I am currently reading Maps to Ecstasy by Gabrielle Roth who is the founder of the 5 Rhythms - a practice of ecstatic dance and a profound movement meditation meant to bring us into deep intimacy with ourselves.  I am completely spellbound by her words.  She is a healer, an "urban shaman" as she calls herself, and a woman interested in an immanent relationship with living.  No transcendence, no stoic unemotive state of enlightenment to chase - her work is dedicated to being in the world in the most whole way we can as thinking, feeling, emobodied beings. 
I just finished a portion of her book on nurturing instincts.  She suggests that our relationship to our mother figures in the first 5 years of life is meant to teach us how to nuture ourselves for the rest of our lives.  We all fall somewhere on a continuum as to how much of this precious wisdom we learned or were taught during this time.  It made me reflect on my own relationship with my daughter.  I have felt from the beginning the my job is to honour her instincts.  Period.  She is much closer to her instincts than we are as adults.  She know when she's tired, hungry, needing play time, quiet time, kick in every direction time, softer food, something to chew on.   All of these actions come as a result of her instinctual call.  I basically try to stay out of her way and let her lead.  Gabrielle suggests that we must "acknowledge and reinforce the validty of the child's own internal messages" in this way teaching the child to "trust itself".  

Based on our own experiences with our mother figure we will be more or less naturally able to trust the call of our instincts, to value and trust ourselves.  This is where yoga comes in.  The practice of yoga calls us into listening.  At first it may begin with feeling the pain of a tight muscles in asana, so we shift.  The call of something out of balance is heard, we respond intelligently and the foundation for regaining our connection to instinct is established.  Over time with our practices, especially under the guidance of a teacher well attuned to their own instincts, we become more and more subltely aware of our needs.  We listen and here the call of a hurt heart needing our attention.  We listen and feel the fatigue in our bones that needs restoration.   We listen and hear the call of our tummies needing nourishment.  Each practice becomes a time to be heard, either as an extension of how our mothers heard us in childhood, or for some, the beginning of this process altogether.  

When we have come to hear ourselves, we can then respond on the mat with a nurturing sequences of asana, breath and meditation to meet our needs.  So much of yoga has become mechanical, the expectation is that each practice be consistent and methodical.  To me this is a masculine approach that may work well for some.  Instead, can we let every practice be a compassionate response to our needs?  When we're tired can we find a restorative practice?  When we are full of excited energy can we find rigor to channel it?  Mothering ourselves through our yoga practice means responding to ourselves as we are each day.  Such a practice will inevitably lead to a greater understanding of ourselves and deeper connection to the instinctual wisdom that has the ability to draw us into balance.   We come to do for ourselves what our mothers did or did not do; listen to instinct and need and respond compassionately.  To be able to do this through our practice is both empowering and the path to a profound trust of ourselves.  We can come to standing in our own skin that for some may be the ultimate gateway to a wellbeing never before experienced.   

In two weeks I will be starting my Master's degree in Counselling Psychology.  For years I have considered many avenues for graduate study, more often than not I have been tyrannized by the thought of making the wrong decision.   I've stewed about what the outcome might be - would I be employable?  Would I ultimately enjoy the work?  If I open this door what about all the others that would shut?  Most of all, I've worried about the time and energy it would require from me.  But, despite the confusion and fear I am continually haunted by academics and have an undeniably, seemingly DNA based penchant for learning.  So, this is how I solved my problem:  I became 100% committed to a half-assed approach to accomplishing this goal.  That's right - a 100% commitment to a 70%ish effort.  

Now, this doesn't mean that I don't want to learn, and it doesn't mean that I won't immerse myself in the knowledge necessary to help people.  It means that, contrary to my undergraduate experience, I won't be obsessing about perfect answers or being the most glaring keener in my cohort.  I intend to approach my studies with the attitude I take into yoga - if I try too hard in one aspect of my asana the rest of my body will suffer.  Until I can let go of perfecting a pose I cannot feel the richness of the conversation within my whole being.  Likewise, if I try too hard in academics the rest of my life will suffer -  my conversation with the other elements of my world would be thwarted.  It wasn't until I could genuinely commit to letting go of perfectionism that I was free to make the choice to go back to school.   

It feels so good to give myself permission to relax my efforting.  It has been yoga that has taught me how to do that.  Through senstive inquiry I have become more aware of when messages arise within me to do better, get it right or be the best.  And, through yoga, I have found out that there are other things that can feed me much more completely than following the compulsion of my perfectionism.  These things are self-respect, balance, stillness and space - none of which can thrive in the suffocating mud of over-achieving. 

Now, with this intention embedded clearly in my heart, I look forward to the next few years of deepening my understanding of human psychology.  I feel excitement for the many ways that it will intersect or contradict what I understand through my yoga journey.  I feel satisfied that the live-wire of my intellect has a place to plug into, rather than just voraciously flying about in search of learning.  And most of all I feel thrilled that I can be both mother and wife and pursue the things that have called so loudly all my life.  That I feel blessed is an understatement.

A few weeks ago I had a session with my long time therapist and mentor.  At one point during our conversation he relayed the story in the Bible of Jesus' transfiguration (Mark 9:2-8).  The story, in brief, describes how Jesus journeyed to the top of Mount Tabor with disciples John, James and Peter.  Here, these discples, and holy witnesses Elijah and Moses, witnessed the transformation of Jesus into a physical expression of his Divinity.  His face shone like the sun, his clothes glowed whiter than anything they had ever seen.  The voice of God echoed from the sky "this is my Beloved son.  Hear Him!".  Peter, James and John were gifted a transcendent experience of Jesus in his radiant glory.  Even God the Father showed up.  At one point Peter said to Jesus "it is good for us to be here" and suggested that the disciples build shelters for Jesus, Elijah and Moses and that they stay.  Who can blame him for suggesting that they stay there?  This mountain top was the sacred space where he came to experience the radiant Divinity of his saviour in a way that could tangibly penetrate his senses.  Who wouldn't want to dwell there for as long as possible in the bliss of this holy occurrence?  But Jesus instructed that they must come down from the mountain top.  They must once again enter the realm of "sin" and selfishness. 

As yoga practitioners we are often privy to experiences that are beyond the every day.  Whether that is the bliss of samadhi (oneness), deep relaxation or a long awaited release of those stubborn spinal muscles.   I recognized a while back, even before learning of this biblical story, that I was struggling with the transition from my yoga practice back into the every day activities of my life.  I wanted only the deep comfort and connection that I experience on my mat, forever.  And, once I had felt the bliss of my practice the mundane tasks of everyday life seemed even more difficult.  Ultimately,  I didn't want to come down from the mountaintop.  And the resistance to the descent into the realm of sin and selfishness caused me significant suffering and resentment.  But I must - we all must - descend into our lives.  We must fall into the chaos, inspired and renewed by our experiences at the mountain tops of our practices.  We must allow ourselves walk passionately toward the suffering of humanity, dwell there and become impacted by life and others. Then, begin the ascent to spirit once again.  The mountain top does not exist without the ground, and just as importantly, the ground does not exist without the mountain top.  We are often reminded of our inherent Divinity by gurus and spiritual teachers around the globe.  Sometimes, those of us who spend a great deal of time exploring our spiritual natures must also be reminded of our inherent humanity.  We can't get away from it, if we do we are once again living in the realm of duality where spirit reigns supreme over our humanness.  Can we instead feel the wholeness that is revealed when we recognize both?  I have had such a wonderful time in the flat prairies and deep valleys of my life lately.  Today, as I prepare to spend time with beloved friends, I feel myself digging my toes deeply into the soil of my life while upstretching my hands to the radiant, eternal sky.  I take a deep breath and swear I can feel my face shining like the sun. 

I take my daughter for a walk every morning.  Sometimes I listen to audiobooks on my IPod in one ear while I walk.  Recently I have been listening to Thich Nhat Hanh's Mindfulness and Psychotherapy which is actually a recording of lectures this Buddhist monk gave years back to a group of psychotherapists.  At one point he was talking about the anger he felt during the Vietnam war when a village he had helped rebuild four times was bombed again.  He said he wrote a poem about his experience.  I became immediately more engaged as some part of me figured that monk's never actually feel anger - I was eager to know more.  What followed stopped me in my tracks and brought me to tears - this is his poem:

For Warmth
by Thich Nhat Hanh

I hold my face between my hands
no I am not crying.
I hold my face between my hands
to keep my loneliness warm-
two hands protecting,
two hands nourishing,
two hands to prevent
my soul from leaving me
in anger.

To keep my loneliness warm.... How many times in my life have I tried everything to rid myself of loneliness?  I've labelled it as negative, something I don't want to feel.  I've spent so much time with groups of new agers who project that spirituality means the eradication of negative emotions or thoughts.  In my times in groups based on this philosophy I have found the puritanical part of me satisfied by the thought that I could be "cleansed" of my darkness or my so called negative aspects.  And here, this monk of monks, an internationally known peace activist does not try to get rid of his anger or loneliness, instead he holds it with love.  One of the world's most spiritual people giving space to the totality of his humanness - imagine that.  

What would it be like if each asana in our yoga practice was like the hands in this poem.  Gentle movements that bring us closer to reality - not to change it but to keep it warm in the light of our loving awareness.  Downward dog - to protect, trikonasana - to nourish, the sun salutations to prevent my soul from leaving me stuck in any particular state of being.  I hold myself in the grace of gentle asana, no I am not crying - I hold myself in the grace of gentle asana to keep my humanness warm.  This poem did not say two hands to fix, two hands to change, two hands to purify.  This idea seems to be the inspiration behind much of the yoga we see today.  Instead, can we follow the lead of this monk whose spiritual power is evident in the fruits of his peaceful actions?  Instead of changing our natural human experiences can we honour them through our practice?  This poem has been my inspiration for weeks, it is taped to the mirror in my bathroom and I recite it by memory from time to time.  Thank you Thich Nhat Hanh for being another reminder Grace.