classroom of students teaching yoga, I had never really given teaching serious thought. That is until the relentless  inner voice called without ceasing…

And so here I am, more than two years later. A certified yoga teacher, who, as of last week, has taught (or has attempted to teach) yoga to students from the ages of 3 to 80+. Just when teaching yoga was beginning to feel as comforting and familiar as preparing and drinking a warm cup of tea each morning, I have now leapt, once again, off the cliff of The Fool into the rocky terrain of the unfamiliar.

And, it’s okay. It’s what I signed up for. But, oh how much I have to learn as I stumble my way along. My week of full immersion into the spectrum of younger ages has left me feeling tired, hoarse, and a bit bewildered. What do I do know? I keep asking myself.

Let me see if I can attempt to explain why.

I’ll begin with my first non-adult class of the week.

It’s Thursday. Another rainy day in a long string of rainy days. The school day is just finishing at the Montessori nearby where I live, and I am lugging my bucket filled with Beanie Babies, animal yoga cards, a Bluetooth speaker, roster sheets and a chime that would prove to be woefully useless. Eleven preschoolers await me.

They’re adorable, as all children are at that age. Almost irresistibly cute. A near equal mix of boys and  girls with glowing faces perched atop restless bodies. Wholly mine for 30 minutes. Thirty minutes that I have tasked myself to teach them yoga, in some form. My mind swirls with ideas. Over the past few months I have watched videos and read books. I have dug out my notes from teacher training and know games and props are essentials for this age group. What I can’t recall learning, as I spin through the whirlwind thirty minutes, is that a loud, assertive voice is also important, or that the power to choose should not be an option…Or maybe I just forgot, because it’s not in my nature to place restrictions and to shout.

Nor is it in my nature to sing in tune, which is also a great gift to have for kids’ yoga, but I thought playing the voice of the lovely Kira Willey would be an adequate compensation.

I soon discover no one really cares about the music coming from my speaker. They care more about the props I have brought.

I’m pretty sure I read to only bring one…

We begin in a circle that defies all definition of a circle, but it’s good enough. All eyes are turned to me as I introduce myself, then roll my magical color ball to the child next to me and ask him his name and if he’d like to tell me one thing that makes him happy. We move smoothly along, at first, passing the ball down the line until our circle is 2/3 complete. A girl with vast blue eyes stares at me and tells me her name and then goes silent. She cannot come up with something that makes her happy, even though I can tell by her outer appearance that she is likely well-loved and cared for. Instead, she appears to be caught off-guard and stumped. Rendered mute in a way that makes us both feel uncomfortable and searching for reprieve.

I give her space to think. Distracting chatter begins to erupt within the circle, and the blue eyes continue to stare back at me. “Would you like to think about it some more? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

I can tell she is torn. That she wants to find an answer for me, but somehow she can’t retrieve it. Perhaps it’s contagious, because the next child is also unable to come up with one thing that makes her happy.

And so I begin to question my choice of a mindfulness introduction. I thought perhaps some children would struggle a bit, but with gentle suggestions and listening to the words of their peers, they might easily slip into that space of joy.

And, I realize how desperately, perhaps, that I want to bring them all to that state of joy. To make them realize how fun yoga can be in its myriad forms. That it can be both individual and shared. But not something that takes striving and competition…

So we begin to play our games. Soon tiny bodies are hoping about and vying for my attention in their efforts to show me how much yoga they already know. When the illustrated pose cards come out, there is a scramble to have just the right one.

There is even some arguing.

“I don’t want this one.”

“That’s not how you do flower. That’s butterfly.”

Oh my, I have much to learn.

Follow the leader with the chime goes smoothly until someone decides to skip the line.

Then the chime is rendered useless. The noise of voices too high. My own is already growing hoarse and unheard, and I am at least grateful I have brought along my water. I have another class waiting for me after. And, it’s 45 minutes long…

When I open the tub filled with stuffed animals, five million hands reach inside. Suddenly I’m feeling the weight of my 45 years of life and I count the minutes left.

Do not leave room for choice. Of any kind. I file the lesson inside my tired brain.

I think perhaps I should have brought along a gong. You know, one of those enormous ones that you can’t hold and need a mallet to bang?

And a miracle.

I’m not Kira Willey. Not even close. Nor am I the beloved and talented Jamie of Cosmic Kids who knows how to keep the overstimulated minds of young kids engaged while practicing yoga through her wonderful videos.

I am also not a drill sergeant. Nor do I want to be.

I’m simply Alethea, searching for her own magic cards to bring to the circle of young eager faces.

And I think, perhaps, I need to stop looking in the bags of others, and dig inside my own…

“Who are you?” #YogaForKids #kidsyoga #kidyoga #yoga

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, yogaLeave a comment
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Image Credit: Pixabay

The little girl peered up at me with teddy bear eyes as she asked her question. She was just a few years older than my daughter was when see used to boldly inquire, “Who are you?” while gazing her deep blue eyes into mine.

The question from the little girl this morning made me smile. Wide and free. “I’m the yoga teacher,” I told her.

“Am I taking yoga? I hope I am.”

“I want to take yoga,” the boy beside her chimed in.

“What’s your name?” Another child joined in the conversation.

I resisted the impulse to gather the group of preschoolers ready to go outside for their recess, turn on some Kira Willey, and lead their eager bodies in an impromptu yoga class. Their faces were irresistibly sunny as though they had no idea it was raining just outside the windows. Instead, I gathered the registration forms together out of the envelope I had hung on the bulletin board just last week, and smiled my way home.

It was my third errand of the morning. Before collecting the registration forms from the two Montessori schools, I had dropped off a bag at the high school. A post-it labeled it for the writing teacher, but it was for one of her students. A girl very different from those three exuberant young children in the preschool classroom. What a difference a dozen  years can make in a life.

She had never said a word, not even in introduction. Perhaps the teacher had overlooked her on purpose because she was shy. But I had seen the shrug of her shoulders and the head bowed a little further towards the table. The head that never looked up in participation for the hour-and-half I was there.

“I see you,” I wanted to whisper in her ear. Not in the tone of a creepy stalker, but with the words of understanding. “I’ve sat in that seat too. Many a time,” I wanted to tell her, but didn’t.

I didn’t because it was not my classroom, and I did not know her story. Sensitive to the fragility of the teenage mind, I kept quiet, like her. But I couldn’t forget about her. Although she was the only one in the classroom that never said a word, to me she was just as important the eager participants who sat around her. Even though she looked like a forgotten island. Or, an island that wanted to be forgotten.

She reminded me of me, but also someone who wasn’t me. I may never know her story. Why she chooses to wrap into herself. But, I ache for what she has lost, already. Perhaps she was once like that little girl with the happy brown eyes who thought nothing of asking a stranger who she was. I’d like to think so, but this also makes me sad.

I don’t know if she’ll read the book I offered her in return for not acknowledging her presence, and for not knowing how to bridge her island for fear of further harm. She may not read even the first word, and that’s okay. I hope she reads the card, though. I think she will. I hope she realizes that someone saw her when she thought she wasn’t seen. Not by the eyes of judgement, but the eyes of understanding. And, I hope that one day she’ll realize she has a beautiful light inside of her that is waiting to be seen.

 

#Threshold #WritePhoto #SueVincent #Poetry #yogapoetry

On By Alethea KehasIn Poems, the labyrinth, Warriors of Light, yoga26 Comments
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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

You stand upon the threshold of self

when the eyes outside look inward

past the outer and all its beauty and decay

Light plays tricks with shadows until

they are explored through the pathways

of your own labyrinth, discovering you

are not a cave of darkness, hiding

You are light itself. One golden strand

without an end or a beginning weaves you whole

You

may begin outside, but you will always come back

to the center, pulsing the light that is you

through the body that would hold

Close your eyes and forget this shell

See the labyrinth of light inside

breathing into open space

forming tensile strands weaving

expansion into boundless essence

until there is no you held inside darkness

only joy, threading its golden breath

through all life

 

Written for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge, “Threshold.” 

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The Fool’s Journey: I attempt to teach mindfulness to some not so mindful teachers #mindfulness #TheFool

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, yoga5 Comments

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It was a rather dreary Friday afternoon in mid-March. Spring had arrived days before by the date on the calendar, but New Hampshire doesn’t follow the rules of the seasons. Patches of old snow still piled in heaps, even in the city, and a cold rain was falling from an ashen sky.

When I arrived at my destination, I found a tired building. The gymnasium, where the conference was being held, was equally dreary as the outdoors. Perhaps more so. The floor, scuffed and dusty, looked as though it hadn’t felt the threads of a mop in months. Films of unswept debris lined its edges and I hesitated before I released the weight of my heavy bag and winter coat. I didn’t belong here.

I felt it immediately. I was conspicuously out of place. The over-dressed outsider with a bag filled with treasures that I would soon discover were only treasured by me. I had, it seemed, set out on this day to play the role of The Fool. My face lifted to an unseen sun as I skipped fumbled to find a place in the circle I had asked approximately 45 Montessori school teachers to create.

A fool-hearty mistake, it would seem, as I had severed their zone of comfort before I had even begun. We don’t always like to feel open and exposed. Equal, you might say, to one another. The teacher is used to leading. Standing above and before the pupil. I had created a circle on purpose. I didn’t want an end or a beginning. I didn’t want to break the illusion of unity. I didn’t want to appear as their leader for the afternoon, but their equal.

They had, though, expected to be taught. Lectured by me as I stood on a podium before their lines of chairs. Here they might hid in their expected roles, as I donned the mask of teacher. Instead, I continued to play the role of The Fool, determined to open before this tired group now circled around me, my bag of treasures.

The carefully typed words started navigating in a clockwise rotation, and I watched as the turquoise and white organza wrapped crystals, tea, and chocolate offerings were reluctantly selected from the basket that held them. What care I had taken, I thought, to gather and wrap these unwanted gifts.

What a fool I had been to think they might be eagerly received.

I have learned, for the most part, to let go of expectations. What we may dream up in our mind as a wondrous play of events rarely plays out in reality the same way as our imaginings. Instead, we seem to get what we need, more than what we want, in that moment of arrival.

I had thought, or rather hoped, that my approach to talking about mindfulness might be eagerly received, or at least curiously welcomed by a group of professionals who were tasked with the role of instructing young developing minds. What I found instead was a room mostly filled (there were the few semi-eager minds) with tired minds inside equally tired bodies who just wanted to go home and call it a full day.

It’s likely whatever I had chosen to offer them that afternoon would have been tepidly, at best received. Unless it had been a check for a million dollars, for the air in the room held the feel of being over-tired and under-paid, as teachers often are.

Yet, I had committed to being there for two hours to talk about Mindfulness with the intention that my audience might discover tools to use in their own lives and to incorporate into their classrooms with the young minds they were tasked with nurturing. The mindful journey, though, appeared to be mostly my own.

As I stepped out of the circle and into its center to fully don that role of The Fool and demonstrate Donna Eden’s Daily Energy Routine, I felt the full glare of the invisible sun shining on me. In the shadows of the circle, figures elbowed each other and snickered. Was I in eighth grade? It sure felt a lot like I was. The same adolescent insecurity was being mirrored back to me.

Look at me, playing the role of the fool. Look how vulnerable I am being. I may appear different from you, but I am just like you. I know your number. I’ve walked in your shoes. That pain you are trying to mask with mockery, was once mine too.

We cannot expect those who most resist the new to gaze in wonder or in awe through the door we try to open for them. We cannot expect them to walk through it and see what is on the other side. We must all become The Fool in our own time, stepping off the well-worn path and out to the cliff of the unknown. We might show them the cliff, but we should not push them off.

How wrong I had been to think a group of Montessori teachers might find what I had to offer engaging or enticing. Whereas my yoga students will most often eagerly embrace the new and yet to be discovered, not all of them do. I had walked on that afternoon into a room mostly filled with people who had no intention of learning something new or different that day. Their intention, instead, appeared to be to get through the Friday of required workshop hours as quickly and effortlessly as possible so that they could begin their weekend. Fair enough. That’s okay. I can accept that. There were the few. The one or two, who lingered after to get another glimpse through the strange window I had tried to open. Offering their own stories of emotions trapped in their bodies, and techniques they had tried to feel better and live more mindfully in this challenging life we are all tasked to live.

I’m okay with going home having realized I perhaps learned more that day than they had. There is always a lesson for us when we choose to learn what it has to offer. If I want to try to bridge the road of comfort and help others find a new way that may be more mindful than the one they have walked longed walked with rote footsteps, I will need to explore some new paths of my own. I certainly have my work cut out for me. We all do. These are not easy times. What I saw in that room was not up-lifting. Bodies and minds disconnected and filled with pain and fear. I saw Trump’s America in a place I had least expected it and it left me a bit jarred and unsettled.

 

“I was wrong about you” #yoga #nonjudgement

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, yoga17 Comments
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Image Credit: Pixabay

It was like any other Tuesday morning, only it wasn’t. No two are ever exactly the same, just as each moment passes by us changed from the one before, whether we are aware of it or not. This Tuesday morning, though, was memorable in unexpected ways.

It began with a small mishap, a yoga mat de-potting an African violet that had been repotted after another de-potting from Millie-the-kitten-almost-cat a few days prior. Poor plant. Yet, accidents happen, and after a quick few swipes with the vacuum order was returned, or so I thought. Yoga with said mentioned kitten-cat Millie, and her side-kick Zelda-the-fifty-pound-dog, is never what I would call orderly. It’s a combination of laughter/hatha/kitten/dog yoga and one ever knows whose mat is going to be chosen for the Millie v. Zelda wrestling match yoga competition practice. This morning, though, Millie decided she’d rather spend the bulk of the class prowling the perimeter and upending every crystal and figurine in sight, while stealing peacock feathers and fishing in the water fountain for more rocks and crystals.

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Millie-the-kitten-cat resting after yoga class
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Millie’s side-kick, Zelda, who loves her like a daughter despite their obvious differences

But, I am digressing from the true purpose of this post, which is about what happened after class had formally ended and the collective “Om” had been uttered. Often, instead of a scurrying out the door to get to the next destination for the day, there is a lingering behind and sharing of the thoughts of the mind. Some days chatter is light banter, but today it rose from the heart. That place that reminds us we are all, in essence, the same. That we are each, in our individual way, trying to find our place in the world as human beings. Trying to live each day to the best of our abilities in this existence we call life.

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Photo Credit: Pixabay

Life can morph and change at any moment, both within our own existence and beyond. A fellow writer had shared her news that she would be appearing at a local bookstore the next day to discuss her book about childhood depression. A deceptively small work of fiction based upon her own life experiences as a mother with a child who went into the darkness of life at an early age.

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More about my friend and her book can be found on her website

When we open up the stories inside of our hearts, our shared humanity emerges. The energy of compassion and empathy pours from our beings and outer differences are ignored. I knew my friend’s story, but the others in the room did not. From her story flowed another, equally poignant. One that I had never heard before. We often interact with others without really knowing who they are. Their triumphs and sorrows, as well as those more mundane moments are not widely known outside the space of the home, or even the individual being who may tend toward introversion. And, although we may guess at other’s thoughts, and think we can read them on their faces, we can never truly know them unless they are shared from the heart.

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Photo Credit: Pixabay

When my friend shared her book and her story, another member of our yoga class shared her story about helping a different boy through his darkness. A boy, who was between childhood and adulthood who needed someone to see him for the gift he was. They had almost overlooked him when he asked for a job because of the reputation of his family. Now, they are his primary guardians. Although he is not theirs through blood, he is by any other definition their son. They have given him shelter, nourishment, and love. They have also given him unwavering support and guidance to see his gifts come to life. Yet, he was almost dismissed.

Five words changed everything. For him and for them. “I was wrong about you,” his foster father confessed after feeding him a much-needed meal and opening his ears to hear the stories in his heart. After realizing that a false judgement had been placed upon this young teen, the couple opened their door and their hearts to him, giving him a chance at a life he was not endowed with by birth. From his place of darkness, a new and brilliant light had dawned.

“I was wrong about you.”

How many times do we place judgement upon another throughout our days. This tendency of the human mind to make assumptions about other living beings has likely been a key part of our existence since the earliest stages of humanity. In some ways it helps us to survive, but it doesn’t always help us to thrive.

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Photo Credit: Prexel

We are at a stage in our evolution where polarization appears to be triumphing over unity. The false belief of the “other” that is somehow lesser than ourselves appears like a virus that we carry through each generation. Sometimes it lies latent, and other times, like now, it flares in all of its diseased desire to win and overcome us.

Later in the morning, after the rest of the yoga class had left, my fellow writer friend and I lingered a little longer over cups of tea while she told me about her night at the same bookstore with her husband. And as she talked, more hope sprung within me. There had been a discussion, which is part of a larger movement taking place across this country. It’s starting small, less than a dozen Indie bookstores are doing it at this time, but I have a feeling it will quickly grow. Its basic premise, to bring together seemingly different viewpoints and spark a conversation to find unity. That common ground that is in the middle of polarity.

The store had been filled to capacity, and I wonder how many left with a different mindset than when they had arrived. How many had said, either out-loud or in the privacy of their minds, “I was wrong about you.”

Dental Surgery: A Lesson in Mindfulness #mindfulness #dentalphobia

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, yoga19 Comments

from our family

 

It was rather surreal, but not wholly surprising. I believe the greater consciousness that surrounds us is constantly communicating with us, whether we heed it or not. I’ve learned to pay attention, much of the time, and when I do I often find myself in awe at how life is a beautiful orchestration of circumstances from which we can learn and hopefully grow.

So, there I was yesterday morning, sitting in the dentist’s chair. A circumstance dreaded by many, myself included. But this one even more so, since I was about to have surgery. It’s not so much the discomfort that I dreaded, but the unexpected. I rather like being in control over my body and faculties. Always have been. I’ve never taken an illegal substance, and after I consumed my first alcoholic beverage at the legal age of 21, I made a vow never to get drunk enough to lose control over my faculties.

The narcotics were offered in the pre-op visit. I declined. I’m a yogi, right? I’d be fine. I had my rings of crystal beads encircling my wrists and a large tear-drop of turquoise hanging from my neck. And, I’d had a morning yoga class before hand. I was ready. Or as ready as I chose to be.

The shaking started when I sat in the chair. As I waited, I thought about how nice it would be to have the warm wrap of a blanket. As if reading my mind, but more likely reading the jitter of my crossed legs and clenched hands, the surgeon kindly asked, “Would you like a blanket. We keep it cool in here,” before she reached for her needle of Novocain and began the process of pricking my gum line 1,000 times, then pausing before she declared, “The roof of the mouth is the icky one, are you ready?” Another 1,000 jams of the needle and I was as numb as could be. In the face, that is. Now the shake was worse than ever.

I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to the bathroom. But waiting another hour to pee was just not an option. I had consumed a full cup of tea — lavender laced chamomile — to calm, the nerves before my visit.

“It’s the epinephrine,” the assistant declared as she escorted me the the lavatory.  I guess 2,000 shots in the mouth has that effect on some of us.

Yet, somehow I knew the worse was over, which was reiterated by the surgeon as I wrapped her offer of fleece around my body and began to settle into my fate. For the next 45 minutes, I entered the role of passive observer. My life, or rather mouth, in the hands of the surgeon and her assistant.

“I hope you don’t mind my singing,” the one with the binocular oculars declared as she readied her scalpel. “My patients on pain-killers seem to think it’s great, but the others have to endure it.” Who knew I would also think it was great, alongside Michael Jackson crooning from the beyond. Turns out, when the surgeon wasn’t singing, she was talking. And, instead of thinking too much about my mouth being cut apart, I listened.

Without response, because, my mouth was at her constant mercy. It’s rather interesting to be the passive observer and have no option of contributing. It reminds one of how strong the impulse to interject can be.

So I listened while she cut a flap of skin off the roof of my mouth, “You’re one of my thin skinners, but no worries, I got a beautiful piece,” then tried not to look at the flap hanging from her hand while she hummed Madonna’s “Lucky Star.”

“Breathe. Take a deep breath, you’re doing great sweetie.” Someone passing by the window, if it had been open, might have assumed I was in labor. I myself was beginning to wonder if I was in yoga class. I’m constantly reminding my own students to breathe.

“When I was Tufts,” she told her assistant, “I took a class in mindfulness because I had already finished all the credits I needed to graduate but still had a semester to finish. It was one of the best classes I ever took. I think every kid should take a mindfulness class. It was so much more useful than learning about Chaucer’s writing style, which I don’t remember and will never use for anything.”

And there it was, for a good ten minutes or so the two of them carried on a conversation on the benefits of mindfulness, while I listened and reaped my own benefits. “Breathe, sweetie. You’re doing great.” My own mouth gapping wide, with no capacity to form words, while my mind silently agreed. Yes! Yes! I’m so glad you feel the same way! 

“You did great,” the surgeon declared as she jammed silly putty bandaids to the roof of my mouth and my lower gum line.

“Thank you,” I slurred through the Novocain. And I meant it. There was a lot more I wanted to say, but because of the circumstances a heartfelt “thank you” would have to suffice.

Renewal #writephoto #suevincent #poetry #yogapoetry

On By Alethea KehasIn Poems, yoga16 Comments
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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

 

Let me show you the veil

how easy it is to step between

the illusion of clouds

yesterday on one side

tomorrow on the other

your life here

waiting for your renewal

take in the deep breath of promise

release, on the exhale, regret

anxiety and despair

you are not here to trap

space. Time moves

through you and everything

not to be captured

but to be lived

 

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt “Renewal.” To participate, please click here.