My two and half year old daughter has recently taken to announcing when "night" comes.  As soon a the sun's light begins to fade she yells "night!" and with equal fervor at dawn the next morning she yells "night all gone!".  I love her sense of rhythm.  I love that she gets excited the death of day and birth of night, and vice versa, with sensitivity to the continual cycling of our daily life. 

We're coming up to a time that represents to most of us the completion of yet another cycle.  We enter the death of our calendar year, and like with any other death this makes space for the springing forth of new life.  Ever regenerating, moment by moment we live and die, and live again. 

So, as we move toward the New Year I wonder if I can get as excited about the birth and death inherent in life as my daughter does every day.  I wonder if I can yell from the roof tops that  in me which I am willing to let die.  And, with equal zeal can I announce the coming of my renewal?  This happens at every layer of our existence - from the birth and death of jobs and relationships to my thoughts, emotions and cells  Author Gary Zukav says this:

"Every subatomic interaction consists of the annihilation of the original particles and the creation of new subatomic particlews.  The subatomic world is a continual dance of creation and annihilation, of mass changing into energy and energy changing to mass.  Transient forms sparkle in and out of existence, creating a never-ending, forever newly created reality".

I want to know this dance in my very bones - to experience the annihilation and creation of reality every day, in every moment.  Like everything else in our culture, the New Year celebration is often reduced to a time for dedicating to "fixing" our broken characters and chubby bodies and the meaning of renewal is lost.  This year, instead of yoga just being part of your weight loss or anger management plan, can you also see it as your "get to know the real nature of renewal" plan?  In the depth of your practice, when the mind has slowed and the moment has started to emerge in real time, begin to deeply sense the death and birth of life within and all around you.  Let it sweep you into swirling waters of the cosmos, - sensations, thoughts, emotions arising and dissolving in eternity.  Let go of your idea of permanence, until you can hear your subatomic self bellow out the arrival of it's demise and creation like a two year old announcing the coming of night.   

I’m no stoic.  Despite all my efforts, I have not been able to quell the torrents of my  feeling heart.  In fact in this moment I feel:

 -   Content that I can relax in a sunwarmed chair in my favourite coffee shop.
 -   Relief for having time to write my blog.
 -   Anxiety because I really should be doing something other than writing my blog.   
  - Sad that my gramma is in hospital
 -   Happy that after a 14 month marathon I have finished my Master’s coursework

Moment by moment I feel these emotions whirling and storming through me, each with different intensities and flavours.  Depending on who you ask this may be considered a cardinal sign of a personality disorder or  impending nervous breakdown.  I like to consider it a vital sign that I am alive.  
 
If I were 100% convinced that I needed to fix, change or analyze all of this I’d be in trouble (add panic to the list),  luckily a small but tenacious part of me knows that there’s another way to  relate to my heart.  And it doesn’t require stoic detachment nor does it require daily cathartic frenzies (although either can be helpful when the moment calls for it).  Instead, I think, it is about allowing the tidal force of emotion to rise like the effervescent tingles that burst in the first down dog of your  practice.  We are less likely to recoil from the sensations of a muscles working, blood flowing or oxygen pumping.  And yet the sensation of  emotion seems to be so uncomfortable that we do anything we can to get away from  it.  We tense up, distract  ourselves, dump the emotion all over the next poor sap who crosses our path, we  drink, shop and TV it out of our awareness. We do anything but feel it.   And by virtue of this we lose the life force it is infused with.  

In yoga, we are trying to increase our  mobility.  To increase the range of  motion in our body is to open up a sense of freedom and spaciousness.  Why not do the same with emotion?  The point is not to feel placid all the time, nor to always be caught up in emotional theatrics.  Instead, perhaps, we are meant to feel a full range of e-motion where we are free to respond emotionally to every moment of our lives.  Not so stuck in melancholy that we can’t feel the inspirational glory of a sunrise and not so stuck in “perky”that we can’t feel the despair of a suffering friend.   
 
To feel, however, does not mean to act, or  deliberate.  Feeling means  FEEL.  To this we must slow down and have moments of pause in our lives that allow us experience the forces of  emotion paint an internal masterpiece.   We must cease the endless evasive manoeuvres that keep us from feeling
emotion and sit long enough to watch the emotion rise, live its truth and  die.   Emotions are  intelligent – they tell us about our life and self.   Emotions are energy –they offer us the opportunity to be infused with  life force.   And, emotions  are natural – can you behold them with reverence?  

The other day I was shocked with the realization that I sometimes forget to enjoy.  I spend a great deal of time processes negative impacts from my week, but not enough time letting in the deeply pleasurable moments of my life.  This isn't the same as forgetting to appreciate.  I sense that appreciation runs like a soft current through my life, but to enjoy is another thing. 

To me, enjoying is the magical antidote to the fixations of my sometimes anal retentive personality.  It even feels nice just to type it.  EN - JOY.  As I sit in my bed, with my beloved heating blanket on, I wiggle my toes against soft sheets and lean back into a cloud of pillows.  Ahhhhh..... pleasure.  In this moment I remember enjoyment.  It is the reveling in the subtle presence of something entirely delicious.  It is the lusty rolling around in the "honey" of life -  Winnie the Pooh, you are my hero.

The other day in my yoga practice a luscious tidbit of the cosmos slathered me with 40 minutes of  bliss that released deep held tensions that I have been harbouring for a few weeks.  This was one of the most delectable yoga experiences I have had.  It was scrumptious, delightful - orgasmic!  The melting away of deep tensions met by awareness, honouring and breath reminded me of one of the central reasons for yoga - the release of bondage.  How could yoga be not be entirely succulent when it involves freeing ourselves from the tethers of our egoic mind?   The imprints of our daily striving begin to dissolve with gentle, intelligent movement, deep awareness and unforced breath.   That day on my mat,  this dissolution felt like the falling away of a thousand heavy chains. 

Tantric yoga encourages the use of pleasure to draw us into presence.  This doesn't mean hankering after all things pleasant like an automaton, but rather using pleasure as a gateway to our present moment experience.  Today in your practice can you let pleasure guide you?  Can you find movements that feel good and be tantalized by your practice rather than taunted?  Today, let enjoyment be your intention, make like Pooh and find the honey in your practice, and your life. 

I'm obviously into forces these days.  My second last post talked about the importance of recognizing that our own personal will is but one of innumerable forces acting on our lives at any moment.  This post is about learning to cooperate with and see ourselves as a dynamic play of forces in yoga practice.  Through this, we come to know ourselves as something other than the rigid, crystallized entity we call our ego.  

The first force we must cooperate with is the grounding force - we must root before we can sprout.  This means yielding.  We must learn to yield our body weight into the points of contac we have with the floor.  We must learn to yield the stubborn will of our egoic structure by coming into total presence- experiencing the moment as if from the very cells of our bodies.  Only in this way will the tensions knotted into our muscles by years of egoic striving begin to soften. 

In Warrior II, for example,  this yielding means relying on the bones of the  legs for support.  This "bi-pod" of strength draws support directly from the  earth, and allows the upper body to yield it's characteristic tensions from the  brow, jaw, shoulders and ribcage.  Yielding to the downward pull of gravity we come to trust the earth, and our roots.  Only then can we come to experience the  upward moving force acting on the spine.  Until we yield our tensions, a false up-"tight" force is what holds us, not the natural, soft uprising of a spine sprouting from it's deep roots.   This gentle upward moving force is not rigid,  it is fluid and can be supported by the engagement of the deep core body.  Lifting the pelvic floor and engaging the low belly in and up slightly energetically propels this force to the crown.  Two forces suspend this pose - can you find yourself dwelling at their balance point?  

Once the core is engaged in Warrior II we have gathered our attention, energy and blood flow in the deep center of gravity.  To balance this inward moving force we expand through the 6 points of our
periphery:  the crown, hands, tail, and feet.   Drawing inward and expanding outward, begin to feel the place where the two forces are equal and be suspended there. 

Feeling the grounding and rising, inward moving and expanding forces can you let go of all that you think you are and become this play of forces?  As you become sensitive to these you will become sensitive to the myriad of other forces working in you - the movement of the breath and emotions, the electrical flow of thoughts, the deep stirring of your soul.  Let go of your identity and feel the inner current of life moving, heaving, tingling - ushering you moment by moment closer to your One True Self. 

I used to be an activist.  I've marched for change, negotiated for respect, sat with peaceful comrades of social justice and written countless diatribes on every angle of human struggle one could imagine. 

I say used to, not because I don't still have an investment in evolution.  I just do it different now.   I have spent a great deal of time pointing out the "ills" of culture and society while my soul lay waste as victim of my penchant for the "greater good".  I had many ideas about what that meant and while I indulged these ideas with all the self-righteous indignation I could muster something else in me suffered.  In my vehement parading toward change I neglected the subtler voices in me that were sensitive to the matrix of interweaving realities within and all around.  One of these realities reminded me that my stewardship of the earth is only as "evolved" as my inhabitance of my own vessel.  So many times in the midst of my activism, large or small, I lost touch with the voices inside me that tried to speak to me of patience, perspective and rest.  I could not hear these messages emanating from the deeper recesses of my being, I was too enamoured by the ideas in my head I was trying to manifest.  And those ideas entranced me into believing that my will should be done at the expense of a greater Will. 

That's why the Occupy Wall Street movement has caught my attention in a way that no other protest has in the last decade.  Not that I know what's going on there, there may well be people with their good intentions locked up in cerebral cages,  but something rings differently about a movement that chooses to occupy rather than simply protest. This speaks of a group of people willing to sit for a while, in the feelings and impulses that called them there, as an act of truth, testament and faith.   

A small group of people were doing yoga at this gathering and a columnist asked what possible point doing yoga would have.  I think nothing could be more relevant.    In every posture, yoga asks us to move into ourselves, to occupy the flows and rhythms of our inner lives.  We are asked to truly inhabit all that is -  waves of sensation and emotion, the electrical currents of our thoughts, the subtle vibratory quality of our deepest wishes and strongest instincts.  We become an occupant of our selves.  No longer encapsulated in the phantom house of our thoughts, we feel the intensity of what is true in the moment.  Unfettered by expectations and demands of ourselves we are able to see clearly what's real, stay with it, and eventually respond intelligently to what is seen.  

Perhaps the intention of the Occupy Wallstreet movement is to do something similar.  They have been criticized for not having a clear agenda, for not articulating their demands.  This is an evolution of activism, not a regression.  The Occupants of the dozens of cities around the world have come together and "postured" themselves in a way that so that they can better inhabit the truth of our times.  They have dedicated to occupying the deep anger and angst that a world economic maelstrom has provoked in them.  They are committed to dwelling in the collective impulse for something more than living under the thumb of a corporate head master.  The longer they remain postured in this way, the more will be revealed about an intelligent movement forward.   The point, as they have indicated, is to occupy their "truths".  

Occupying a yoga posture means to see the fluxing nuances of each moment within it, to hold with the inner and outer vibrations of rising impulses and the layers of reality from which they emerge.  May those occupying the streets of cities around the world take up more than just space.  May they truly inhabit the reasons they've come, the deep wish in their hearts for change, and the mystery and complexity of their own movement and that of the "other" - as hard as that may be.  May they stay so connected to self and other that they can see when something shifts, within and without, responding with intelligence to the new shape taking form in their global movement.   May they dwell, as long as they need, to see reality from all perspectives and model for the rest of the world what can take shape when activism becomes occupancy.  Above all, may they occupy consciously until their anger and passion transform to forge the bricks of a new inner and outer world. 

An osteopath friend told me a few months ago that my daughter tends to hinge at her hips and neck when she moves rather than moving her spine.  This comes as not surprise given that I have a rigid spine compared to the hyper mobile joints at my hips and shoulders.  Wanting to create balance in her body, I've been campaigning somewhat to get her to move from her spine more - "Look Rowan!  Can you roll like a ball?  Can you wiggle side to side like mama?"  I've seen some change in her ability to round her back more fully into flexion, but generally it's not been significant. 

As I was chasing her around the basement the other day, watching her half nudey body scamper in front me I suddently got a flash of the numerous influences that coalesce to create her.  She is a magnificent work of art born of forces that act on her in innumerable ways.  The rigidity of her spine is influenced by the force of genetics, habit, emotional countenance, birth conditions, her imitation of me, our daily activities (which are influenced by innumerable forces in themselves).  It gave me great satisfaction to know that my efforts to raise her in the best way I know how is only one force of many that create her complexity.  I can influence the course of her journey significantly, but I am not in control (much to my ego's chagrin).  So I add the force of my  love and care to the vast pool of influences and watch as they swirl her destiney into manifestation. 

I will never forget the impact of this insight.  It reminds me of the bigger picture of my life and the ways that I think that my idea of how things should be is only one force amongst a vast number trying to exert themselves on the vessel that I call "me".   History, ancestry, hormones, the unconscious, the weather, my hydration levels, social connection, thoughts, emotions and instincts are but a few of the significant influences that affect me on all layers of my being.  Can I be present to these layers?  Can I know the impact of the forces that dance my being into existence?  Yoga can help to tune in our awareness of these inummerable forces and with our intense attention start to see them more clearly.  This insight can inform our choices to become increasingly intelligent.  We can begin to see where the force of our own will belongs, not as master, but as a collaborator with the vibrations of a larger reality. 

The mind is like a tornado.  Whirling thoughts circling at various speeds and intensities and our attention, at the center - the "eye"- of the storm, is no longer able to distiguish itself from the violent upheaval around it.  We try to find some sort of foothold in those thoughts, something substantial, meaningful that we can ground ourselves in.  We try to find something firm about reality through them - if we could just catch one, hold on to it and develop it long enough it would create a truth that we can live by.  So we try to crystallize parts of the tornado and through it create habits of personality.  Meanwhile life continues to blow by and flow through us but we miss it, completely mesmerized by the aspects of our mind tornado that we have become desperately attached to. 

So long as we are trying to construct reality out of the tantrums and preoccupations of our thoughts we miss true Reality that can only be experienced through the body.  A deep and profound movement of our attention into the body is essential to finding genuine security in life and a new grounded perspective.  Our attention, then, become achored in REAL time rather than the fantasy world in the mind and the gap between who we know ourselves to be and Reality lessens.  The more we are congruent with what's REAL the more substantial we feel, the more there is a Force in us that is connected both to our humanity and Source.  Through this Force of Being we connect to the present moment, honouring and responding to what is. 

There are many ways to shift one's center of gravity from being caught up in the whirling tornado of thoughts.  First, we must re-establish our attention at the eye of the storm.  Disidentifying from the thoughts, we watch them, moving about as droplets of mental energy.  Second, we must drop our attention into the body.  Some traditions suggest remembering the breath, keeping part of our attention on the breath or a mantra all the time. It is somewhat arbitrary where the attention is moved to, as long is it remains in present time.  This Fall I will be leading my classes through deep work with the core body.  The intention is not only to develop strength and integrity for support the movements and actions of our day but re-locate our attention deep inside the gut. Imagine experiencing this moment not from the vantage point of the thoughts bumbling around inside your head, but from the very center of your body - how would things look different if the majority of your attention was situated here?  Bring your hands to your belly, below the belly button, and take a few deep breaths while you drop your attention to your core.  Experience, just for a few seconds, a center of gravity that exists outside of the tormenting tornado of your mind. 

One of my spiritual teachers recently spoke of how summer is a time when the Will of nature can be most readily felt.  I'm sure we all can attest to this. Stand on the edge of any field in the vast Alberta prairies right now and you bear witness to ripe, burgeoning harvest.  Spend three minutes in your back yard and be serenaded by a robust symphony of bird song emating from trees bursting with life.  Watch the movement of any city whir in it's summertime play - parks and ball diamonds a buzz of activitiy while chidren and motorcycles bellow their freedom songs.

But, leaves are turning now, one by one as if counting the moments to Autumn in an ominous "tick tock" rhythm.  I feel that familiar melancholy beginning to descend as the robust aliveness of summer begins to wane.  Last year I wrote "The Dying Season" as a way to articulate this experience of loss and to honour the natural waxing and waning that happens in nature.  This year, after listening to my teacher's words, I wonder if we can learn from the last days of summer's vivacity and find that deep Will to Life within ourselves. 

It is important, I think, to integrate robust practices into our spirituality.  Yoga can be wonderful for relaxation, finding spaciousness and cultivating deep inner silence - and it can also kick up the effervescent Will of Nature in our very cells!  But, a vigorous practice doesn't mean a work out.  If yoga becomes a work out, we often get caught in trying to attain goals, measuring our "success" and competing with ourselves.  A vigorous practice with the intention of experiencing our inner Will to Life means accepting however that Will expresses itself.  I means turning up the the volume of sensation in the body and listening for the Summer in our very bones.  It means tuning into the heaving breath in difficult poses and celebrating our very ability to breathe at all.  It means finding energy and extension in every cell, across every line of our anatomy and feeling ourselves as truly alive. 

I tell my students that I hope for them relaxation, suppleness and and presence.  But, I also hope for them to be robust 90 year olds someday because yoga has called up in them the vivacious excitement to journey with their arms wide open into the next unknown moment.  So, in the last days of patios, camping, bar-b-ques and sprinklers take note of the Summer's feeling inside of you.  You know this Will because it is in you too,  may you call it forth, consciously, in all the days of your life. 

One year ago I wrote a blog called “The River Runs Through Me”.    It was inspired by a small river located in a campground nestled amongst the Rocky mountains of Alberta.  Last year I was struck by
the way that the river seemed to cleanse my soul, as if literally running through my cells, washing away the silt of stress and fatigue, leaving me feel fresh and alive.   I sit here, next to an unstoked fire, in the same campground and am amused and amazed by a different experience this year.  
 
I am happy to reconnect to the lovely little river that whispered renewal into my bones last year, but this year I am astounded by the mountains themselves.  I’ve been to the mountains dozens of times in my life, but much to my delight, this year my experience of them feels fresh – as if I’m experiencing them for the first time.  
 
In the past, I remember feeling overwhelmed by their majesty.  I distinctly trying to comprehend their enormity and in this effort to comprehend them, missed them entirely.  This year rather than trying to comprehend their existence in a cognitive way I feel them.  I feel their enormity and my relative infinitesimal size as a feeling in my body - humility washes over me and I am relieved to be small and held in the deep security of the cradle of their vast valleys.  I walk these valleys with tiny steps, hoping that each time I place my foot upon the earth it vibrates reverence, and that somehow the greatness that surrounds me feels that.  
 
I know I wrote at some point about the importance of being affected by life – to not just meet life through a cognitive lens but to be moved by it.  I am blessed to be moved by grand, immovable titans this year and to feel both smaller and more expansive because of it.  I am in the mountains, and the mountains have made their way into me - penetrating any illusions of enormity my ego may have held and breaking it down to size.  And, here I rest, really rest, in humble reconnection to something much bigger than my small self could ever imagine itself to be.  

She's some kind of Waxwing I think - the angel that sings to me every day.  I like to imagine that she's singing for me of course knowing full well that her song belongs to no one.  Her sweet melody seems to appear at the most critical moment - I'm grumbling about homework or housework, I'm sad about the rain or feeling isolated at home with a bored toddler.  Her songs shock me into presence, into a new cadence that renews the moment.  I am astounded by her ability to shift my outlook, I'm astounded, equally, by the fact that I let her.  This is an angelic moment: the interface between an outside force and our willingness to let that force shock us into presence.  An angel is the catalyst for a moment of awakening, not the harbinger of our desires but that which helps us to see more of the whole.  When I am locked in a mood I cannot see outside of it, an angel can unlock me, and open me to something more.  Sometimes, like the sweet song of a Waxwing,   a moment can be so pleasurable I am catapulted into my body so that I may soak it in more fully.  And sometimes, an angel comes in the form of a painful blow, equally asking me to mobilize my full attention and SEE something new. 

Wherever you are can you let the angels in?  Whether it is a birdsong or a stubbed toe, let your attention be drawn into presence by the mysterious forces that are always at play.  They shock us into NOW and if we indulge the shock we can be expanded in that moment into a larger intimacy with the moment.  The angelic moment requires your participation - it is your job to open to the new melody trying to penetrate the sometimes droning chorus of a fixated state of being.