X-Files 4 of 4 - Night time spirits come alive

A part of me always knew I would play an integral role in the support for my parents during the last years of their lives. It was logical. I was their only unattached child, and a female to boot. I had no clear/successful career nor dependents. But, in my heart I knew the reason was far deeper than this. 

Perhaps that's why I fled to the west coast in my early twenties. There, free from my past, in my spiritual home, I met myself. I stretched my wings, had my flings, immersed myself in the study of yoga and lived a bohemian artist's life before a coincidental stroke of fate lured me back to Ontario.
(NOTE: I got married within a year of returning to Ontario but all the other conditions mentioned above applied, plus I lived near by.)

I was shocked to find that my years of dedicated yoga practice hadn't prepared me in any way shape or form to handle many of our parents' needs as their health and abilities declined, nor the waves of emotion that swamp a family doing their best to keep afloat. Yoga was my sanctuary, my home and safe place where I licked my wounds, dipped into source and filled myself up, celebrated life and expressed gratitude. But their journey made me confront myself and the question - what is the point of yoga if you can't take it off the mat and into the world. This is the stage of the yoga of the householder - it was bound to catch up with me sooner or later.

My parents' quirky personalities and way of looking at life was deeply challenging and heart warming. Their great sense of humour got us through a lot.

*        *        *

“Dad, don’t try and think so hard. Just go through the motions and I’ll double check it against the instructions on the bottles. You’ve been doing this without thinking for years, your body has a memory. It will know what to do. Arrange the bottles in the way they normally would be and start from there.” Sorting through b.i.d.’s and t.i.d.’s the before, during and after meal notations of prescription lingo on each container, together we walked our way through our task. Unable to offer any assistance, Mom stood aside. I briefly turned to check on her. A cloud passed over her face; helplessness shifting into sorrow. She knew this was yet one more task, falling out of his hands.

A few fact finding trips to his pharmacy and doctor’s office followed. Asking for, or demanding, access to his files didn't achieve the desired outcome. Only when I was reduced to pathetic pleading, were they surrendered to me.
Foolish me, I logically assumed some kind of summary list of all his medications would exist. Instead, my search yielded scraps of photocopies of prescription notes written in the virtually illegible, professional M.D. scrawl. The end result was the master list drawn by my own hand complete with descriptions and illustration, the one that I worked from tonight.

A week’s worth, twelve varieties of life sustaining pills and capsules of every colour and description get sorted into their appropriate compartments - breakfast, noon, dinner, bedtime pills; pills for high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diuretics, heart and thyroid medications, laxatives ... the list seems endless.

“Eighty ... eighty-one …” the rocking has slowed down, his enthusiasm wains. He merely taps of the heel of his hand against the top of the chair now.

“Geeze Edie you’re getting heavy.”

“Well, I weigh the same as when we began,” she comments innocently.

“I know that. I’m the one exerting all the effort. I should be losing weight.” Pausing for a few minutes, he leans over bracing himself with hands on top of his thigh as he catches his breath.

Newly revived, he hits the chair with determination, “O.K., now where were we?”

“You’ve got me.”

“Geezus Christ. I’m counting on you.”

“Then you’re in trouble aren’t you,” she jokes. He looks at her silently grinning, with laughter in his eyes.

I look at my watch. More than five minutes have passed from when they started counting. “118,” I yell.

“What?” he shouts. Then quietly he asks Mom, “who’s that?”

“Nance. Nance is in the kitchen.” she replies.

“Oh, yes I forgot.” he taps his head. “Nanca!?” he exclaims with delight.

“Dad!?” I return in kind. “You’re at 118."
There's a pause.

He hasn't quite heard. “She says 118.” Mom informs him with authority.

“Well, O.K. then.” he slaps the chair again. His strength returned, he resumes the last few victorious pushes as they count together, “118 ... 119 ... 120 ...” adding a push of exclamation on the last number.

“Hallelujah!” he rejoices, throwing his arms up victoriously.

“Amen!” she adds with equal enthusiasm. 

“Now let’s get these other goddam drops in before my goddam arms fall off.”

By the time my mission is accomplished, all has been reduced to silence. I place the plastic medicine bottles back into the box which I return to its hiding place, leaving the docette in full view in its usual location on the counter.

Standing at the foot of the 3 stairs that rise into the family room, I smile as I gaze at the flickering images of my parents bathed in a faded cool blue set against a backdrop of darkness, momentarily resting their eyes. And I marvel at these strange nocturnal creatures who prefer to stay up all night with the owls rather than soar with the eagles in the morning. My eyes grow wide as I realize this is one more confirmation that I am indeed their progeny. Who knew? Who? That nighttime lifts their spirits so and makes them come alive. Two childlike, giggling creatures emerged from the depths of elderly bodies. And I can’t help chuckling. I resolve to return to the nest in the dark of night more often. God knows I need the lift.

I sneak out and in leaving turn on a trail of lights in order to illuminate their 2:30 a.m. bedtime migration.

            *          *          *

“Om ... Om ...” now subdued I turn down the volume on the tape deck and ease up the driveway and down the road as waves of chants carry me home on a freshly rain washed, starry night.

Confessions of a yoga slut

I'm a yoga slut. Ahh. There, I've said it. 

I recently purchased a first-timer's one month's trial membership to a yoga studio. In order to make the most of it, I'm holding on to it while I work on another intro membership deal from a different place. I drop in to yoga classes taught by old friends. Recently I invested in a 12 day punch card special offer at an athletic club gaining full use of facilities + yoga class. And…I'll be seeking out more intro deals, so that I can check out more studios and see what local teachers have to offer.

In the spare room at the  folks place 2010

Such promiscuity! 

I would have never done this in the past. 

For the first 7 years of my practice I was self-taught, drawing from books and TV programs. Gymnastics, or rather the lack of support for the gymnastics program at my high school, brought me to yoga. It was kind of like gymnastics. As I explored all the many different  possibilities that the asanas offered I created my own flow and sessions. The physical, mental, emotional and spiritual benefits of regular practice saved my life * 

I began to teach others now and then. In those days, if you knew more than the person you were teaching and had a certain amount of confidence pretty much anyone could teach.

I attended my first yoga class with a bunch of middle-aged female yoga teachers in 1975; we were part of the inaugural Sheridan College's Yoga Teachers' Training Program. They welcomed me with open arms and encouraged my aspirations to become a real teacher. I felt a camaraderie with these women.

Over the ensuing years I became part of, and was exclusively loyal (each in their own turn) to 3 different yoga studios.

On a deck at a cabin in the woods
a few summers back, Vermont

My first loyalty was to my fellow Victoria YMWCA yogis (aka Yoga Centre of Victoria), the group that I "grew up" with in yoga, that nurtured me through my early years from 1976 as a novice teacher. Yoga was yoga when I first began but different forms of yoga were becoming standardized through the '80's. Growing pains developed within the yoga community and along with them came politics and power struggles. Our group began to divide into Iyengar and non-Iyengar yogis. Eventually we were expected to declare our loyalty. Though I'd immersed myself in the Iyengar approach, I was quite happy doing other forms as well. It felt very un-yogic to choose one over the other but, reluctantly, I choose. I aligned with the Iyengar group and lost touch with many teachers of other methods.

That was the first and only time that I denied my love for all forms of yoga/asana practice.

When I moved back to Ontario I retreated to the sanctuary of my own practice. The voices of my mentors and peers gradually slipped into the background and the freedom and creativity that initially drew me to yoga re-emerged. It was, surprisingly a lovely time. 

My first foray back into public yoga class took place in a Church gymnasium; so old-school. I welcomed diving into a new form - Ashtanga yoga with its breath based movement. It was a big contrast to the linear and alignment emphasis of the Iyengar method. Iyengar: Ashtanga = ballet: jazz, in my experience. Both are wonderful, very different, complementary forms. 

Soon afterwards, Sue, my inspiring teacher, and her business partner opened up a studio incorporating both Iyengar and Ashtanga under the same roof; unbelievable! I found my second community. And, for a time they thrived alongside each other… and then… they didn't. Split was inevitable.

Meanwhile I resumed teaching but my style, influenced by life experience, some physical set backs and Shiatsu studies, evolved. I had classes in Iyengar influenced yoga, ashtanga yoga and my own fusion - combining Iyengar, ashtanga, tai chi, do-in and meridian stretches. All these approaches fed my body, mind and spirit and I knew some, or all of them, would be a fit for fellow seekers too.

Spare hall at a construction site this year
Campbell River 

I witnessed the torch of yoga being passed down to the next generation when Sue's gifted daughter, Katie, opened up a yoga studio of her own. Once more I found a studio and teacher to love. I enjoyed doing advanced practices alongside her. Her yoga classes "took off", her following grew and the studio moved out of my neighbourhood in order to fulfill the increased demand fuelled by the yoga explosion that was taking place. 

Around this time my body was going through the changes of menopause and a debilitating neck issue flared up. My practice needed to change. No books, nor teachers could guide me. I retreated to my mat once more and drew from the wealth contained in the many approaches I'd practiced as I allowed my body's wisdom to guide me through the adaptations and explorations that it needed.

Over the course of 46 years of practice, I've become more open to embracing the many studios, many teachers and many approaches that thrive nowadays, perhaps because I know from experience that impermanence exists, even in yoga, and that there is wisdom contained in all schools.

Everything changes. 

I've done yoga everywhere. Of course, images promoting yoga show beautiful, long, lean, lithe yoga bodies doing impossibly intricate, challenging and perfect postures on mountaintops, in exotic locations, on deserted beaches; yoga as "lifestyle" has become big business. For most of us yoga is done in the "trenches" of daily life, the non-glam places that you don't see in the glossy mags: hospital and hotel rooms, in airplane and car seats (I'm small), construction sites (during breaks - no saws, drills or dust please), cottage decks and campsites (bugs and bees drop by now and again - some leave their marks), hallways, airports, nooks and crannies in our homes - anywhere a yoga mat will fit. Yes, and in yoga studios and classes too. 

With the kitties Christmas 2012
Burlington, Ontario

But my favourite practice and location goes something like this…It's late morning, mid-day or evening. I'm in my living room, on my mat, in my PJ's (Some of you thought I was going to say in the buff didn't you? Ha, surprise!). My kitties are bathing themselves or sleeping on their "princess" blanket or pillow or crinkly paper beside me or perched on a chair overseeing my practice. Music is playing, or it's not. I embrace the sound of my breath that breaks through: silence, the sound of birds singing, kids yelling or crying crocodile tears as their grand dramas unfold in play outside my door. Light streams in through the glass sliding doors; it's overcast and/or raining; it's dark. It's cold; it's warm. I'm breaking a sweat through vigorous movements and/or I'm chilln' and hanging out in long held asanas. A candle burns, or it doesn't.

From the moment I began my own practice I knew that I'd always have yoga in my life. My practice is a joyful expression of gratitude for those teachers who have come before me. It provides sanctuary, guidance, inspiration and solace during difficult times. 

It is a physical celebration of movement and stillness which transcends the physical. As I practice I give thanks.

When it's really cooking… yoga spills off the mat and into daily existence.

* You can read about this in STORIES FROM THE YOGIC HEART
And…you can get the Kindle version - here at Amazon.com. Note: Mine is but one of 27 inspiring stories about how yoga has influenced the lives of famous people and regular types like myself.

Festival time on the Island

HELLOOOO AGAIN…

I'm going to ramble so keep with the program.

It's been a long time since my last post. The end of April marks the beginning of tourist and festival season here on Vancouver Island.

Yoga gathering on the lawn in front of the Legislative Buildings,
at the inner harbour Victoria on a lovely June summer night.
I don't recommend yoga in jeans after an iced coffee.
Had I borrowed one of their mats I could have gotten to keep it, dang!
My mat's older than most of the other yogis there

Ah yes - festivities; people out here love to party! Victoria is a festival city. We celebrate life, food, culture and our good fortune to be able to live here. So I've resigned myself to put other work and workshop plans aside, throw up my hands and join in :-) Not too hard to do. There will be time for leading dream workshops, dream circles and shiatsu treatments when the fall/winter season hits.

GAY PRIDE PARADE - festivities were in our neighbourhood. Great: fun, food and music! We walked out our door to see the celebrants pass by on our way to the Tibetan Festival where we sampled Tibetan food, sang happy birthday to the Dali Lama, meditated and I learned a traditional dance. Then we came back to the Pride Festival for music and more fun.

Festivities and protest go hand in hand here.
We are passionate about protecting the earth.
How can you not be when natural beauty is all around you!?

A beautiful fairie!

The end of the parade heading to the fair grounds for more celebrations.

I heard tell that some of the tour carriages were saying that this is a typical day in Victoria. LOL

There's still so much to explore and re-visit. The outdoors - the forest, mountains and ocean beckons. So, ask me, "Do you want to be on the computer or outside taking in all the activity?" and there's your answer and the reason for the lack of entries.

A view of Todd Inlet from the summit of Mt Work

We go up island every 6 weeks or so to visit family. A few weeks ago we went onto the mainland for a body building championship…No, I wasn't a participant but thanks for wondering about this if only for a fleeting moment. Sorry about that; just wipe that image out of your mind right now.**

Paul's brother's tent at Vancouver Island Music Fest up island in Courtney
We sat underneath and enjoyed the music from here on one of the hottest weekends ever.
Russell deCarle, Leela Guilday, Laura Smith, Low Rider and  the Mavericks
were part of an amazing line up playing on various stages and workshop jam sessions.
Bonnie Rait, singing under the light of a super full moon on a cloudless sky,
provided me (and everyone else) with one of the most memorable evenings ever! 

Where was I? 

Living on the island is all that I expected and more. It must be possible to love a place as much as I love people or I wouldn't be out here; my family and childhood/longtime friends are all back in Ontario. Due to the distance and expense, the prospect of visitors is slim but I knew that would be the case. I knew too that our visits back to Ontario and Quebec would take place every few years.

We drove the folks to Parksville so they could take in the Sandcastle competition.
This was our favourite.

Dropped in to the Carving competition at Willows Point on our way back home

Rites of  passage for family and friends have come and gone and will continue to do so between visits: deaths, weddings, birthdays, the birth of children, and changes in general. All is happening in the background of my mind and thousands of kilometres away. My nephew's wedding is coming up on Aug 3rd. I will not be there in body but part of my spirit is with him, his bride and the "Thackerlings" daily as Graeham and Keera's special day approaches.

Buskerfest - July 17 - 27th has been a big hit. Drop in a few bucks to help them entertain us.

Yes, I ate ½ of a grilled macaroni sandwich AND perogies on Friday…
still digesting them today. But, it was sooo delicious.
From GRILLED TO THE MAC
One of the offerings at the, very popular, Street Food Festival
and we get to do it again next Friday - yea

Saturday at Saxe Point - a happy accidental discovery.
We were off to the Afro-Caribbean Festival
but found instead what looked like a private function without the roti stands we'd hoped to find.
So we changed plans.
Take out from TRINI TO D BONE: Veg Roti for me and Goat and Roti for Rod
+ Ting (grapefruit pop which we'd loved in Antigua) - DELICIOUS!!!
We got drawn into this park while looking for a place for our impromptu picnic.

I read how technology and social media is distancing us from each other, distracting us and stunting "real" social interaction but my experience has been other. E-mail, phone, googlephone, Face Book, Face Time and Skype are all immediate life lines connecting me to people I love and miss daily. Yes, I am meeting new friends and re-connecting with people I met from the mid '70's and '80's. And I treasure my time with Rod's family - his folks, sister and her family.

But, those old and long-time connections never loose their hold on me. How different it was my last lifetime here when I ached to hear their voices, see their faces and get news about their lives. News took days to get to me, phone calls cost the earth and letter writing wasn't a skill that everyone chose to develop. This time it's different and I'm so grateful for the technology that makes it so.

Here I am, Sheldon Cooper-style (Glynnie in the background)
at Marissa and Irene's 60th Birthday celebrations.
The Council of the Sleepover members pass me around the table to chat
or
reposition me for a better view of the action.
It's a surreal experience to be sure.

On Thursday, after an hour's climb, a friend and I stood at the summit of Mount Work (Mt Work Park is just a 20 minute drive from our place) breathed in deeply the scent of the woods, eavesdropped on the conversations of resident ravens and crows, gazed over the waters, mountains and forests and marvelled that we are privileged and blessed to live in a place that feeds our souls. Places and times like this remind me that I am home and that this time here is so precious. I need to see and participate in the life that is happening NOW while I'm making other plans; maybe that is what it is to let go.

Summit of Mt Work the light rain that drizzled upon us gives us a break
and a stunning view.

Many more festivals are planned, more hiking, kayaking, yoga and knitting is to be done (I took a rescue course a few weeks ago - self rescue and rescue of another….in kayaking, not knitting. Lots of fun!). The dream unfolds night by night; day by day.

** Why were we at the BC Body Building Championships you may ask? Because our nephew Jeff Messenger was competing in the heavyweight division. I'm very happy to say he placed 3rd - yea, Jeff!
(Although I think his physique and presentation was worthy of first place - an unbiased opinion.)

Ah yes, I remember it well?

"You're all a bunch of liars", a fellow newcomer to Victoria says accusingly, smirking at me as he speaks.

Having heard of the tales of the dull, dreary, damp and wet months beginning in Oct and lasting well into April, we've all been psyching ourselves for it (read my last post and you'll see this is true).
Sure there was the amazing rain/wind storm a few weeks ago which would have carried Mary Poppins back to England (and probably stripped her bare in the process) had she dared open up her umbrella but it's been quiet as a lamb since then...and for the most part sunny, dry and warm.

We were told by a Victorian that this kind of storm was a bit of a fluke for this time of year. She also said, "We're really going to be in for it this winter though." Seems such a long stretch of phenomenal weather makes people uneasy in these parts - someone has to pay.

Hell, I lived here for about 10 years, from the mid '70's to the mid '80's and the "reality" I experienced, was that fall is rainy and dull.

From personal experience, what's also stuck in my brain is the "fact" that we don't get a "real" fall out here. A fact I shared with many others...

And then we drove up island for Thanksgiving. The evergreen forest, was resplendently dotted with warm orange, yellow ochre and burnt sienna patches; fields were filled with multicolour autumn hues. Though whole hillsides here aren't blanketed with the lit-from-within, full spectrum brilliance of an Ontario fall, the showing of the season was respectable and left me with that familiar warm glow.

The rowers in training at golden rimmed Elk Lake

A lovely meadow in its fall display at Mount Washington 

There are streets in Victoria lined with trees just like this.
Who knew? Apparently not me.

"You must have been living under a rock," my friend said. "I don't think you ever got outside in all the time you lived here."

It got me to asking, where was I, what was I doing way back then that I didn't see this?

Perception and memory are not reliable pegs upon which to hang a picture of reality.

The financial struggle of those years not only influenced the experiences that were available to me but also my perception of the environment in which I lived. That I loved Victoria and felt that I belonged here were absolute truths despite the fact that I juggled jobs: teaching yoga and weight training, house-sitting, modelling, gardening, waitressing, washing dishes, life guarding, freelancing as an artist; in the support of my hobbies (which I hoped one day would become my profession) yoga and cartooning. When I wasn't working I was taking workshops and classes in yoga or at sketching at my drawing board into the early hours of the morning. I'd hang out in cafés with friends; going out to dinner was a special treat. When work dried up, as it would do now and again, I'd cartoon some more, do longer yoga sessions, run, bike, take more classes (which were free for teachers) go to the shore, or the library.

I got to know the neighbourhoods where I lived, I just didn't travel very far or explore much of what the island had to offer. Nothing existed beyond my own little sphere.

But as busy as I was, as broke as I was, the island gave me time to explore my passions in a peculiarly self-driven, introverted way. This place, this island and the time I spent here, drew me inwards to the depth of my soul.

During my 27 year long absence from the island relationship and family demands drew me out of myself; I related to the world in a different way. When I returned to Vancouver Island for four 2 - 3 week visits it was always in August.

This is my first fall here as a returning resident and certainly my first fully rounded experience of this season. Changes in the circumstances of my life allow me to see things anew. How fortunate I am to get another chance to live here, to take in many of the things that I missed the first time around and explore what is here for me now that wasn't back then.

You can't go back home again and that wasnt' my intention for my life back here. Victoria has changed in subtle ways and I am not the same person who left 27 years ago.

New adventures await!

*        *        *

FOLLOW UP

I'm loving drumming class! It's the perfect way to get the ya ya's out for me. You don't have to know music to make music of a sort - right up my alley. I can feel it doing things to my brain too...good things.

I eavesdropped in on the Spanish conversational cafe night shortly after my previous post. I "read" from my Kindle while catching pieces of conversation here and there. It became obvious to me that I had to check my reactions to what was being said - I had to stifle laughs and keep from looking at the cute shoes someone was being asked about - or I'd be busted. The next week I showed up, put my loonie down and stepped up to the table. I was drenched in sweat by the time I left. It's one thing to understand a foreign language, another to speak it. I've got my work cut out for me.

Tonight I took a vinyasa flow yoga class, taught by Fiji at HEMMA and later wrote in FB...
"I felt very grateful during yoga class tonight to be in such a wonderful centre, in the company of fellow yogis. Grateful that my body still enjoys the challenge and delight of vinyasa flow, especially since my mat (which is over 30 years old) is older than many of the other students in the class.
A fellow student came up to me asking where I got my "travel" mat and I had to laugh. It IS the perfect "travel" mat and fits into my bike bag: light, foldable and durable; they don't make them like that anymore. I think it originally was brought over from India by another teacher. I use it only when weight and size is an issue partly because it leaves little bits behind every time I use it.
I will be sad to see it go as it's gone everywhere with me; hopefully I can get a few more years out of it."

End of Season

I've been ignoring local news since we got here, most especially anything to do with the weather. Last week's daily weather report announced, "It's going to rain today and for the next few days."

The view just steps from the front of our building

The last cruise ship of the season. They'll return at the end of April

Wrong.

Sure, the days started out overcast and there may have been a drop of two, but sunny skies prevailed. So when I hear such predictions I just nod, "umm hmm" and go ahead with my plans for a bike-ride, walk or drive to a hiking spot.

But when I heard that the last cruise ship was to come in today, this update is real and final and leaves me feeling a little sad. Victoria will go into a slumber for the next few months, sidewalk activity will wrap up and the outdoor markets will close for the season.

And, as of yesterday, the rains have begun.

I will miss the buskers, the sidewalk activity, the energy and vibrancy that the hoards of tourists bring with them. While driving, I won't have to play frogger with so many tour buses, carriages, pedi-cabs and sightseers obliviously wandering out into traffic captivated by all that is Victoria, hoisting their cameras at impossible angles to get just the right shot.

So, you're walking along and you see a captivated crowd hanging over the street wall.
You're going to want to check it out and we did...

...and we came upon this entertaining guy with a great patter,
unicyclist/juggler extraordinaire, AKRON

At the end of the show he tossed his hat up to the crowd
 standing on the street above. The first woman couldn't catch it.
So he tried again and the one who caught it
 was thereby elected collect donations
and return the hat to Akron.

We came upon Ian, the chalk artist a few days later.
I dropped some coins in his tin.
He called us over and said,
"Stand on this X
and look through your camera."
And here you have it. Cool, eh?

This guy is a regular.
Here he was at the Chalk Festival (when this pic was taken)
and you'll often catch him at the inner harbour.
I watched him one overcast, dull and slow day as he stood motionless
for too long a stretch;
 only a coin tossed in his tin will release him from his pose.
So, I went down and made my offering saying, "I think you need a break.
I used to be a model so I kinda know how it feels."
He just put his hands to his heart for a moment
and then took up another pose right away.
Believe me this is a challenging way to make a living.
Here's a little about him:
"CLARK M. CLARK - Master of Stillness -
Life imitates art and art comes to life
as internationally renown human statue Plasterman
 delights and surprises people of all ages
in his hometown.
Strangely and beautifully intriguing!"
Info from the International Victoria Buskers Festival 2013

NOTE TO TOURISTS - If you're coming down to the harbour bring some coin and small bills to fund this great, fun stuff.

So, I extend my thanks to all who made this summer such a great experience I'll hunker down for the fall/winter rainy season and find out just what it has to offer the "locals". I'm told that Victoria has more restaurants per capita than any other city in Canada; second only to San Francisco if you take in North America. So, I think they've got their priorities right.

I'm checking out things to do to entertain myself. Weekly drumming classes (started last week with Jordan Hanson) are getting me in touch with my djembe drum and though my hands don't exactly dance with lightning speed - more like stumble along actually - my heart sings as I fulfil a long held desire to play some sort of musical instrument or at least something that holds the promise of someday sounding musical.

Kirtan, a form of bhakti yoga involving call and response chanting, has enabled me to "sing" my little heart out, get the "ya ya's" out and clear emotional and psychic debris while cultivating deep gratitude for all that is and a sense of oneness. More than anything, this has drawn me to yoga centres. I've gone to 3 so far. I attended the musical fall equinox celebration at THE YOGA STUDIO in Sidney. This was a more modern, western influenced, upbeat form. There I was warmly welcomed back to the island by my friend Jeannie who was a fellow yoga teacher trainee in the '70's.

I had another reunion with a yoga teacher/friend from the '70's, whom I hadn't seen for over 27 years, when I attended her class at a local church. Yoga has provided me with life long friends and is helping me make new acquaintances.

Other yoga studios headed by friends are beckoning me.

If, I can work up the nerve, my goal this week is to attend a Spanish speakers meet up at a coffee shop in Cook St Village.

Oh, and my own dream workshops are percolating; the first will happen in late October.

ahimsa & reflection on violence

© Nance Thacker 1990
click on image to enlarge

When I was living in Victoria and teaching yoga at the Y in the early '80's, many of us yoga teachers would meet in the snack bar at the Y after Shirley's morning classes. Lively conversations were had regarding the challenges yogis faced in living the life of the house-holder. Having no home, no family and being 15 - 20 years younger than most of the others, I was a "fly on the wall", privy to conversations about life events I had not yet experienced. It was with these women that I became educated about the challenges my future could hold.

The cartoon is a record of an actual conversation Carol, who was raising young twins at the time, had with the others; the best humour is found in truth.

The massacre in Colorado has me reflecting on the reality that we are a violent species and the sooner we realize this the better off we will be. It is not the "other" guy that is to blame for the condition of our society today, but ourselves as a collective and what we contribute as individuals. Our saving grace is that we are also a peaceful species. Which predominates depends on where we put our focus.

Our yoga group also participated in BEYOND HATHA YOGA a discussion group that explored the works of Swami Radha and the 8 limbs of yoga aka ashtanga yoga (an aspect of raja yoga - the cultivation of the mind through meditation in order to become acquainted with reality and ultimately achieve liberation) and, in particular, the yamas (abstentions) external aids to yoga. Ahimsa - non-violence in thought, word and deed, kindness towards all beings, avoidance of verbal and physical violence towards others and oneself is one of the 5 abstentions and was a prime area of under investigation.

My particular focus of late has been to check my tendency to swear when I'm frustrated. I don't swear at people, only at things (as if that makes it any better) - like computers - (apologies to my trusty laptop with which I am writing these words) which seems innocuous on the surface but investigate a little deeper and you will find it is a habitual reaction coming from a place of anger and aggression; aspects of violence. This realization became obvious during my self-study. Swearing is an aversion a resistance to what is; a resistance to "reality".

My visits to my nursing home client has strengthened my focus and intention. Just today, I passed by an elderly, demented resident spewing forth obscenities and swear words of all description as a nonplussed, patient, personal care worker helped her eat her meal. To the casual observer passing by it would seem that the words were being directed at the PSW but, upon closer observation it was obvious that these profanities reflected a state of being/mind in which the poor soul was lost in her own personal hell. YIKES! The emotion and anger behind this woman's words poisoned the very air in which we all moved, yet another reason to shape up now.

more to come in next post...

Equanimity, equanimity where art thou equanimity?

My mind is an amusement park run by an idiotic, frenzied monkey.

©Nance Thacker '90

I go to the hairdresser. The young apprentice, while scrubbing and massaging my scalp and salt 'n pepper (more salt than pepper) hair with her magically relaxing fingers, remarks, "Wow, have you ever got nice skin. Not a pore on you and hardly any wrinkles."
Though I know she's just engaging in shop banter (my pores, courtesy of teenage acne carried into my late 30's with the occasional special appearance — around "special" occasions —  are craters and though I'm not the owner of a wizened apple-face, it displays signs of a long term, slightly messy tenant) I fall for it. I FEEL GOOD.
"How old are you?" She asks as I jump into the styling chair and tuck my legs under me assuming my usual half-lotus position. "Whoa, look at you. I wish I was that supple. I'm so stiff."
FEELING LESS GOOD NOW. Both the question and the comment reveals that she truly thinks I'm old. " I just turned 60." I did just say "I" — the person who feels 20 - turned 60?
"Oh, I'm 60 too." A voice from behind us chimes in. The aesthetician with flawless cappuccino-coloured Indian skin, pitch black dark hair and limpid brown eyes steps forward.
"Wow, you don't look 60!" These words, dripping with envy, spill out of my mouth. Envy. Beside her I don't look so hot now. I FEEL BAD

I go for a coffee with my, 4 years, younger sister. We stand side by side as we place our orders. The young barista's eyes dart back and forth from face to face.
"You guys are related aren't you?"she says like she's caught someone trying to pull the wool over her eyes.
Always delighted to be told that I look like the very attractive C (she of poreless, wrikleless skin, highlighted, thick, blonde hair; who could easily pass for 20 years younger) - I FEEL GOOD.
We look at each other. "Nah, never met her before," we say in unison which makes us laugh. YUP, FEELIN' GOOD.
"Yah, my Mom and I always get taken for sisters" she says as she nonchalantly completes the transaction.
OUCH!!! I FEEL REALLY BAD.
My sister has the grace to walk away as if she heard nothing. She knows it's the grey-haired babe who's been taken for Mom. And, though my mind is screaming OUCH (and hers probably laughing, maybe even smirking a little), not a word is uttered about the incident as we chat.
NOTE TO YOUNG BARISTA'S AND OTHERS IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY.
2 people walk into a coffee shop. They look similar. One has grey hair the other not grey. You have them at "you guys are related, aren't you?" One of them will want to stab your eyes out with a fork if you continue on.

Doing yoga in our hotel room, the curtains are open to let the light in and it shines its warmth upon me as I move. I FEEL GOOD.
I've forgotten my yoga pants so I wear the boy legged undies that serve as part of my PJ's and my cotton T as I practice. Gazing beyond my newly shaven legs in downward dog my eyes light on my firm calves and my heels anchored into the mat as I stretch even deeper. My body is strong and supple and I FEEL GREAT!
My gaze travels up my knees. Wrinkles. Are those wrinkles around my knees?
And up my thighs. Yikes, even more? What the heck happened? Where did my skin tone go? Why wasn't I told about this? Wasn't someone supposed to tell  me about this?
I FEEL BAD

All I can say about this roller coaster life is, cultivate the witness AND laugh — not hysterically mind you, but a sense of humour does help.
...THANK GOD I DO YOGA!

Yup, it's been that long

During my mini-shiatsu sessions at the Ladybird Animal Sanctuary Fair a client mentioned that she does yoga.
"Have you been doing it for long?" I ask.
"Yup, about 5 years," she responds quickly.
"I do yoga too."
"For very long?" she asks.
"Oh, for about...(I have to figure it out cus I can't believe it myself) 43 years".
"Wow, 43 years!"
 As those words come out of this young woman's mouth, I feel like a geezer. And, I'm anticipating her next question to be, "Just how old are you anyway?" But instead she asks, "What did people wear to do yoga in those days?" and now I feel like an anthropological subject.
"People weren't so concerned with yoga gear. We didn't have yoga studios. We went to gyms, church basements, or did it at home in front of the TV following along with Lilias or Kareen."
"I guess you wore leotards and, what do you call them, tights?"
"Well, I actually practiced my yoga in a sweat suit to begin with." And as we talked I remembered this cartoon commentary on the evolution of the workout/yoga outfit through the 60's to the 80's. From the time when you took fitness classes to be fit to the time when you had to be fit to take part in fitness classes; this was reflected in the attitude and the workout apparel of the times.

©Nance Thacker 1990

I wish I may I wish I might...

Warrior Pose II
neither pulled towards the future
nor weighted down by the past
equilibrium is found in the present moment

I haven't blogged for a while. Mom's death has severed the living ties to my parents (Dad died in 2002) and life has, for the time being, become a bit of an introverted journey of self-exploration. Who am I now? Who do I want to become? What do I want to do with my life? What and who do I love? How do I want to live my life now? Robert Moss contends that if you don't define yourself others will do it for you. What definitions have I embraced? Do they still apply? Did they ever? Sounds pretty heavy but really, it's liberating and has led to clutter clearing on all levels: physically, mentally, emotionally, psychically and spiritually.

More of that later, what prompts this blog is an e-mail I received recently from a client who hasn't been successful in getting rid of excess weight despite having attended a series of 6 one-on-one sessions for a weight management a few years back.

Here's the gist of it:
Why can't hypnosis for weight loss be done in a 1 shot session like I do for smoking cessation? Why can't I just implant a negative association to help someone abstain from "forbidden" foods and be done with it? It worked for a friend of mine and she lost X number of pounds and she's still kept it off. When she feels tempted she just goes back for a little top up. I think stress management would be helpful, but only if it's done in one session not if it's based on self-hypnosis as that doesn't work for me.

A few things jump out at me:

• unlike smoking, one needs to eat and faces temptation a few times every day
• smoking is a non-essential activity that is always detrimental to one's health
• what new "forbiddens" will take the place of the old ones
• hypnosis does strengthen resolve and makes things easier, and ACTION is a part of the process, action needs to be taken to re-inforce the suggestion and set up a positive feedback loop
• over time weight balancing becomes second nature and a lifestyle choice
• stress accumulates unless we address it every day, it's not the stressor that's our problem, it's our attitude towards it

I battled with anorexia in my teens. If anyone should know about aversion to food and how to induce it, it should be me. The truth is, people experiencing anorexia are consumed by food 24/7 to the exclusion of everything else - there is no joy in the life of an anorexic, only the constant companions of fear of failure and self-loathing.

I lost 30 lbs by eating the bare minimum to survive and, when I came to my senses I gained most of it back. I have maintained a healthy weight for 40 years through conscious eating and a commitment to health and living consciously.

There is no magic pill to make our demons all go away. One must commit to a daily process of: self-awareness and self-honesty; discovering one's self inside-out; taking ownership of the body we inhabit and taking responsibility for our actions - no excuses allowed. We must learn to ride the emotional roller coaster of life without resorting to food for comfort or punishment and choose to eat consciously. It takes nothing less than healing our relationship with ourselves and with food to arrive at the weight that is right for "me".

The pain my client was feeling leaked between the lines she'd written. She just wants one shot, no self-hypnosis. Self-hypnosis doesn't work for her. Yet she is an intelligent, accomplished professional. How did she get through the years of training, focus and determination it took to get where she is today? All hypnosis is essentially self-hypnosis and is re-inforced by the messages we tell ourselves every day. Our self-talk either propels us in the right direction or leads to self-sabatogue. As a former anorexic I know that our mind can be a battleground where our inner cheerleader and our inner critic wage a war for dominance over our thoughts and emotions. Which do you support with your attention? The one that receives the most attention grows the strongest.

Anything we accomplish begins with a spark of inspiration and a dreaming of what could be. When it comes to weight issues we imagine how wonderful our lives will be, how successful and desirable we will become when we have lost the weight. All our problems will vanish in an instant. I wish this were true. Fact is, we need to find the wonderful life that is available to us now as we make our journey through weight loss (or anything else); we need to engage in life, take risks, experience failure and success. We need to fall down, get up and reset our course again and again if necessary.

I've been impressed by the Canadian Series X-WEIGHTED for it's inspiring and eye-opening stories centring around young people and their families learning to live healthier lives while losing weight. I encourage anyone dealing with weight issues to check it out, especially if you are concerned about passing these issues on to your children. If you are making poor food choices for yourself you are making poor ones for your kids too. Your actions set the example for your children to follow - what are they learning from you?

To find out more about my struggle with anorexia and how yoga transformed my life check out STORIES FROM THE YOGIC HEART available at many yoga centres, book stores, AKASHA'S DEN in Oakville, Ontario and coming soon to a ROOTS store near you!

OUR DESIRE (to commit to our goal) NEEDS TO BE STRONGER THAN OUR RESISTANCE.

So, here's the first step regarding forbidden foods:

DON'T BUY THEM OR HAVE THEM IN THE HOUSE; NOT FOR YOURSELF AND ESPECIALLY NOT FOR YOUR KIDS.

Secondly, ask yourself, in your moments of temptation:

WHO IS IN CHARGE OF YOUR LIFE?

Future dreams my life

I really do wonder if the dream in the last post is a dream of the future. It feels like one.

As a young child I yearned to be able to dive into water like the bigger kids, but something held me back and I'd chicken out at the last minute to the exasperation of my doting Dad. I watched and watched the others but couldn't "get it". Then one night, I dreamt the perfect dive. I felt it in my cells, muscles and bones and I just "knew" that, tomorrow I would do the perfect dive for real. And, to the complete astonishment of my father, I just dove; not a kid's fall into the water with body ramrod straight and arms stiffly held overhead that passed for a dive, but a real jump off the deck entry.

From a young age I had a facility at drawing and would spend hours sketching away at the kitchen table. Logically one would assume that sight was my strongest sense. But when people asked me how I knew how to draw I just said that I drew what I saw. But that wasn't exactly right. I know now that when I "know" the object in my cells, bones and muscles I can render it on paper. When I'm particularly inspired it virtually leaps onto the page.

When I began my study of yoga I saw myself in a dream walking along a driveway into a yoga-retreat centre in the mountains in North America. A decade later I "knew" that I was walking that same roadway one day as I returned from picking Queen Anne's Lace for a Rudolph Steiner garden potion that I would later be stirring in the pre-dawn hours and spreading over Yasodhara Ashram's garden as a temporary resident/gardener in the spring of '78.

Again that same knowing came over me when Swami Radha suggested I check out the animation program at Sheridan College, which happened to be in my home town, a place I was more than happy to leave a few years earlier and had no intention of returning to, except as a visitor. Despite my determination to stay on Vancouver Island, the island wasn't co-operating. Nothing I did met with any degree of success: my effort to make more than a subsistence living, my cartoon strip, my attempts to get to India to study yoga. All met with failure. A friend later said that islands spit you out once your purpose for being there has been served. It seemed so.

More than this, during those years on the island 2 recurring dream themes visited me. In one I was driving in a car, with my Dad in the passenger seat. We are chatting and enjoying our trip and then he dies, while I'm driving; not due to an accident — he just dies. In the other, a vague knowing that a friend introduces me to an accountant who I later marry. The latter dream, I found particularly absurd as all my life I'd said I'd never marry. Even my dreams supported me in this declaration as I'd never gotten married in my dreams. I've made preparations for my wedding, even walked down the aisle, but all would come to a skidding halt as I'd become panic stricken, break into a cold sweat and bolt or wake up knowing for certain that I was dreaming.

But, it seems that a part of me knew and perhaps so did Swami Radha, that my destiny and a new path was opening up for me, not at an ashram in India but back here in my home town.

And, within a week of my return in the spring of '86 I did meet the man I was to marry (yes, an accountant at the time but within the year he returned to his love of contracting) after an introduction by a childhood friend; a fellow member of the "council". Realizing that this looked like, but wasn't intended to be, a "fix up", she gave me the opportunity to refuse the invitation to dinner, but I passed, assuring her that I wasn't looking for a relationship. My sites were set on a career in animation that would lead to India. I felt certain that my dream was a mistake and by that time had buried it away in a corner of my being.

Then we met and I "knew" my life had changed. And Di and I both knew (as we'd always known), that we really were actually going to become sister-in-laws.

I accepted Rod's second proposal (not his first) only after receiving a close-up "hand in hand"dream image appearing against a sandy backdrop. It felt right in my cells, muscles and bones and I "knew" that he would be there for me and that there was no reason not to marry him.

My father died in 2002, not beside me in a car I was driving. I "knew" the message of this particular dream was not literal but was metaphorically telling me that I would be there for him. The efforts of my brother and myself (who shared POA duties) along with our siblings, enabled him to live at home. He died in the hospital after a, thankfully, short stay.

What future is dreaming my life now I wonder.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

A friend agitatedly blurted out that she had difficulty with the concept of "choice".  I realized that I had used the word "choice" quite a bit during our conversation. Obviously since the word is included in the name of my hypnosis business AWAKENING CHOICE (which is also the name of this blog), the concept of choice is a biggie for me.

Though she expressed a desire to change her life, my friend was depressed, stuck, lacking in the energy and motivation needed to initiate action of any kind in order to change her situation. Though our situations differ, I too have felt like her; probably many of you have too. Energy suckers such as (and please feel free to add your personal faves): inertia, self-doubt, regret or longing for the past, holding on to past dramas or traumas, fear or a sense of hopelessness about the future, clinging to labels assigned to one's self by self or others, peer pressure to remain within defined confines, what will others think, who do you think you are, leave one feeling like a powerless victim.

When we have been a "victim" of a crime or a vicious act the responses listed above are amplified, seem insurmountable and the challenges appear far greater. The reality is that the human spirit is resilient. We've all witnessed inspiring examples of resilience. If one person can rise above such a situation so can we all. We have the capacity to heal ourselves and our relationships. Living in a human body subjects us to challenges, illness and loss during our life and guarantees that we will die but suffering is optional — just ask the Dali Lama.

What she couldn't see is that we make choices (consciously or unconsciously) every second of every day. When we say that we don't have choice we're really saying that we aren't conscious of the act of choosing, because we actually are choosing at every moment. Don't believe me? You are right now choosing whether to continue reading this post or to do something else.

When we become more consciously aware of our thoughts, feelings, emotions, beliefs, and sensations we are living in the present moment and the presence of choice becomes more evident. In this moment there is no past, no her/his story; in this moment there is no future. Without our story, life is full of potential.

When I begin to realize that I have the resources within me to enable me to choose a different action, feeling or belief, no matter how small, that opens up unforeseen possibilities and sets the stage for transformation. The moment I exercise that option it is like a droplet sending ripples through the stagnant pond which my life has become. These ripples become waves of change in relationship within and ultimately between me and the people and world in which I live. This reality can be pretty daunting and can stall me before I begin. It may feel easier to stay in the status quo, after all what choice do I have? 

In accepting the concept of choice I take responsibility for my actions, their consequences and my life.
Each time I consciously exercise my ability to choose I am actively participating and engaged in life. I become energized. Struggles become transformed into challenges. I recapture my love of life, see it as precious and realize that I am entitled to be happy and enjoy it; and gratitude flows.

For me the ultimate belief about choice is that we are all in this together, a consciousness evolving that has chosen to experience this earthly existence through many, many lives and lifetimes. We are all one.

Yoga with animals

cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 19984
click on image to enlarge

They don't call it downward dog and upward dog for nothing.

A simple yoga life

Yoga can be done almost anywhere. I have done my yoga practice:

• in a crowded family room at my family's home while everyone was watching TV
• in a relatively secluded corner in the airports departures lounge
• in my Dad's hospital room during my "Dad watch" stint 
• on campsites throughout the country
• on the beach at Jan's sister's cottage 

My in-laws' spare bedroom
used for storage
They kindly cleared a space for my practice
when we were in Campbell River

I have not done yoga in India.

Yoga can be done almost any time of the day. I have done it at almost all hours of the day and night. Spring prompts me to do earlier practices; winter lures me into midnight ones.

I haven't done yoga earlier than 6 a.m.

Yoga can be done alone or in the company of others. I have done my practice with:

Flip helping me in Virasana
She does a fabulous abdominal massage
when I'm in Supta Virasana
(Reclined Hero pose)

• my pets crowded around the mat
• friends' little children participating with me, most notably Sarah and downward dog all those years ago
• my brother heckling me

I haven't done yoga posing in front of an elephant nor balancing on perilous precipices.

I have done yoga wearing:

• nothing at all (in the privacy of my own home)
• a bathing suit
• yoga wear
• jeans and a sweater

I prefer to do yoga in my PJ's.