Third Time's the Charm. TT Day 1. Again. 7.14.11

Here I am in Lulu teacher training. Again. Not the second, mind you, but the third. In our first yin pose tonight i felt the familiar wave of shame and self doubt wash over at the end of a long exhale. I'm not smart enough, good enough, and I never will be. I have colleagues who have gone on to be tremendous teachers, in fact I often attend their classes with marvel. How'd they 'get it' so easily?

On the next inhale I wonder if I'm being obsessive. I'm a regular at Lulu's, with a steady diet of classes, I attend most workshops, and I go on retreat at the annual Ojai Yoga Crib. And oh, by the way, I also teach here.

Reminding myself I have been teaching at Lulu's since 2008 feels like finding a surprise in a box of cracker jacks. Even after hundreds of classes teaching feel fresh, new, exciting, and fun. Today I have new questions and internal callings, some of which I can barely even admit to myself. The teachings of yoga and the teaching of yoga have guided my heart to a safe harbor while I face the uncharted waters of my extraordinary life with greater clarity and courage than ever before. Simultaneously I'm scared to death I will sink. It gets easier and more challenging all at the same time.

I wonder if there is any truth to the saying "third time's the charm'?

The belief that the third time something is attempted is more likely to succeed than the previous two attempts appears to be connected to the 19th century legend of some poor sot who survived being hanged by his neck from a tree three times. He was deemed 'unhangable' and allowed to be set free. I think the yogis have a different spin on "success" and would say at our core, we all all 'unhangable.'. The texts speak frequently about the existence of this state, and practices seem to serve to remind us of this deep anandamaya kosha, and claim that Krishna sits right in our own hearts, at least the ones that currently interest me the most.

I've had glimpses at knowing I'm 'unhangable', but it usually comes to me in layers. I am here this round in part to connect deeper to the teachings behind the teachings, to the essential nectar that has changed my life from despair to delight, from frustration to wonder, and from pretending I know it all to introducing myself with genuine ease and a grateful smile as the yogi who is here attending for the oh yes, count 'em, third time.

In the 21st century, "Third time's the charm" spoken just before trying something for the third time is a wish for good luck. I only can dream of being so lucky to be set free after a mere three tries. So I will use this as a mantra for luck, but also for gratitude, for whatever gifts come my way as I venture into Lulu TT, volume 3. It seems to be powerful already, as the magic of learning has already begun.

Evening practice 7-9.30ish

Welcome

Yin Practice:
baddha konasana, experimenting with heals close and further. Getting comfortable with ourselves
rest

pigeon or eye of the needle at wall
some theory on connective tissue
extended period of time (3-5 mins)
held passively
at appropriate edge
more mobility in the body, more movement of subtle energy

balasana

sphinx, experimenting with position of legs
windshield wiper

twisted root or easy twist
rest
other side

pranayama with alternative nostril breathing

savasana


circle
introductions
Niki, Gabrielle, Laurel, Donna, Amanda, Vicki, Stacy, Nancy, Melissa, Casey, Robyn, Kira

manual
how to get the most from training
Kiras how to get the most from this training
homework, write down what we did, two assigned readings, Effort Effect, Joel Kramer article,
housekeeping issues: food and practice

OM
Namaste

Teachings: talking in front of group, connecting with why you are here and setting your self up for success to connect with what you are here to learn, begin to build community, yin qualites of ease, listening skills-of others and yourself. yin.

Heater Man

When I ran a chain of art galleries, I had a very talented, but extremely high strung employee. He had a quick, eruptive temper, that would flare up, seemingly out of nowhere. It was an interesting dynamic to work with, as one can imagine. High management even came up with a code word for these incidents "Dagmar (name changed) had a heater!!! Just the mere mention of his heaters in business meetings sent chills down my spine, and when one came my way it felt like hurricane gale force winds ripping thorugh my insides. Looking back, I don't know how I endured such high levels of stress without the assistance of a yoga practice. Perhaps that's one reason I burned right out.

Now, I don't know if Dagmar had issues with his Triple Heater Meridian or not, but I do. I stumbled upon this interesting piece of research during yin yoga training with Kira, who assigned meridian research day 2 of our sessions together. When I found the Triple Heater Meridian I laughed out loud in rememberance of my friend with the heaters. The name alone immediately drew me in. But as I looked closer at the map, I was looking at my own body.

For a few months I've had a tight spot in my neck just to the right side of my cervical spine. Sometimes I can feel another tight spot a few inches below, resting just above the tip of my shoulder blade, and every now and then on the outer edge of my tricept about half way between my shoulder and elbow. During my day it is barely noticable, but when I get to yoga class, its right there, clear as a bell. Seems I have a heater issue of my own these days.

It appears the Triple Heater is a function rather than a physical organ. It represents a group of energies and involves many organs. This meridian is the funtional relationship between the energy-transforming organs, and transports and transforms prana (chi) to all parts of the body. It is know as 'The Commander of all Energies", the "Official of Balance and Harmony", and described as 'the moat around the castle'.

Imbalance in this meridian is triggered by stress.

Which throws me for a loop. I am at a very interesting place in my life these days. I've never felt happier, and more connected in relationships to family, friends, and with myself. At first glance the data does not support the theory.

I have a few choices here. I can throw out the whole meridian system of medicine as hogwash. I can question my sanity, and ask myself if I am being delusionally happy, or I can reach into a deeper meaning. From direct experience I know there is wisdom in energy medicine, and I've been on the brink of insanity and know this space I'm in does not feel like that. What, then, if anything, is my triple heater meridian saying?

One thing about this new place of happiness is that it has taken a massive amount of energy to get here, everything I had over an almost five year period of intense self examination. Although I don't think I'm done, because life is a continuous unfolding, I am in a relative spot of ease and peace. I think of yoga sutra 2.46 "Posture is a balance of effort and ease", and am aligning to a recent interpretation passed on by Kira of posture as attitude.

For most my life I have guarded my castle with fericous waters in the moat. Today those waters are not nearly so hostile. And while this new architecture of my soul is more joyous and free, it is also slightly scary to love, trust, and live this big and be so vulnerable. It is a balance, and there is harmony, just as the healthy flow of the meridian promises. The integrity of the work required these days is subtle, so close to my heart that I barely even noticed.

Until it showed up in my yin pactice, in my neck, and in the homework for class today, It is accompanied with a clear message to keep going. Keep showing up, and keep relaxing once I've made the effort to show up.

I am incredibly grateful for all my teachers who help me in this path of opening to love, including Dagmar, the fiery-ist heater man I've even known, who has recircled back into my life in the most magical and healing way.

Savasana

There I was minding my own business in savasana like any other day at Lulu’s. But this time, that initial post-savasana breath touched a place of joy so deep within it made me weep out loud. I then heard my friend Jan say, “Wow, that’s weird, why’s she doing THAT?” Another voice answered, “It happens sometimes under anesthesia”, and then a third male voice say, “Wake up Winifred, its all over now. You’re free”.

This was the Superbowl, Christmas, whipped cream with a cherry on top, most epic savasana ever. Translated as ‘corpse’ or ‘dead body’ pose, this was a savasana at its most literal. I’d just awoken from four hours of surgery freeing myself from 20-year-old breast implants and demons so vicious they’ve rattled the walls of a bi-weekly evening yin class for well over a year.

I felt my eyes fly wide open and realized I wasn’t at Lulu’s at all. Peering over me were my best friend Jan, nurse Amy, and physician Dr. Improta. From the post-op room of the surgery center, I heard “Wake up, Winifred” in three part concert.

Indeed. Wake up.

This is what my journey through yoga and recovery from addiction continuously demands of me. It asks me to wake up and do things like trust, listen, sit still, share, show up, participate, follow intuition, and most of all, to love, truly love, myself and others. It’s not been the easiest path, in fact, it has lead me though divorce, bankruptcy, and this boob thing has been no cake walk. But it’s calling sweetly beckons self-acceptance, and inspires a life of contentment regardless of any outward appearance.

The journey into healing this particular flavor of self-loathing began on the mat. This Thanksgiving everything tastes sweeter and I am especially grateful for my friends and the community of Lulu’s which has held me as battles have raged and peace has won. It will take a while to get back to the yoga mat, but practice and our sangha is closer than ever to my heart.

Meanwhile, I am wide awake today with equal parts relief and joy. And I stand a little taller, my heart a bit less obstructed, and my truth a lot more alive than dead.

Yin and My Friend

Claudio Bonanni.

I have not thought of that name in 30 years, and whammo out of the blue it popped in my head during yin class last night. Claudio Bonanni..it has a beautiful ring to it, doesn't it?

It is a name that belongs to a beautiful man. I met him in 1982, in Paris, where I was a student of political science in the French university system. What I really loved to study was art, and it was during this academic year when I first began to veer away from 'serious studies' to begin to seriously study something that deeply touched my heart. I spent most of my spare time in the Louvre or the Jeu de Paume, gazing for hours at paintings that literally took my breath away.

I signed up for art history class at the Ecole de Louvre on a hunch. The museums were our textbook so we were able to get up close and personal with the art. I'll never forget my teacher, Madame Cotte (prounced Ko-tay). I nicknamed her Mad Woman Cotte. Her appearance was always somewhat discheveled, a rip in her stockings, her shirt half untucked, her bright red lipstick always outside the lipline, and usually some on her teeth. She had fiery and obviously dyed short auburn hair with no discernible style but it did draw out her intelligent green eyes. She would get so excited about the information she presented in her lectures, her arms would flail about and spit would fly out of her mouth as she spoke. The paintings came to life when she taught. I adored this woman from the first Bonjour.

There was no way I could not go back to the museum on the weekends. I wanted to get a closer look at the works of art Madame had talked about and I ventured further through the halls exploring new ones. One Sunday, in the 18th century galleries, I was captivated by small JBS Chardin painting when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard 'escuse' followed by a string of Italian. I turned to meet the friendly voice. It was Claudio.

Great art, like yoga, has the ability to communicate, to fill in the gaps when language is insufficient, or in the case of my new found friend, non existent. His English speaking skills were minimal, and my Italian less than that. In our own way we had a lovely conversation about the Chardin, and moved though the galleries together for several more hours drinking in masterpiece after masterpiece. Claudio was an artist and had a different approach to looking at paintings than Madame Cotte. I was thrilled to find another source to fuel my art interest. (And was doubled thrilled that gift came wrapped in a very handsome package). We started hanging out in museums and cafes together. He was a tres nice guy.

Claudio was in Paris on a student visa and had to return to his home in Tivoli, Italy a few months after our meeting. I accepted an invitation to visit him and his parents that winter. When walking through the Tivoli gardens Claudio turned to kiss me. I was crazy about him, but didn't care to pursue a relationship, you know, in the biblical sense. It was all to weird after that and we drifted out of each other's life.

Until last night when his name came up in yin. I don't know what it means, or IF it means anything when this happens, but I feel this Claudio Bonanni business is a bloggable event. And I googled him. I found he is a working artist in Italy. I emailed him and hope he can read English better than he speaks it.

If he ever writes back I will thank him for being an early teacher that inspired my 20 year career in the fine arts and a life long love of French art. And maybe, if he is still sweet, cute and single, one day I'll jump on a plane and tell him myself. In Italian.

So much for yin being a passive practice.

For Randy

Last week I was asked officially to join the treatment team where I teach yoga and lead therapeutic groups as a substance abuse intern counselor. I am thrilled to take a deeper step into the wild world of addiction. A closer peek into the inside dynamics of treatment is fascinating. It is an intensive 24/7 proposition because addiction never sleeps. Part of my training includes the other side of midnight, a shift our facility aptly calls the 'graveyard' shift. Last night was my first late night experience and it was scary as hell. I ponder my worthiness as a paid professional in all this.

The facility has a totally different dynamic during the night than in the day. As I pulled down the driveway at midnight, my first reaction was thinking that the place looked less like the charming Victorian mansion I've come to call my office over the past 7 months, and more like the setting of "Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte". During the day the place is teeming with activity and energy; tonight it was dark, silent, and cold. The big California oak trees cast spooky shadows across the front lawn. I tried to act cool, but I ran all the way from my car to the front porch. My heart was beating so fast when I reached the front door I renewed my commitment to avoid caffeine and cursed myself for having half a cup of joe for this special occasion.

At present the house is almost full at 48 beds. I was relieved to hear that the evening thus far had been quiet. But then I became uncomfortable in the quiet. There is so much happening during the day I'd never notice all the creaks and sounds the old house makes. My first question to the colleague training me was, 'are all the doors locked, and is there a security system?" When I found out that WE (and our cell phones) are the security system, my next question was, 'whatever happened with D's (name changed to protect the innocent) crazy violent boyfriend whose threatened the staff?', followed by, 'and what's up the the drug gang and their issue with our client"?. My colleague turned to me and simply asked, "are you SCARED?". "No", I lied.

Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into?

We went over some policies and procedures, and for the first time in my adult life I welcomed the tedium of paperwork and the bright shine of florescent lights. The familiarity of an office was relaxing. Then we made our first set of rounds.

We grabbed a flashlight and made our way around the dorms. You have to check that the women and children are all in their beds and make sure the babies are in their cribs and free from blankets over their heads. It takes some skill to identify a body in a bed without shining a light into their eyes so you won't disturb their sleep. Creeping around on hardwood floors in Sweet Charlotte's haunted mansion with a tiny little flashlight was a terrifying experience for me. When we finally got back to the office I fessed up to my colleague. "I know this is a really horrible thing to say but I'm scared somebody is going to jump me from behind and thrust a pair of scissors in my throat". The look on my colleagues face was priceless. We laughed our asses off. It felt good to speak my truth.

I've always been afraid of the dark. I still sleep with the bathroom light on. As I dug into the second round of mindless paperwork in front of me I felt into my fear of the evening. Yes, it was partly from watching way to many horror movies, but underneath the surface is my intense fear of the dark side of drug addiction. It is a cunning and evil force that destroys everything along its fiery path. The truth of the matter is this facility is full of newly recovering addicts and the situation is a little dangerous and certainly unpredictable.

Again, I ask myself why am I here?

Last week an acquaintance from the ADS program at Oxnard College committed suicide. He just couldn't stay sober so he wrote a note, took a handful of pills and checked out for good. We had several classes together and participated in break out groups together. This person actually held my hand as I shared for the first time in a group some painful and dark places in my past. He helped me in my healing process. And now he is dead. This disease of addiction takes way too many good people down.

I have a choice. I could say 'no thank you' to this job because once in a blue moon I have to work hours when the sun doesn't shine. Or I can persevere through my fear of the dark and hold my hand out to others who today are asking me for help.

775 in my Rear View Mirror

I'm a little weepy as I say goodbye to my pearly pink cell phone with the 775 area code. I feel uncomfortably vulnerable and slightly nostalgic. Its embarrassing. Blubbering over changing cell phone numbers is downright loony. I keep telling myself to get a grip.

Since the purchase of my new I phone 26 hours ago, I've been holding it all in. But I'm losing the capacity to hide from my own feelings, and silly as it felt at the moment, I let myself cry. The antidote for my heartache, it seems, is not gripping at all, but rather loosening the grip and relaxing into a soft landing.

Me and 775 have a significant relationship. I got married and was a wife for 10 years in 775ville. I owned a business, sat on community boards, owned a home and a beach house, threw elaborate dinner parties, collected art, drank fine wine, and wore designer clothes. It wasn't a bad gig. Until it all quit working. I started practing yoga to get relief; I was told it would calm me down. The practice, however, became my prince, and once kissed, I began to wake up. Soon thereafter I was splitsville. That was four years ago.

Holding on to my 775 number is a shallow way for me to conceptually stay tethered to pieces of my former life. There are things I miss. Things I could never get back. Things I took for granted. And it hurts. I believe there are layers in letting go and I'm in a zone where my heart is breaking. My practice of yoga is helping me go there with grace.

I know its time. I am ready to move on.

775 in my rear view mirror clears some much needed space in my life. It's about learning from the past and taking ownership of where I've landed and the woman I am becoming. Today is a step forward, with an 805 i Phone in one hand and a tissue to dry my well earned tears in the other.

Out of the blue, On to the IRS

In January 2004, during my first teacher training, while lying in savasana in a pool of my own sweat, it came ‘out of the blue’ that I should teach yoga for recovering alcoholics and addicts. I spent the next six months wondering if it was ethical to teach to this population if I would continue to drink. When the impossibility of that situation became clear, I dismissed the whole idea and forgot about it. Soon, it got too painful to be a drinker and teach yoga of any sort to any group. Not if you drank the way I drank. Eventually I quit teaching all together. Shortly thereafter I quit practicing. Within 3 months I found myself in an alcohol treatment center. One thing I know for sure. While it’s hard to follow your heart, its even harder to ignore it. 

In treatment I used to practice to Rodney Yee’s AM/PM,  and Seane Corn’s vinyasa videos. A few girls began to join me, and eventually we ditched the tapes all together and I lead them through a few practices. I guess you could say it was my first ‘yoga for recovery’ class. While at the facility, my idea of teaching yoga to recovering folks mysteriously resurfaced. The first time I vocalized my idea was in a ‘Dare to Dream’ workshop we did in the last week of treatment. I still have the piece of paper where I wrote down my dreams (which also included owning a dog!), and I remember how scared I was to say I want to teach yoga for recovery out loud to the group.

 It took a full year after treatment for me to even talk about it again. Once out of my mouth, however, its has been non-stop bop. Not that it has been easy, in fact, it has been a huge amount of work and has challenged me to my core. But I’ve enjoyed it so much, I’m scarcely bothered. Today I teach over 100 peeps a month ‘Yoga for Recovery’ and am amazed at the power of intention, the grace of God, and the great fortune of immense help from earth angels along the way.

 I’ve wrestled with the possibility of forming a non-profit to further this cause. The application process alone is a whopping amount of paper, a decent chunk of change, and not nearly as much fun as hanging on the mat. I think it is a minor miracle I’ve made my way through the application process. It is not necessarily the ‘work’, but rather my dark side that kept questioning and doubting the whole enchilada, ‘are you CRAZY?” This whole idea came ‘out of the blue’,  and into Yoga Blue, Inc? Girlfriend, you are dreaming.

 Its true. Yoga Blue is a dream come true. Tonight there is something quite magical about seeing this ‘out of the blue’ vision from 5 years ago all laid out in black and white in my 501c3 application to the IRS for non-profit status. I put the finishing touches on the application this afternoon and its ready to mail tomorrow morning. All the blood, sweat and tears it has taken, including getting sober, in this moment are worth it.  Even it if only makes it to the desk of some IRS agent with a big red stamp that says, ‘application denied’. As I sit this evening with a fluffy little dog at my feet, and my application for Yoga Blue, Inc. at my fingertips, tonight feels special. 

Tomorrow, another chapter begins. Yoga Blue sails off to the wild blue IRS yonder. I pray for the grace to let go of the outcome with every ounce of yoga I can muster.