Letting the Pendulum Swing

Pendulum

“It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking the holidays are about giving and receiving presents or attending parties, but it’s really small, quiet acts of gratitude that cultivate connection.” –Brené Brown

pen·du·lum

ˈpenjələm,ˈpendyə-/

noun

1.     
a weight hung from a fixed point so that it can swing freely backward and forward.

Traditionally, and, by that I mean over the last few thousand years, this time of year represents a season of turning in, quieting, as the pendulum swings freely from the brightest, virile days of summer to the darkest, quietest days of winter.  Our ancestors relied on this rhythm to ensure the continuation of life: plant, grow, harvest, rest. We still need this rhythm to enable health in our bodies, in our families, and in our communities.

What I often observe, in my yoga circles, in my friends’ and family’s lives, really rides to the other end of the pendulum. What I see, even more than the physical doing, doing, doing of gift buying, decorating, parties, recitals, increased work load etc, etc, is the mental equivalent: “If I just give the perfect gift, throw the perfect party, have the perfect outfit, make the perfect cookie, have the most meaningful encounter with a salvation army bell ringer, then I will feel happy/satisfied/blessed/enough.”  This is not necessarily something to change outside of our selves, although that may follow, but rather an internal downshifting.

Recently, it seems I’m having a recurring conversation with students and potential students around their experiences with “hot yoga” or “power yoga” or P90x yoga – it seems this lack of balance is even creeping into the realm of yoga exercise. One reviewer noted that in the P90x version of yoga exercise, “savasana (the deep relaxation and integration that seals each yoga practice) is included, but only lasts one minute, possibly because that is the longest (the instructor) can bear to stop talking.”

My hope is that we can free the pendulum again to swing in the direction of balance: in our yoga offerings, in our families, and in our minds. Can we allow the momentary discomfort of shifting to neutral while we give our bodies a chance to breathe, our minds a chance to quiet, and our hearts a chance to rest? This so that we can turn ever inwards towards the small, tenacious shard of light which is our soul.

“Travel light, live light, spread the light, be the light.” –Yogi tea bag

On Birth

Some of the most amazing mavens of birth in my life are women who have not gestated actual human beings. One brave friend gave birth – a kind of phoenix-from-the-ashes-birth/re-birth of self kind of thing. Breast Cancer. Another friend has been laboring for what seems like ever to birth herself from the bonds of a marriage that isn’t ending so peacefully. Yet another friend did a twin birth: breast cancer and divorce all in one. Birth, of any kind, is not always pretty or tidy, but it is sacred.

Some friends birth a new business or vocation, a book, a project, a new state of consciousness, a new relationship. I wonder about honoring the birth of young ladies into womanhood, the birth of older ladies into wisdomhood. Where are our rights of passage, our midwives, our support for these births?

This week, I am blessed to begin a new adventure at Authentic Birth Center. Authentic is a place where pregnant mommas can sit in circle and hold space for each other. Authentic is a place for babies to come safely, sacredly, beautifully into the world.  And, it’s a place for honoring the births that happen throughout our lives as women.

Please find more about Authentic Birth Center here

Find out more about the Sacred Pregnancy circles here

And, please, share here your own “birth” stories.  What would it feel like for you to be midwifed through these births? How could this time and space be honored for you?

Namaste,

Amy

Mamaste

Mamaste

"My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?"

Erma Bombeck

I brought my kids over to my friend’s house to play and carry on and so that my friend and I could seek solace in this heavy business of momming. Walking in, I felt right at home. Toys strewn wildly, shoes (some match!) in smallish piles a short distance from the shoe storage place, the most random randomness and fullness sprinkled, piled, spilled everywhere. This place is lived in.  I take a deep, easy breath and sigh.

“Mamaste”

I see your messy, busy, lived-in house and it reminds me of my messy, busy, lived-in house. We are one.

 

But, more than that, I see under the mess – the lived-in house, and also the at times untidy heart. You yelled at your kid that time. You forgot to bring a snack to share. You flubbed a social situation. You laughed, you grieved, you loved, you raged, you worried, you celebrated, you rested.  I see it all, I recognize it, I AM it.

Deeper, I see a good Momma. I see pure intention. I see the Great Mother in a tiny altar in your heart. And I recognize that, too.

Mamaste,

Amy

Sweet non-attachment

19 July, 2001

I’m blowing bubbles for him this morning in the faint and foggy light of his eastern window. We both learn (or re-learn) lessons in these quiet moments. I am charged again with remembering just how new this world is to him. He learns of the mortality of a bubble. Even though the moment has passed, he still looks up with blue and eager eyes, not desperate, just wondering if Mommy will spin magic for him again. That’s one great thing about moms and sons – each is magic to the other.

26 July, 2013

Oh the sweetness of early childhood! One of the foundation stones of the path of Yoga is Vairagya, literally “transparent”, but usually rendered as non-attachment. Looking back on this sweet journal entry from 12 years (!) ago, I feel the ache of attachment. Is it true, still? Are we still magic to each other? Now that we’ve come to that murky land of tweendom, now that there seem to be days of gross and wrenching vascillation from indignation to silence and back.  It takes more to settle back into magic some days. But, then there is that sweet moment, when a smile is given freely, when a darling, 12-yr-old boy lets his momma kiss him on the lips before going to bed.  And, I’m working on not being attached to that, either.

Namaste,

Amy