an endless summer...

Abundant sunshine warms the skin, lifts the heart. Tinkling ice cream trucks troll the neighborhood. The garden rages its quiet fury. Squeals of delight emerge from backyards. It's summer--full on.

Our conception of summer was formed in childhood, when the season brought day after glorious day of freedom and ease--interrupted only by the early morning torture of a swimming lesson in an unheated pool!

There was little to do and gobs of time to do it. Summer was when we learned to whistle around a long blade of grass; learned to turn a cartwheel; learned how many ripe cherries we could consume without a belly ache. (Well, maybe we had to learn that one again every year.)

Summer was filled to the bursting brim with fun. Camping, berry picking, water skiing. Picnicking. Skim boarding. Softball. But mostly, it was just pleasantly topped off with nothing: lazy days and long, long evenings--when there was no place to go and no time you had to be there. When laying on your back and gazing at the sky constituted a full schedule. Giggling with friends, dissolving yourself in a book--that was enough. Summer was a time when you could simply dig a hole in the sand for no other reason than to watch the sea refill it. Catch bees in a mason jar. Open a lemonade stand and chat with whoever cared to stop. Walk all the way to the corner store just to share a popsicle, licking it with delicious precision, then admire one another's raspberry red tongue.

You could BE. HERE. NOW.

Sometimes we speak of yoga as our "work" and in the sense that it's an exchange of energy, this is true. It has meaning for us, it's important, and that can seem like Serious Business. But in the sense that we do our yoga for its own reward, it more rightfully belongs under the "play" column, doesn't it?

So when we're on our mat, we seek ease. We attempt to lighten the load, drench ourselves in freedom. We aim to make our yoga fun. How do we do that?

First: we drop our expectations. Next: we forget that our yoga has a time slot between this and that. Then: be here now, in our bodies. With our breath. It's as straightforward as that. Just us--and maybe some friends--getting out of the limited territory of our heads and expanding into our whole being.

Finding the way to an endless summer on our mats--even in mid-December.

Don't sigh heavily with fatigue.

Seek passion! Seek passion! Seek passion!

~Rumi

mow your lawn...

Flop down in it. Nap on it. Picnic. Play. Lay back and watch the clouds dance their transformation above you, the sky as blue as a dream.

Grass.

Soft and inviting, cool and green--a wide open expanse of lawn calls to us, entreats us. We run across it with wild abandon, joyous and free as summer itself.

But begin to tread just one path, and the grass underfoot will become crushed and ragged. It doesn't take long before your route looks tired, clumps of dirt showing, maybe a rock or two. The rest of the yard turns weedy, overgrown, and will no longer beckon an invitation. Instead, we avoid deviating from our chosen path; we stick to it, and it becomes even more worn, the rest of the yard more impassable.

This very thing happens in the body. We pick a path: call it routine, call it habit, call it injury. We use the same muscles, in the same way, and avoid others. We wear ourselves a pathway--physically and mentally--our minds guiding us over a terrain of least resistance, this Common Ground.

But everything is retrainable. Our bodies are constantly creating new cells, but they make the cells we (unconsciously) demand. If we sit around and don't do anything, our bodies will create fibres that are quite capable of sitting around and not doing anything--thank you very much!

For sure, if you have an inflamed injury, you want to wait until that inflammation cools. But then, the best therapy is to use those injured muscles--skillfully. With awareness. When we strengthen underused muscles, we relieve compensatory action. We release connective tissue, refining our alignment. We develop different muscles, deeper muscles. Fresh synapses in the brain fire as we explore new territory, create new neural pathways.

We alter our habit.

Cautious activity will keep scar tissue from forming and impinging movement. It will put out the call to cells to start building active, able fibres (order up!), and muscular atrophy will be warded off. Your transition back to full health will be swifter, more easeful.

How do we do this? (Awww...cummon...you know what I'm gonna say!) Yes, yoga. Alertness to the body, a "getting to know yourself," is yoga's greatest gift. It begins by becoming sensitive, by listening with attention, yearning to know yourself better.

As we increase our awareness, we find revelations around the corner of every conscious breath. Are you ready to find out who you really are, what you're really capable of accomplishing? Of diving deeper into consciousness?

The breath unites us, helps us coalesce mind, body and spirit. A thoughtful breath calms the chatter in the mind and encourages concentration. It releases connective tissue enabling us to move freely, without pain. And breath builds the prana, enhancing our energy. We soften, become mindful, listen to our breath, then find renewed integration, renewed vitality.

Mow your lawn, and feel free to step off the path.

******************************************************************************************************

beyond the senses are the objects.

beyond the objects is the mind.

beyond the mind, the intellect.

beyond the intellect, the self.

beyond the self, the non-manifest.

beyond the non-manifest, the Infinite.

beyond the Infinite, there is nothing...

this is the end: Pure Consciousness.

Katha Upanishad

summertime...and the living should be easy

Summer solstice...the longest daylight of the year. Payback for all those cramped dark winter days. Historically it's been a time of huge celebration across all the northern climes. Understandably so. For we earthlings, our sun's pretty much god--we couldn't exist without it. It's a lifeline. But in more agrarian ages, the connection must have been truly heartfelt.

It's also the first day of summer. A day of transformation, from spring's sweet promise to the full fruition of summer's rampant fecundity.

So it's a day both of celebration and of transformation...very yogic...very tantric. Whenever we come to our mats, we come to celebrate life. We seek to transform ourselves, to become more. To flourish and evolve. To ripen.

But what about the not-so-big movements? Radical transformation is relatively rare (and often not so positive); instead change comes to us slowly, incrementally, often in units astoundingly small. Inching forward one day at a time.

Once we move away from youth, with its multiple yardsticks and benchmarks, we often neglect to stop and note an achievement. To celebrate. Time now flies by so rapidly that to mark a moment might seem irrelevant. And let's face it, lots of us aren't even that happy with where we are: we think, it could be worse--but it should be better.

Instead, we stand with our eyes fixed on a far distant horizon: The Past or The Future.

Staring into The Past, we dwell fixedly on our mistakes, rue the times we fell short of the mark. Regret the missed opportunities, the bad timing and the worse luck.

Then we peer wistfully--restlessly--at The Future, and dream. If only I could...then I'd be confident. If only I had...then, then, I'd be satisfied. Then I'd feel good about myself. I'd be successful.

The reality, of course, is that achievement is found in living, and as such is necessarily and emphatically dynamic. It's accretionary, not static. Hidden in the process of life, in the folds and creases of each day.

Between the hard work and the disappointments, between frustrations and setbacks, we must learn to recognize our tiny victories, our small conquests, for it is these incremental triumphs which coalesce to form a life well-lived. Day by day. Inch by inch.

Set a goal and work persistently to make it happen, because as the American Zen Master, Yogi Berra (hey--a fellow yogi!!) once said, "If you don't know where you're going, you might not get there." Challenge yourself because nothing of value comes with ease. We seek instant gratification, but it's an unrealistic goal as well as an empty one. To master any skill takes effort, takes time--it won't happen spontaneously, and neither will it accomplish itself. Some days, just getting up is hard.

So rise to your own challenge. But don't forget to stop and pat your self on the back along the way.

why we OM...

Why do we OM?

Better transliterated as AUM, it's really three separate phonemes: Ah, Oo, and Mmm, representing creation, sustainment, and then dissolution--the expanding and contracting pulse of the universe. All things come and all things go. Change...there's no way around it.

OM is etymologically related not only to the english prefix "omni," meaning all (e.g. omnivore--all foods, omnipotent--all powerful), but also, interestingly, to "amen" (seems kinda obvious once it's pointed out, doesn't it?).

You might be surprised to hear that OM is a sacred sound to Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists, as well as Hindus. Hmmm. That's not all: Christian, Jews and Muslims say amen too, or a slight variation of it (in Hebrew, it's ah-men, and for Muslims, amin).

Nice to have something all religions can agree on!

AUM's three sounds symbolize oneness, the relatedness and unity of all the universe. The A denotes all things of form: the flowers...the birds...us. U represents formlessness: water, fire, the air. And M is something existent, but having neither shape nor shapelessness--like the dark matter in space.

So three are essentially one. The entire AUM sound is an exercise in concentration, a mythic focus on one universal truth: all things manifest and unmanifest, the union of body, mind and spirit. Creation, and all that is/ has been/ will be created.

For Christianity and Islam, the usual translation for amen is concurrence, as in "amen to that" baby! (It's the same root as amenable--agreement.) The Hebrew form is translated as certainty.

So we're all saying--or chanting--the same thing. Truth. Word. Youbetcha.

Even scientists should be able to get behind OM. It's said to be the first sound, and I take that to mean that the Big Bang was actually a raucous Big OM chant, vibrating energy across the universe like one vast and mighty wave.

OM is simply a reminder that the source is one--whatever your idea of "source" is. One Big Bang. One Godhead. One energy. It's a signifier of the underlying relationship, not only between us all, but between us and our world. One love, one heart, as Bob Marley and Curtis Mayfield would sing it.

BTW, when I added up all the Hindus, the Buddhists, the Jains, the Sikhs, and to this, all the Jews, the Muslims and the Christians--guess how many? It's very nearly the entire world population! And here we are, all sounding out One Truth, joining together in this one sound...or its variants.

When we chant OM to begin our yoga, we are reiterating our relationship to one another, our solidarity. We merge the sound of our voices into a single chorus, both listening, and participating--involving ourselves with one another. We sing: One love, one heart. Let's get together and feel all right.

In this sense, OM means we believe in the power of community, of supporting one another in our pursuits, of lending a hand when we can. It's an appreciation that our culture belongs to everyone, that we all have a role to play in creating the reality we live in. We all matter. And together, we harmonize.

OM. It's really pretty cool.

it's all good, eh?

When I planned to return to Canada after many years of living in the US, people teased, asking if I was going to start "speaking Canadian." You know how to spell Canada, they'd say? C, eh. N, eh. D, eh. (I know. It's cute.)

But rather curiously, I did notice a shift in Canadian speech patterns, and it wasn't simply an accent thing. The tone was different...optimistic, upbeat.

People here say "Right on!" like it's still the Summer of Love. When someone asks you to sign your name, they don't mutter thanks, but instead chirp, "PERFECT!" With real enthusiasm. Authentic good cheer.

My favourite Canadian-ism, though? The ever-present, ever-lovable, "it's all good." Even when people here complain a little, gently whining about this or that, they invariably finish up by turning the tables back to the positive with an "it's all good." (Often adding a "no worries" for emphasis, they assure Fate they hold no bitterness.)

I love this phrase not simply for its buoyant bhava (flavour), because it's so beautifully Tantric. When life is seen from a Tantric perspective, it is not a tribulation to be tolerated or overcome, but a blessing to be savoured. Sucked on like the last caramel in the box...slowly, sensuously. En-joy-ed. To the nth. To the last drop. All the way. Full on.

Because it's all good.

Thoughts and feelings are held in our tissues. Habit is as much about recurrent patterns of thought as behaviour: we become what we think, what we do. We all know this--whether it's prejudice or injury, we're walking around schlepping our own baggage. We become it.

But when viewed with Tantric eyes--with all form emanating from one energy source--we put the stops on this kind of positive/ negative dichotomization. If all form is from the same one source, how can it not be all good? Then, whether you're one who judges the glass 1/2 empty or 1/2 full makes no nevermind, it's all simply possibility: to learn, to grow. To explore our potential within our given form, with our given attributes. To be the best "me", a virtuoso of myself-ness. To top off our own--1/2 empty or 1/2 full--glass.

BTW, it's a trick glass, like one from a magician's showroom. It never gets full; there's always room for more. That's the way the universe is: there's always room at the inn.

Room to create yourself. To re-create yourself. To switch your vibration and become your deepest desire. To make beauty.

Because it's all good.

a balancing act...

The other day, I was checking out this book on jam making (Mes Confitures), looking for hints as the season of preserving comes upon us. The author, Christine Ferber, is France's most famous jam maker--an artist in her field. (gentle pun intended)

Perfectly ripe fruit is what she calls for, which carry jam's necessary components of pectin and sugar in just the right balance. How to tell? "Fruit is perfectly ripe when it makes no resistance to being picked."

---Whoa! Are we talking yoga here? Of course we yogis are always on the lookout for balance, bringing all our body pieces to the party on the mat. We aim to integrate our inner and outer worlds. But one of the most elusive of our balancing acts is effort and effortlessness: giving our yoga energy without hardness. Finding ease under a veil of sweat.

Birds do it. Once in a while you see a bird flying against the wind and you wonder if the poor dear will make it, as it struggles mightily, wings thrashing. But usually, birds know to ride the air currents. Witness them swoop and soar, arcing a grace-filled arabesque across the sky lifts our hearts.

Surfers do it too. They don't go out there to battle the ocean, but to catch a wave, working in tandem with the immense power of the water to feel an elation second to none.

The secret: it's not all on our backs. Of course, we do our best. But then we let go a little, we surrender. We catch a current. Ride the wave.

We offer no resistance, like a ripe piece of fruit--perfect.

And the Jam Lady's second insight? No two batches are the same. One's a little thicker, one sweeter. And that, she says, is its charm. Can we see our own day to day fluctuations on the mat--tighter one day, or more tired--as charming?

Well, maybe not.

But at least we can recognize that whatever is going on is just today's act, and our next go will be different. Every batch of jam is an act of creation, of transformation--just as every play day on our mats.

Enjoy the flow.

have courage my friend...

New possibility is a moment for courage.

We are all unfinished business, full of potential. So clearly witnessed in children, but as adults we forget. We've already made a determination of who we are, what we are. Our propensities, our characters, feel locked. Can we be open to change in ourselves? Can we conceive ourselves as someone other than who we are at this moment?

How well do we want to know ourselves? The waters are deep; how deep do we want to go?

Trying out novel activities, visiting new places, hanging with different people, all allow us to see the world from a fresh perspective. To see ourselves with a fresh set of eyes.

But as we move toward change, the interim can be a time of darkness and fear. We hover at the precipice of the unknown. Can we shine a light heart into that place, embracing it with a sense of adventure, the thrill of possibility? Then we return to a sense of childhood and its days of endless wonder. Of discovery.

A seed travels the dark earth with the trust that it will emerge into the light, that the sun will be there to greet it. That it will be able to unfurl to the full intelligence it carries within. As children, we too believed in that power of trust. Return to it and we pass straight through the darkness to a new place. A place of potential. A place of growth and change. Of metamorphosis.

It's the spaces between the leaves that grant a tree its majesty, the silence between the birdsong that makes us hesitate and long for more. The moment to moment of an unfolding sunset, enriching its colours, then softening them again--this is where beauty is found.

The spaces between: in potential unfolding, in change. Take a breath and jump right in.

Transform yourself.

Bollywood fun by way of Devendra Banhart

in the garden...

To make a good garden, you don't just plant seeds. You need to feed it, water it, weed it. You pick out the rocks and the sticks and the slugs. You encourage the worms. 

In autumn, you clean up and prepare for the spring. In the winter, you compost. And plan. 

Your plants' needs are paramount. Which way does the sun travel? How many hours does it shine on your garden? And, by the way, have you tested the soil's ph levels? 

Yup, a good garden takes a lot of physical effort, for sure, but also a lot of thought. A lot of care.

And wouldn't it be easy--after all of the time invested--to keep it all for yourself? 

Instead of hoarding, though, the garden is the ultimate symbol of graceful abundance. Of bounty. 

You wouldn't give away your land, but you happily distribute the fruits of your labour on that land. You share your creative effort. An unexpected extra for dinner? No worries.  Just pick a few more lettuce leaves, another head of broccoli. Throw some more peas in the pot.

When we come to our yoga, our body is our "land." We engage every part of ourselves, consolidating our effort. All of our knowledge of alignment, all of our muscular engagement, is pooled. We reach deep, and we practice. We practice.

But what makes our asanas truly beautiful is when we reflect all that internal effort back out. While we turn inside ourselves in order to commit our fullest potential, we don't hoard it, we share it. And by radiating our energy outwards, we expand ourselves. We become more. 

We grow our garden.

seven billion light years

Gulls crenellate his rooftop,

a feathered battlement to drop their bombs,

and don't realize we wouldn't have religion 

if we weren't afraid of the unknown.

Knotted hanks as morning hair, 

our seas float out more bloat-walled bodies,

casks of conceit that asked simply to understand.

The answer's sent,

on its way, 

halfway home.

Pulsed messages encoded in a comet’s tail 

transmit rings of spectral shift--

saw one myself, just last night.

The answer sent

on its way, 

halfway home,

soon to burst the 5th magnitude

and speak to us, 

speaking so that we hear.

Attentions of course,  elsewhere

at the crucial moment,

our balance lost studying cellular notes

by our own light, keeping our own company 

to ward off small fears,

with a yell, 

with a hullabaloo.

But the answer's been sent

on its way, 

halfway home--look

at god's old tongue

sparking in the sky.

It’s seven billion light years on its way, 

while gulls still crack jokes like the first sound.

On its way.

But only halfway home.

beauty is as beauty does...

As shopworn as they may have become over the years, some truisms continue to earn their keep. Time and tide still wait for no man. Doubt is still the beginning of wisdom. And he who hesitates remains lost. As difficult as it can sometimes be to find commonality with others, these pithy little adages form a crossroads--a meeting ground--where divergent beliefs and backgrounds can discover a momentary convergence.

Certainly we can all agree that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, for doesn't each one of us gaze upon our family with the rosiest of tints? Through this lens of love, our children are more deserving and our grandchildren more charming. Could any brother be funnier than ours? Any sister more capable, more thoughtful? Indeed, this is the very thing we count on from our kin; it's what counters the stresses of proximity and subdues the awkwardness of familial demands. It's what unpacks the baggage of past hurts, calms old rivalries. 

It is the reason, Dorothy, that there is no place like home. You bask in your family's warm glow, as surely as they do in yours.     

The mind has an endless capacity for magic and illusion: The Great Cerebrum, Conjurer Extraordinaire. Rabbits out of a top hat? Pah! Kids' stuff! Disappearing doves? Bush league! Facile hocus-pocus! Our minds can retrieve smells, rescue sounds, and salvage emotions with seamless skill. Distance is conflated--time, as well as space. Like a waking dream, our memories can enlarge rooms, diminish faults, sharpen action and mute dialogue at will. An opaque veil drapes gracefully over problems, erasing them as surely as Botox on a wrinkle. Quantum theory posits ten dimensions: incomprehensible to some, maybe, but the mind already has no issue with being in multiple states and places simultaneously, thank you very much! 

So we have the capacity, but we must learn to control the act. Why wear those special rosy glasses only while at home? After all, you look so good in them! Warp the space between yourself and others to be understanding, be loving. And o it as much for yourself as for them. Your thoughts make their own lasting impression on your physiology. What is belief but practiced thought? 

When asked how the ordinary Archibald Leach became the inimitable Cary Grant, Cary said he simply imitated who he would like to be, until one day he woke up and that was exactly who he was. 

Create a revolution in yourself. Become the you you want to be.