I wouldn’t necessarily have been able to tell. I mean, she seemed like a typical almost-teenager. A little unfocused. A little unbalanced. A little tired. Okay, maybe she appeared more than a little tired, but it was easy enough to overlook. What kid her age isn’t a little tired…
“Is this the time when we get to sleep?” the girl asked with unmasked enthusiasm as we prepared for savasana.
I think that’s the moment when my heart started to break.
“Her shoulders are all knots. They always are,” declared her mom when she came to pick her up after class had ended. “She’s too stressed out. That’s why she needs yoga. I was so glad when I saw the class in the newsletter. I have a meditation app that she uses to help her get to sleep, but it isn’t enough.”
I looked around at the near-empty room and thought, she can’t be the only one.
I looked at my own daughter. Age fifteen. Just back from ski practice. Before that, a full day of school. Fifteen minutes in between to grab a quick bite of food. I could read her impatience in her restless stance. “Hurry up, mom,” she declared when it was just the two of us. “I have homework to do.”
No wonder the room was empty. My daughter is like most teens in town. Busy. Over-booked. She tends to like her life that way. But, there are nights when she also has trouble sleeping. Not every night, thankfully. There are days when she feels the stress of too much.
I took one more look at the room as I flicked off the lights. It had not been filled with teens eager for balance. Just one girl and my daughter. A twelve-year-old girl who had been nearly ten minutes late because she couldn’t find her mat. I had nearly turned the lights off an hour before. I’m glad I had not. Maybe within the next week another parent will look at her child and say, “You need this. Maybe it will help you. Give it a try.”
The summer is rapidly passing into fall, as it always seems to do this time of year, at least in New England. The days are getting noticeably shorter and the leaves are starting to fall in clumps from our old apple tree. I have just two more weeks left of teaching yoga classes in a field nearby my home, and already I am missing it.
Slow time
Each Friday morning I have been waking early to greet the day with my fellow yogis. Before the sun rises past the treeline to dry the grass beneath, we roll out our mats and blankets on the moist earth. I like to arrive early, taking my time to walk down the road with my bag slung over my shoulder like a hobo. I take with me sometimes more than I need. Ties to use for straps; a solar speaker that sometimes works — today it did not; a chime for heralding the start of class, which I have never needed play; a portable headset, new and also unused. Today, after class, I took the chime and headset out, allowing the bag to be lighter for the last two weeks.
The fractal canopy of trees
I also took my flipflops off early, at the edge of the roadside, and walked the long grass in an embrace of the senses. The cold dew waking through the soles my thirsty feet seeking connection. I think of the long winter ahead and relish the contact with the living land. I have learned that I prefer the ground to the mat, my body moving of its own accord off the artificial surface to step into the pose of warrior and mountain. There is a strength to be found through direct contact.
Hawk of the sun
Practicing yoga outdoors comes with its challenges and gifts. The ground is uneven, and one cannot help but notice the imperfections of its surface. Or is it perfection? The sometimes not-so-subtle play of life occurs regardless of your presence. Crows argue loudly in the trees. Hawks screech overhead in search of their next meal. Spiders sail webs between grass blades. I am a sucker for wildlife. Today, my eyes watched a tiny yellow arachnid jump the green stems between me and my students for a few moments. Above their heads, my gaze searched the trees for the chattering birds. I find I am filled with joy when others also stop to listen and gaze. Their faces mirroring a delight that cannot be found inside artificial walls.
Winged traveler here only for the summer
How can I not miss these Friday mornings in the fields? I think, perhaps, I’ll even miss the trucks lumbering by, causing my voice to stretch its limitations. The sun, sometimes too warm when it crests the trees, drawing sweat from my pores. And that long, wet grass, which makes my feet tingle with life. I’ll miss the end of class when there is always at least one student lingering to share life. I do not worry so much about time on these mornings. It passes as it will, and there is always enough to spare. Each moment flowing into the next more like a stream than a rushing river.
It was approximately 9:30pm, my husband and I seated on the sofa downstairs watching Victoria and Abdul, a bowl of popped buttered corn between us. Our son upstairs behind shut doors, our daughter and her friend taking a night dip in the pool after their evening run. The door dividing the screened porch open to the elements but screened from the bugs. Or so we thought.
“How did it get in here,” my daughter later asked.
“Maybe it was following a moth. They eat moths, don’t they?” someone offered in reply.
We can’t say for sure what drew it in. It had never entered our house before, nor had any of its kind. It seemed to be in a hurry though, its beautiful, silent body flying soundlessly through the opened doors of the porch, past the mesh screen to dance a circle around our heads in pursuit of an unidentified prey.
“There’s a bat in our house.” I don’t know who said it first. More husband or I. We were both equally startled. We’ve had uninvited visitors before, mostly courtesy of the cats, but no cat had invited the bat in. Nor had the dogs, which remained, somehow, blissfully unaware of our visitor for the 30-45 minutes it was with us.
And so began the pursuit of our graceful guest. How does one catch a bat? I am not sure. I got a net from the pool box used for retrieving frogs and the unfortunate rodents who have ventured over the edge. My husband, a pair of leather gloves from the basement. Thinking that the net might not be enough, I grabbed a thick cotton blanket from the closet and began to search the rooms with my husband.
Here’s the thing about bats. They are not only silent and swift, most of them, like this nocturnal flyer, rely upon echolocation for their sight. They are much better at navigating space than we are. It was a comical chase, to be sure, but we really didn’t think so at the time, well not all of us. Bats have a way of opening our fears, as well as our sense of wonder. I realized in those 45 minutes what our unexpected visitors was triggering in each of us.
My daughter and her friend found amusement, laughing when they discovered what we were dealing with. They were also safely outside. My son seemed satisfied enough to stay behind the closed doors to keep the bat out of the room. Those of us tasked with the challenge of leading the bat back out to where it came from, were not as stable with our emotions. I was fine until it flew by, my husband less so. “I’ve been bitten by animals before,” he reminded me when I told him that our panicking would likely only increase the bat’s panicking.
When we stop to observe and watch ourselves in these moments when our fears are triggered, we can learn a lot about ourselves. Having had more practice in this than my husband, because of my studies with the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, and yoga, I was able to step into that role of observer.
What if you get bit? I asked myself. I thought of rabies and decided I didn’t like that option, but I also thought about the bat as a teacher and as a guest who was there for a purpose that might not be entirely obvious at first. Here before me was this magnificent animal, a mammal like me, but with the ability to fly at will. We were, I realized, both night-flyers. While I released the weight of gravity while I dreamt, this night-flyer was showing me the beautiful blind dance of trust in my waking state. And, I realized, when I took the time to be still and let go my fear of being bit, that before me was a gift.
How remarkably beautiful you are I thought as the bat flew a millimeter in front of me in search of an exit. There were moments, many of them, when I had no idea where our visitor was until it soared past on its silent wings. There was even one moment when I was hunched in the hallway as it flew around me when I thought it had landed on me. It wasn’t, I discovered, an unwelcome thought. I had this crazy notion that if I remained calm and still, it would land on me if it chose to, and we would both be okay.
Or was it so crazy? When we choose to dance beyond our fears into that state of stillness and peace, the world has a way of responding in kind. Those zen-like moments you read or hear about, and maybe even have experienced for yourself, are just that. The letting go of what binds us to our bodies and minds and allowing our cells to dance in unity with all that is around us. It is, in essence, like flying without effort. This bat, I realized while it was with us, had been a welcome visitor after all. I was almost sorry when my husband declared after our second attempt at releasing it (we had at one point thought it had exited an open door only to discover after we had settled back onto the couch and our movie that it had not), that he had, in fact, watched it exit the same porch door from which it came from. It’s job here, it seems, was done.
I am co-hosting my first wellness fair tomorrow with the lovely and talented, Karen Kubicko. Our intention is to provide a variety of wellness offerings that help people live a life in alignment with their inner truth. We have a wonderful group of vendors providing readings, healings and holistic-living goods for people. We’re looking forward to a fun day offering free workshops for people of all ages.
Our Free Workshops Running Throughout the Day
10am – 10:30am: “Overcoming Obstacles”– Map your path to your heart’s desire with Carol Williams, Women’s Business Empowerment Coach
10:45am – 11:15am: “Working with Crystals & Stones”– Kelly Slack of Stone Sisters will show you how to heal and receive guidance through crystals & stones
11:30am – 12:15pm: “The Power of Words”– Learn the power of setting intentions and mindful thoughts & words with Kristy Jones of Dragonfly Magick
12:30pm – 1pm: “Instilling Your Dreams Through Guided Hypnosis”– Peg Losee of Thru Wings & Hands will help you bring your heart’s desire into reality
1:15pm – 1:45pm: “The Healing Power of Plants”– Wendy Berry of Lasting Legacy Farm will show you how to use plant medicine to heal your mind/body/spirit
2:00pm-2:30pm:“How to use a Pendulum and Ground Yourself”– Learn how to use a pendulum for guidance and tools for grounding yourself with Darlene Doughty, healer & artisan
2:45pm – 3:15pm: “Healing Through Past-Lives” – Discover how to remember and heal through your past-life experiences with Karen Kubicko, Author, past-life regressionist and psychic intuitive
The owl appeared as the resurrected phoenix during my last, formal meditation as a student of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. At some point, the seeker becomes the seen as the threshold to the mysteries are opened. The wisdom that always lies in wait within is always just a conscious breath away, but humans can be shallow breathers. In my young adult novel The Labyrinth, which is due to be released in a month or so, the voice of an owl cuts through the darkness as teens search for what they cannot find.
“Whoooo Loooooks for Yooooou?” The owl calls out to them.
Ultimately, are we not all looking for our own selves? The truth of the soul that is often only allowed to exist fully in the false protection of the shadows. The eyes, therefore, must turn inward and grow accustomed to the dark, where eventually they learn to see the light held within. We are all seekers of wisdom, but sometimes it is worth asking what is the wisdom we truly seek?
The crow was waiting at the top of the building when I stepped outside the door of my final day of yoga teacher training. She cawed loud and strong, least I miss her presence, looking down at me as her eyes followed me to my car. Don’t forget who brought you here, she seemed to be saying, along with, you know this is only a beginning.
I have learned, over the course of these last three years in particular, how much endings are really just beginnings. Once we have crossed that threshold that marks the completion of a road along our journey, another road awaits us. The road is often unmarked or vaguely marked at best. if we knew what was waiting, would we walk with the open heart that requires trust and surrender?
And so I find myself walking across the threshold with eyes that have learned to see in the dark. Fear has become a friend that sometimes takes my hand to remind me of courage and I have grown comfortable with what is waiting to be known. I have learned that within each moment I can find the presence of teachers surrounding me. They are the trees outside my window and the birds that pass by. They are the people I encounter on the streets, and the dogs who share the couch as I write. My computer is my teacher, with all its quirks and challenges. And there is always, that ever-guiding light within.
I have become also, a friend of wait. Patience provides a soft hand that is worth holding for as long as it is offered. Magic is, after all, held in the present moment and if one pushes against the ever-flowing current of time it is lost.
The first night in Bermuda, my daughter came down with a cold. I could hear her coughing and blowing her nose from the other room, and wondered how the night would play out. She came in after midnight. My husband transitioned to the pullout couch in the main living space, while my daughter settled in next to me so that I could give her Reiki. It was a night of little sleep, but it was also one of blessings and surrender.
There was no cough medicine to grab from the bathroom closet. No diffuser filled with oils to plug in the wall. I had only my hands and the energy I opened them up to. Fear can creep in when we find ourselves in situations that draw us out of our comfort zones. We are used to habits, and come to rely on certain things to get through life. Sometimes, though, we must work with what we have inside of us.
While I rested my hands on my daughter’s head, I asked her to surrender with me. I felt the body gently release around the heart, and the womb of the Gaia surrounding us. The form of a great sea turtle appeared inside of my mind, holding the presence of Mother Earth. She moved gently through the darkness until my daughter found enough stillness to sleep. And, during those long hours before sleep found me, the notes of the ancient healing mantra of Gayatri played through me:
Gayatri: The feminine form of the divine, and therefore one may extrapolate that Gaia, or Mother Earth, is an aspect of her. (Note some associate the Gayatri mantra with the solar god, Savitr, as I mentioned in a previous post. As I work further with this mantra, I find myself returning to what I felt years ago when I first heard it, that it is an awakening to the divine feminine energy that resides in all of us. An energy that balances the fiery sun).
I wore her turquoise in the form of a teardrop in the well of my throat each day. The chip of stone the same shade of blue as her waters, which turned from tranquil to a fierce sea that I knew could pull me back to her womb in an instant. On the tiny sliver of an island called Bermuda, I was acutely aware of the power of water and the great womb of life. Water that in one moment held stillness, and in the next turbulence.
A sea of tranquility?
The first day mirrored calm. There were hardly any ripples dividing the liquid element from air, and my eyes could see an unobstructed bottom through several feet of depth. Often, I found myself looking for life in the great womb, but found only a few colorful fish one day in the deeper, darker blues.
Along the shoreline, the inorganic waste of humanity collected the memory of greed in forgotten areas. Finding this depressing, I focused the lens on beauty.
Abandoned vacation huts over tranquil water. Behind the veil of pine, garbage accumulates.
Until it was unavoidable.
By day three her breath, which blew in a soft caress upon my arrival, had turned into a gale force that permeated all the pores in my body. It was not an icy wind, but a penetrating one meant to awaken that which we tend to keep still not because of peace, but because of a choice to ignore.
The photograph cannot capture the magnitude of Her strength
So I welcomed her air and felt the exhilaration of life stirring through time. Nights turned restless and I woke often to hear her constant cry as she tried to rip the shudders of my the house where I was staying open.
What do you want from me? What are you trying to tell me? I found myself asking the divine mother, knowing the answers were held in the mirror of my dreams. They showed me the walls that needed to be brought down, and the shadows held through fear opened to the raw, untamed element of air. The spiral like a hurricane bringing me ever inward to the eye to examine and release.
The key, held in the open hands of surrender.
I will stir up your life, but you must examine what I bring forth.
The tide draws in and releases
Bhargo devasya dhimahi
Diyo yonah prachodayat
Often, I found my mind returning to the Gayatri Mantra, in particular, these last two lines. Seeking the cleansing through the goddess. Igniting the light more deeply within, while feeling Her womb enclosed around me. Wrapping me fiercely, but not consuming, while I stayed on her strip of land called Bermuda. The place some say is at the tip of a sacred triangle that points “up” toward the ever-present Light.
I started working with the Gayatri Mantra while I work with the transformation energy of Sekhmet. It is both strang and perfect how my yoga teacher training has aligned with my final year of instruction with the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. When we agree to walk the path, though, the roads we take converge to unite to the deeper awareness we seek.
I was introduced to the Gayatri Mantra by a dear friend who sent me a video of Deva Premal singing it several years ago. As I listened to Deva’s unparalleled voice, I felt as though my cells were being realigned to a deep memory of truth. I was hooked. Transfixed. I played the video for days, maybe even weeks, and each time I did I wept with the beauty of what it brought to me.
Now it has come back to me through yoga. Placed into my lap by one of my teachers at a time when it is needed both individually and collectively. After what has felt like hard work for the inner and outer voice with my earlier mantra practices, the Gayatri Mantra feels like a welcoming balm. It tempers the inner fire and soothes the wounds that were reopened for healing.
The Gayatri Mantra is ancient. It’s Sanskrit sounds work through each chakra in the body, releasing and realigning to the true self. The healing potential of the mantra is so powerful it appears in ancient texts of the Vedas and the Bhagavadgita. It is a dedication to the sun god Savitri, and calls us to awaken to the sun within that is also outside of us. It works to open us back to our deepest origin, the Light of the Divine Consciousness that resides in all of us.
I am using this mantra as a tool to balance the firey energy of Sekhmet whose claws are ripping through me in what sometimes feels like a brutal effort to expose all that is false both within and without. Her talons dig deep, piercing the deepest origins of fear as they open wider the path to Holy Truth. I feel her raging through me in a restless urgency that can leave me off-center and in need of a quieter peace. The Gayatri Mantra brings me this. The ancient notes digging deeper than Sekhmet’s claws to find the core of Love and peace that is ever-waiting to be present. It is a healing balm in these turbulent times. A gift that has come, like most unexpected gifts, at the perfect time.
Mantra: a word or sound that is repeated (either internally or externally) to focus the mind, usually for meditation.
Back in December, I wrote two posts about working with the mantra “Aham Prema.” I am now on my third mantra, which I allowed to choose me as I did the others. The choice was unexpected and caught me by surprise in the way that only our most poignant of life experiences can.
It happened last Saturday, during my seventh weekend of yoga teacher training. The previous night I had a series of troubled dreams, resulting in a fitful night of sleep. Not an uncommon experience, as my night journeys often bring me to the place of unearthing fears that linger inside of me. Despite this, I was unprepared for what awaited. Not even the morning yoga class clued me in. A class that ended with a new mantra beautifully sung by our instructor in a melody that wrapped my body in a comfort near bliss.
Later, we were given the mantra in written form, on a sheet of paper. The title, “Guru Mantra,” was followed by the Sanskrit words and the English translation. We studied our sheets and practiced repeating the words that still felt mostly exotic. Mala beads were brought forth, and a number of repetitions were chosen.
As we began chanting as one voice, I felt the power of the ancient words ringing inside of my cells. By the time we reached the fifth mala bead, I felt as though I was hovering around, and not wholly inside of my body. I listened to my voice joined with the voices of my fellow yogis and the hypnotic trance-like state I was experiencing deepened.
Time folded in on itself until I was both two-years-old and forty-four. The forty-four-old-self continued to chant the Guru Mantra in a yoga studio with a dozen women, while the two-year-old-self searched for grounding among a sea of chanting Hare Krisha devotes.
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Time continued to collapse in upon itself as I hovered in the space of no-time. I heard my voice joined in the chanting, not quite sure if I was two or forty-four. I could feel my physical body ephemerally attached, and became aware of how it had recorded and trapped the accumulation of trauma. As I swirled within the cosmos of self, it began to earth its pain. The temple of my soul shook loose the detritus of the child-self’s fear, and each cell trembled the release. Water loosened the pours of my skin and leaked from the opened eyes. And, finally, the voice that was chanting through time could take no more.
It took me hours to return fully back to the present. Saturday night brought another fitful night of dreams filled with irrational fears. Then morning dawned and I began to feel charged with renewed life. I found I could not leave the Guru Mantra behind. After forty-two years it had found me again, and I knew I could not ignore it. Shiva was calling me to break the bonds of fear, while Vishnu held up the Light of Truth. With the free-will of my adult self, I accepted its offer to guide me into the space of beautiful healing.
For several weeks in 1976 when I was two-years-old I lived in various Hare Krishna communes, including the West Virgina commune depicted in the Life article above (although at this time the famous temple was in the very early stages of construction). This journey can be found, in part, in my memoir, A Girl Named Truth. What is not found in my memoir, though, are the repressed memories from this time that have resurfaced through various healing work I have done. I have chosen to keep these private due to the pain they may cause others.
The Light Behind the Story 