Excavating the Body Electric

"I saw the angel in the marble and I carved until I set him free"....Michelangelo

It is easy to obscure our vision and ignore the true beauty and wisdom that lies within. It can be hard work to find the divine within and set it free. We distract ourselves with food, drink, media and emotional patterns that keep our true, shining self hidden. Yoga is how we can tune back in and listen to the voice of the heart, or the "Song of Myself." In this poem, Whitman sings of the "Body Electric." While a vigorous practice may not be right for everyone, for me it awakens the body electric and helps me hear my song.

My teacher talks a blue streak while we sweat through a hot, power vinyasa. Sometimes, this makes me crazy because my mind wants to stay quiet, but I force myself to keep my ears and brain tuned to his words, and once I let them sink in they become transformative and therapeutic.

Yesterday he reminded the class about Michelangelo and how he released the David from the stone. He made this a metaphor for our practice-that we were like Michaelgelo chipping away at the marble to reveal the sculpture within. He talked about moving through the body's hard, stone crust, the armor that we all wear, to reveal our divine self.

In your practice today, try to listen to the song of yourself and find a way to excavate the soul from the hard shell of the muscles and mind.

The Ups and Downs

My family has a daily practice when we sit down for dinner together at night (which is not every night, but most, I am proud to say!) We ask each other to share our "ups" and "downs" for the day. Hearing about the small moments, I see a realistic collage of our lives take shape. We find out who has hurt us, what little encounter or moment brought us joy or pride, and most often, we are reminded of the incredible value of coming home after a long day in the world to each other to sit around the table and share a meal.

I value this simple ritual more than I readily admit to myself. I need this conversation with my family to keep me grounded. Without this, it becomes too easy for me to slip into an unbalanced view of my own problems. I have been struggling against myself lately and wrestling with the ego. I have found it hard to practice contentment (santosha) or brahmacharya (moderation.) It was a particularly hard week. I cried over disappointments. I felt frustrated with important relationships. I felt sorry for myself. I was not really into remembering how lucky I am.

Hearing the ups and downs of others helped me regain my perspective. I spent time this week reflecting on the heartbreaks of my friends. With one, I discussed the endless challenges of marriage. I have another set of friends who had a fire in their home. They were lucky not to be home so the kids and pets were OK. They also were incredibly lucky not to lose the entire house, though most of their belongings will not be salvaged. While I am sure everyone has been telling them how "lucky" they are, I wonder if they are fully able to feel lucky? I have to be honest and say that I might not. If I were in their shoes, I might just feel like I had a really lousy break.

This is where the practice of listening to others troubles and triumphs holds great power. At my church we share joys and concerns, and because we say all those things out loud, it becomes the glue that binds our little community. My family's Ups and Downs time works to that same end and cements our family ties. We gain balance and perspective from each other. We simply state what is going on for us, without having a two-way conversation about it; just listening without advice, judgment or comment.

In the midst of our personal pain and conflicts, we can't always see how lucky we are. If we share that honestly with those who care, it becomes a burden that can be carried on others' backs. We need not walk alone. And we don't need to always remind ourselves of how "lucky" we are. Sometimes we can revel in our own downs, but once we listen to others we realize that their situation might truly be worse, and we know that we can lay our burden down and pick theirs up to carry them for a little while.

The Web

I have been paying attention lately to all the signs and clues that everything is connected. I find evidence in little instances that could certainly be categorized as coincidence. Or, as I choose to believe, I find comfort in the idea that all of us are part of a large web of life.

No matter what faith we profess (if any) we can choose to tune into or ignore our interconnectedness. I do not buy the idea that we have any control over that connection or can harness its power by simple will alone. I take a more cautious view of those who suggest that we can manifest our own reality. I do think we can all benefit from considering whether what we think, say, and do has a corresponding effect on the health of the collective.

If this is the case, ahisma becomes very important. If we allow negative, aggressive or violent thoughts or actions, the ripple effects reverberate and wound everything. If we consciously try to offer ourselves to others through service and kindness, then there is a chance that this will have a corresponding beneficial effect. So, as much as I know I put garbage into the Web, I also try hard to clean house and offset that negative energy. I offer help and honesty to anyone who seeks it from me. I try to see the point of view of others, even if I have a huge blind spot and cannot see myself in the way that others may see me.

No one is perfect. We are all human. Even that total "bleep-bleep" on the highway or at work. Especially that person. Just a reminder as you head into your day. Let's tread lightly on the Web today because it is fragile. As we all are.

Fear Factor

Swine Flu. Really? I now have to be afraid of a pig disease? I thought it was EATING pig that would kill me first.

So, my reactions to this latest fright fest are twofold: my intellectual brain feels scornful of the media hype and nonchalant about any real threat faced by me here in Massachusetts. However, what I find far more interesting upon self-study is that my reptilian brain does feel a tinge of fear. I catch myself running a split second scenario through my head where my child or spouse is stricken my a health emergency and the ER docs are caught scratching their heads. If only they had known about XYZ Syndrome! This is the sort of awful fodder that makes talk shows and magazines successful. The media has become adept at surfacing our nearly unconscious thoughts, and most of the time, we have not even noticed it happened. In these cases, swadhyaya (self-study) can be a powerful tool. Just noticing -without judging- how I show up in life and react gives me insight into my deeply held beliefs and thoughts. In my case, fear can creep in faster than you can say Tamaflu.

The question is, does it matter if I am a little freaked out by what I hear on the news? Over the long term, mental health can either contribute or detract from our physical health. So, yes, it is important to become conscious about choosing a healthier mindset. We need to count the cost of habitually negative thoughts. In this case, a swine or bird flu pandemic provides the excuse to take notice of how easily I can get swept up in a cycle of fear, which pumps nasty stress hormones through my body. Our thoughts move much like water - deliberately seeking the path of least resistance. Like rivulets in the soil that get deeper all the time, thought patterns form grooves in the brain. So, even if my intellectual brain diverts from the path of fear and attempts a rational reaction, my habit of fear has formed a pronounced pattern, which ends up being the road more traveled.

While it not impossible to re-pattern our thoughts and swap unhealthy ones for good ones, it is not easy. We are trying to turn the river that has been a lifetime forming. The best way to use self-study is as a sturdy oar. If you see the rocks in front of you on that river, steer hard around them with all your might.

Santosha and Spring

Santosha (contentment) has challenged me to a duel this week as the first stirrings of spring have come to New England. Buds of perennials are coming up through half-frozen mulch in the beds. Perky crocus flowers open extravagantly at the warmest part of the day and then furtively huddle back into themselves when the cold returns. College students taunt the gods by wearing shorts despite the patches of snow stubbornly remaining on the ground. The gym is suddenly filled with people realizing that bikini season is looming. The neighbors are out raking and sweeping the driveways before the street sweeper comes. And I, who was content a mere few weeks ago with life, begin my own spring ritual of battling gut-gripping restlessness.

On my father's side of the family, there was a mysterious aunt who I never met. Aunt Elsie would appear to me only in pictures. I seem to recall one of her perched aloft a motorbike in front of the pyramids, wearing a turban. Or maybe even that was a product of my imagination. It's hard to remember how Elisie's legend grew. I only know for sure that she had a whopping case of wanderlust and was not a typical gray haired Auntie. I inherited a bit of Elsie.

My parents also had, and still have, a major appetite for change. They moved for no reason other than to move. My high school boyfriend used to joke that the furniture was moved every time he came over. My father has had countless careers.

All of these things add up to an inherited case of restlessness, which in my case, manifests itself most ferociously at this time of year. Something about the aggressive urgings of nature in Spring call to me and, as Robert Plant sang, "I've got to ramble."

So, I am working incredibly hard to feel contentment. I do not have to rearrange furniture, paint a wall, plant a new bed in the garden, buy a house, change my job, or change anything for that matter. I can simply be happy with things as they are. It is going to be hard as life in my bucolic college town bursts with life-force from the impending changes that will come in the next two months as the earth explodes with green, the houses all go on the market, and about 30,000 students begin their exodus.

Wish me luck as I have no way to take off for an adventure this Spring. May I stay planted happily where I am!