Doot-doot-doo-doooooooo....

(that was "here comes the bride", in case you don't read type-humming)

Alright, ladies and gentlemen of Shanti Town...it's time.  I am officially signing off until after my nuptials and post-nuptial-vacation (otherwise known as a honeymoon).  I can't fake it anymore...I have NOTHING else on my mind.  So, it's really better if I start the blog-cation now, and not keep anyone clicking around any longer.

I hope that while I'm away you'll check out this book, maybe amuse yourself at this amazing blog, maybe catch up on some episodes of any of my three favorite podcasts.  If I'm really lucky you'll hang out in my archives and catch up on some Shanti Town's of the past...but whatever you do, I hope you'll still be here when I get back.

I'm so touched that any of you are here and reading and commenting in the first place...it means so much to me, and I promise that when I return there will be more posting.  You'll have to let me know if the writing gets better or worse once I'm just another married lady!

I'm so excited, I can barely stand it.  I promise to share stories and pictures and all kinds of things upon my return.

Until then...namaste, y'all.

xoxo
YogaLia

Missive from Hawaii #2, Me vs. Nature...Nature Wins

Our first free day on the Big Island, we took our rented jeep and headed out to the Waipi'o Valley...a few locals had boasted of it's excellent hiking and waterfalls, and we were eager to check "bathe in tropical waterfall" off our Hawaii to-do list. 

The first half of the drive was glorious...it was hot enough to be a little uncomfortable in the standing air, but with the wind whipping around through the open jeep well, the sunnier the better.  We had both left coats and sneakers behind and replaced them with shorts and t-shirts (a tank-top for me) and we packed enough water for what was sure to be a sweaty but glorious hike.

When you're in Hawaii, you don't tend to do things like check the weather report, or at least, we didn't.  And we didn't think to find out how and if the weather changes from one part of the island to another (hint: it does. A lot.).  And lastly, and this is the most embarrassing, maybe...we didn't think to link in our minds during preparation for the day, rainforest and um...rain.

You sense where I'm going with this?

Cut to, a few miles later, the two of us scrambling around under the vague cover of a Chevron station overhang, replacing the convertible top on the jeep in record time, me shivering in my short-shorts and sandals.  After successfully un-convertiblizing the convertible, we filled ourselves up with hot coffee and the blast of the jeep heater and continued on our way.  I hoped that the rain would pass...after all, this is Hawaii!!

We didn't reach our destination for another hour or two, as a "short-cut" I spotted on the map turned into a treacherous (but beautiful) 4-wheel-drive adventure through the backroads of the Big Island, but when we did finally get there, you guessed it...it was still raining.

There is no way into the Waipi'o Valley unless you are willing (and dressed) to hike down a steep trail onto the black sand beaches below, or, if you're a more experienced off-roader, 4WD vehicles are allowed down an equally steep road.  We decided not to risk it in the rain, and instead I wrapped myself in a beach blanket and, after parking nearby, we walked out to the Waipi'o Valley lookout, to...look out.

In the rain and mist and chill, the valley could not have been more beautiful.  Giant craggy cliffs cut into the ocean below in long fingers.  A single waterfall could be seen, even from a distance, as a ribbon of white water crashing its way down the center of one of the outcroppings, and the water on the beaches below looked rough and wild.  The valley itself is nearly untouched, just a symphony of green upon green, and with the sheen of mist covering it, it looked downright primeval. 

And as we stood there, me wrapped in our store-bought blue and white striped beach blanket, both of us cold and wet and wearing the general surprise of our day, I thought to myself...

Nature knows what the hell it's doing.

And there is not a chance that I, with my singular mind and ten fingers and toes could EVER come close to making something this beautiful. So, why oh why do I (do we) spend so much time trying to control all the forces of my life, when OBVIOUSLY, if left to it's own devices, nature can figure this shit out.  I mean seriously, look at this place!  And I can bet that whatever it comes up with...whatever happens when the natural expression of elements--wind and water and stone and awesomeness (those are my four official elements)--are allowed to just do their thing, you can bet it's going to be a whole heck of a lot better than whatever I can do with my frantic little mind.

I mean, maybe in a moment of inspiration I could mimic it, or at least describe it really, really well, that seems to be what artists are all trying to do, anyhow.  But I might as well be making velvet paintings of cats (metaphorically speaking)...because what's inspiration anyhow if not just a brief window of time where I have gotten out of my own way and let nature take the reigns?

So, even though it was cold and the rain was beginning to soak my poor beach blanket...I didn't want to leave.  I didn't want to get back into my small car and the even smaller space of my thinking mind.  I just wanted to stay there and watch the water pound the black sand and let the reminder pound against the inside of my own chest...the reminder that sounds a little like: for god's sake, let someone else be in charge.  And also like:

Give up, give up, give up...
Let go, let go, let go...

Missive from Hawaii #1

Okay, yes I'm about to do the nerdiest thing ever and use the ocean in a metaphor about consciousness. Oh my god, how many times have I heard that?! I know for sure I have a permanent image of Dr. Wayne Dyer paddling around in the ocean and musing on "presence"... it's been done, people, it's been done for sure.

Maybe it's because I'm in the land of Hawaiian shirts and mai-tais...on an island that actually feels like it was built for the pleasure of it's visitors...but, lots of stuff that would otherwise feel cliche, suddenly feels okay. So. Onward with the ocean metaphors!

Ahem.

On our second day here, wilted from the sun and a little bummed out by our shag-carpeted hotel room (which we later grew to love...not the carpet, but the hotel) we took a recommend for a great beach and took a detour there for an early-afternoon swim. Kua Bay. Down a dirt road, water nearly fluorescent blue, and waves to salivate over...we were stripped down and in the water within minutes of arriving.

The waves close to shore were rough, you could barely keep your footing. But just a bit further out there was a kind of calm, you could ride the smooth humps of the waves before they broke, and this is where we waited, floating, watching for a wave strong enough to catch us and hurl us back to shore.

It was a little scary, this position out by all the boogie boarders. I love the ocean, love waves even more, but am not the strongest swimmer, and can't even use a neti pot because the feeling of water up my nose is so deeply upsetting to me, so the pummeling we got from missed or ill-timed wave catching sort of shook me up.

However, the thrill of a good ride was addictive, so in and out we went, paddling past the break and then being carried (sometimes violently) back in. And, as is the way with these things, the waiting for the waves became the longest and (for me at least) most profound part of the adventure.

It didn't take long to begin learning how to read the waves. This one will be too small, this one will break too late, this one is terrifying so I think I'll skip it oh my god I can't skip it I'm going to have to oh shit...PADDLE!!!!

The wave is coming...and that is the way of things.  The wave has all this force behind it and if I'm not already diving under to let it pass, then I sure as hell better move with it, or I am going to get knocked on my ass. Or worse.

And as I sat there, waiting for waves, trying to read them, scared and thrilled, I thought about the movement of my own life (here it comes...). I thought about the current of progress and of growth--how strong it is, and I thought about how sometimes I see that wave coming and I get frightened. And instead of just going with it, or diving beneath the surface to allow its passage, I just stand there. Unmoving. And in those moments the crest catches me and knocks me under, fills my nose and mouth with sea water and makes me feel like I might drown. And how after too many of those I'm just going to want to sit on the sand...take myself out of the game completely. And then I'm safe, but also far from the thrill of the ride.

The natural majesty of a place like Hawaii, particularly of the ocean, does make a body feel that nature really knows what it's doing. It has a prowess and a purpose that one would be best served to just get out of the way of, and these encounters with the waves just brought that fact home. I am not a wave maker, after all, I am a wave rider. And if I do nothing else in this life other than learn how to tell the difference between a wave I should ride and one I should dive under, and most of all learn to never ever stop and stand in the path of a wave already making its way, then I think will have done something right.

Vacation Bound...

Oh, Shanti-towners, I know I know.  I've been such a slowed down blogger the last several days.  Blame wedding planning!  Blame the opening of Yogala (which was a HUGE success, by the way)...but now, alas, I'm off to paradise.  It's a tough life, but I'm heading to Hawaii tomorrow morning with my mister and I'll be back at the end of the week.   We're off to celebrate the nuptials of my future sister and brother-in-law.

Until then...lots of love!


-YogaLia

Things Which Pull at Other Things...

I have just returned from an extended family vacation, and while I felt focused and clear nearly the whole time I was away, I was woken this morning by a racing mind. Possibly due to the fact that I had a big meeting scheduled for this afternoon and have been ramping myself up for it all week. Possibly due to the book on Focus which I was devouring on the plane (devouring despite the warning from the small voice inside me that said perhaps reading a book which encourages me, the queen of to-do lists, to make a bunch more to-do lists might not be the best course of action) -- that could have been part of it.

The feeling was so distinct upon waking that I thought it must be due in part to some sort of dream from the night before, but the only thing I could remember dreaming about had something to do with leaping off a building into a mountain of books.

(Hmm...)

Anyhow, I spent much of the morning sort of ambling from one half-cocked task to the next before learning that my meeting scheduled for this afternoon is now postponed a week, and sinking into a brief "what now" paralysis.

That the meeting was about my actor life and that my feeling of distress all morning had been about the existence (or non-existence, depending on my mood) thereof, did not help my "focus" in the least. Alone in the apartment, the sun shining outside, utterly incapable of choosing from the myriad of things I "ought" to be doing in order to find the one perfect thing I "should" do, I wandered from computer to couch, the poster-child for unproductivity. The only thing I really wanted to do, faced with a free afternoon, was go to a yoga class, but folks, I can NOT go to a yoga class, because I, being the grand show-off-y too-proud-to-say-ouch girl that I am, I royally screwed up my rotater cuff over the weekend while dangling from a swing-set at an ocean-side resort.

"Now, Lia," you might be saying "that sounds pretty dramatic. Were you being held hostage by fisher-people when this happened?"

No. No, I was not being held hostage by fisher-people.

"Well, were you trying to rescue a small child who had become entangled in the swing-set and the only way you could rescue him or her was to swing like a monkey to his or her rescue?"

No. No, there was no child-rescuing.

"Then what on earth were you doing?"

So....now, don't laugh. My brother, martial-artist/personal-trainer/all around incredibly fit exercise guru that he is, was demonstrating this new device called the TRX Suspension Trainer, which is essentially composed of two hand/footholds, a caribiener, and some spandex-y straps. He swears by it, my brother, and I took one look at the thing and immediately began thinking of ways in which I might be able to go upside-down in it, so I was all for participating in said demonstration.

Small bit of history: my brother has been a martial artist since he was 9, and for that long and longer he has loved nothing more than to "try out" things on his little sister. I will leave out the story of him putting a paper bag over my head and punching me through it to see how close he could get to my nose without actually hitting me (he failed), but I will say that I should know better! My brother is like in 10,000,000 x better shape than I am and as much as I would like to be able to do everything that he can do...I. Can. Not.

Anyhoooo...he hooked the ole' TRX up to the swing sets outside the cabin where my family and I were staying for the weekend, strapped me into it, and began to show me all the different ways in which a body can be thoroughly stretched and strengthened on the system.

(Side Note: This thing ROCKS! It really is kind of mind-blowingly effective, you can feel it right away, and I really want to get one. As soon as I heal.)

So, I'm happily working my little patootie off...performing in front of the audience of my family, and even though I'm feeling fatigued, there is no way that I am going to give up before the end of the demo. That would just be too embarrassing. Not warmed up in the least? No problem! Feeling a little nervous about the small twinge that's been going on in my shoulder during yoga class the past couple weeks? Fuggidaboutit!

And forget about it I did, until, towards the end of the demo when I had moved on to the exercises where my feet were suspended in the straps and I was doing a combination of push-ups and crunches supported on my hands, when I landed a little weird on my right shoulder and felt a pretty excruciating pain which I knew (having experienced pain like it in the past) was my rotater-cuff.

"Well, gosh, what did everyone say when you stopped and told them you couldn't do anymore because you'd just hurt yourself?"

Um...

"You must have at least STOPPED, right, even if you didn't admit that you'd hurt yourself like a big show-off-y bonehead?"

Um...

!!!!!!

I mean seriously! You should just stop reading this blog right now, for good. You should honestly just be like, you know what, this girl sounds like sort of a bonehead and I think that maybe I should look for sources of yogic-ly-inspired insight elsewhere, seeing as how she has too much pride to even end a backyard demo of a piece of fitness equipment she's never tried before when there's no one around to be embarrassed in front of but her OWN FAMILY!

I won't hold it against you, I promise.

In my own defense, the excruciating part of the pain sort of stopped after a second and I even thought, oh...maybe I just sort of knocked something back into place. That's right. Not only did I not stop to make sure I didn't do any damage, I convinced myself that maybe I had done something GOOD for my shoulder and the pain was just some last vestige, some cork on my shoulder's full range of motion...like popping open a bottle of champagne.

Cut to hours later, after having completed the demo AND done some yoga AND swung around a 45 lb. kettle bell...and my shoulder is VERY very unhappy. It is making me wince with pain every time I move it in any kind of rotation and I am reduced to slathering myself with muscle cream and popping my brothers Arnica pills every few hours. Thank god he travels with all that stuff.

It's been several days now, and though my shoulder is definitely feeling better, it is not anywhere near ready for a yoga class...which extends my absence from classes to over a week...which makes me feel sort of cranky and deprived, and my larger self keeps annoyingly reminding me that THIS is why our injuries are our greatest teachers. It's not just because they teach us how to do things correctly in future, so as not to continue to injure ourselves, but, as is so often the case for me...they teach us how to slow down, how to be more honest about where we actually are, and to not try to do too much too fast.

I am trying to take that in this morning, as I race around making to-do lists, punctuated by bouts of staring out the window trying to lock in on that one thing that is finally going to help me break through some kind of stalemate. As if I can will the universe into providing me with the things that I want, if only I try hard enough. I am trying to remember what it felt like to wrench my shoulder all because I was moving too fast--the embarrassment of it, the price I am paying now--and that if I had only taken a moment to really ask myself what was right for me, I might have known to hold back, to take it easy, to go one step at a time. I can't help but think that the same thing happens in my own life when I am racing around, trying to get to the finish line or get it all accomplished right away--not only do I not get it all done, I can actually end up setting myself back while I recover from whatever injury I may have incurred. Physical or otherwise.

Please be ashamed of me, dear readers, for being a giant goober and hurting myself, and please, so you don't end up like me, take a minute, if you're feeling rushed...if you're feeling that someone out there needs you to prove that you're good enough...if you have left yourself in order to pursue some imaginary trophy out there in front of you...take a moment. Breathe. Ask yourself--is this a good idea? Am I ready for this? Do I NEED to do this right now? And if I rush right on ahead without taking the time to ask these questions, am I possibly going to end up having to bowl left-handed when I take my nephews to the arcade because my right shoulder feels like it's made of glass whenever I move my arm?

Save yourselves! Do it for me!

Yours in Recovery,
YogaLia

3 Ways of Practice

I am returned from my trip!

I did not write while there...my apologies. But, I am delighted to see that I have new readers here in Shanti Town in the meantime...welcome! I love you! (Seriously. I love you.)

My practice was minimal while away...a few stolen moments in the mornings at P.'s parents house, a beautiful vigorous practice on the cold wet deck of a shared house on the Oregon Coast (thank you, Heidi), and another on a different deck, this one shaded with fat green trees, watched by a white cat with wide eyes, in a beautiful house in Seattle. This last practice may have been my favorite...the air was warm but full of breezes, music quietly seeped from the outdoor speakers, and I felt--on the warm plank wood of the deck--that I was both indoors and out, and with P. and Jos working just on the other side of the windows, both solitary and with company (this, like taking a nap in the middle of the day when someone else is home and awake) being one of my favorite kinds of feelings...and every time I bent backwards, I could look up to see the sky covered with trees...

The trip, like these three practices, was broken into three major parts: A week at P's parents house in Eugene (where I stole bits of practice before the house was awake), several days on the Oregon coast (where Heidi and I practiced in the damp air of the morning), and our last week in Seattle (where I did backbends on the deck in Seattle with its fat cat and fat trees)...and I have to wonder if the practice matched the place...?

Perhaps it is right that the quiet solitude and spaciousness of the house in Eugene--itself standing solitary amidst acres of farmland, down a long dusty road to the peace of it--inspired a silent solitary practice, stolen on the gray rug that carpeted our bedroom. I remember how much my back ached that first day when I bent forward into a gentle seated practice, how I could feel all the muscles around all my vertebrae begin to stretch and call out, and how much patience I felt I had for my practice...the space to lean forward and rest my head in the cups of my turned out ankles...bereft of my usual need to push and move and accomplish, I spent a good portion of an hour rippling the waves of my aching back. And so it was at the house, where every morning P and I watched birds gather in the grass as we drank our coffee, and the buzz of New York slipped from our ears and the backs of our shoulders, a little more each day, as we took walks and ate long lunches and generally reee-laxed.

Perhaps it is right that on the coast--where for most days the sky was luminous gray and the air so cold both P and I had to go to the local outlet store and purchase jackets, where we were suddenly away from the solitude of the country and in the arms and eyes and conversations of a large group of friends, all gathered in pending celebration--that my practice became not just shared, but spoken aloud, as I led a chilly (but soon vigorous warm) practice on spread-out beach towels on the deck of our temporary coastal home. The addition of another yogi made my practice come alive in a way that I find difficult to achieve when practicing on my own. I wanted it to be good, damnnit! And we sweated and moved and bent and twisted and inverted, so well my legs quivered after with the exertion of it. (What is it about company, that can so easily obliterate distractions?)

And perhaps also it was right that in Seattle--the place of my youth and late-youth (heh), a place which I feel I am rediscovering, now as an adult, and which also swells with memories and nostalgia and my own longing to live in a place which is beautiful--that I practiced in a new house in a new neighborhood, but in a city I know so well, outside beneath the trees, with my love just on the other side of a window, and the smells of Lake Washington spilling over the dry leaves around my feet, and that the trees and the height and the space of the deck forced a kind of improvisation to my practice, and that the past, after so many days of family and friends and childhood neighborhoods, was deeply present, but also, after the revelry of a much-anticipated wedding and the silent reclamation of a city I have long loved, and, more importantly, the appearance of a Self--more grown, more solid, more flexible--in all these places of old, meant that the future was there with me as well.

The Space I Am In...

Tomorrow morning I leave for a 2 week + vacation to visit family and friends in the West. I am over the moon about getting out of New York...watching people jostle each other through the doors on the subway this morning (as if we won't all get on, eventually) made me so grateful for the impending break.

I'm not certain how my practice will fall out while I'm gone. I went to class early this morning, so as to be limber for a long day of travel on the 'morrow. I am being strongly encouraged not to bring my yoga mat (space and all), but I'm undecided. Rolling it out in class this morning I was struck with what I am often struck with when rolling out my beautiful (now ragged) orange rubber mat--that it is such a clean square space to hold my practice. I have sweated and prayed and wondered and fallen and cried and struggled so many hours on that mat, in that particular 72" of space--it's like carrying a little temple around on my back. And on this vacation, where we will be in many spaces and with much family and where quiet time with my body and my breath will be perhaps hard to eek out, I might need my ratty orange temple, in order to carve out space for myself in all these foreign places.

It is also, I realize, the only thing which posesses as intimate a knowledge of my practice as I do. I love all its funny sweat marks and pock-marks and where my feet have worn down the rubber to its fibers. I want to use it until I can see the floor through it, and then I might have to hang it on my wall or something (P. would love that!)...I am so grateful for this rectangle of rubber. I mean really I am so grateful for this incredible versatile body and for Laughing Lotus which is my home away from home and for the amazing teachers who keep coming into my life and for all the hope of striving for an easier mind, but ALSO I am grateful for this strip of textile that I can role up and shove on shelves and in bags and lug around with me and lay down ANYWHERE and make a yoga studio of it.

That's it. I'm decided. It's coming with me.