Tag: Beginner’s yoga

On kids and their instincts

My dog and i were out for a walk the other morning on trails behind our house. To set a relevant context, I’ll tell you that dogs run free on those trails and that my dog, though poorly trained and maybe overly enthusiastic, is  small, weighing in at 18 pounds.

We don’t usually meet anyone out there in the morning, much to Rosie’s dismay. She loves to jump up on people’s legs, and she loves to terrorize other dogs.

On this morning, i saw a woman,  maybe 50 metres up ahead on the trail, doing something funny with her arms. We got a bit closer and saw there were kids behind her, and she was holding her arms out front towards us, and crossed, like she was fending off a vampire. She was crouching a bit, too, as though preparing for some martial art i don’t know about.

Is everything all right, i asked, as we got closer.

I’ve got little kids behind me, she said.

I see, i said.

The whole school is coming, she said. Hundreds of kids.

It took a minute to understand that she was afraid of Rosie being free around the kids. Which seemed ridiculous to me, and evidence our protect-us-from-all-harm-and-all-fun era.

I put Rose on the lead.

Here’s the bit that freaks me out.

We passed 200 kids, and perhaps 20 teachers, or teacher’s aids, or educational assistants (whatever they’re called now). Every time a group of ten or so passed us, the kids went wild, wanting to pat Rosie.  Of course they wanted to.  Open hearts like each other.

And the teachers, for the most part, did not want that. You could hear it in their voices. Danger!

But they didn’t say that. Instead, they said this: Leave the dog alone. The dog wants its privacy!

Another one: Don’t touch the dog! The dog is not a part of this walk!

Another one: Stay away from the dog! It doesn’t want your hands all over it!

Etc.

All the while, Rosie was straining at the lead, doing her best to be touched by them, putting on her cutest face and her cutest tail wag.

One kid, held back by her teacher, shouted, I WOULD REALLY LOVE TO KISS YOUR DOG! I could have kissed her for saying what she felt.

And i thought, oh, man, there is a lot of dishonesty going on here. I get the safety thing, and the liability thing, but pay attention to what that dishonesty is doing.

Don’t tell children that the dog wants privacy! That teaches kids that their excellent instincts are false and off the mark. Surely the purpose of any education is to teach us the opposite.

This went on for roughly 199 kids.

Trailing behind the entire group were a teacher and a boy with cerebral palsy. The boy adored Rosie. He got so vocal about it that i took her over to meet him. His teacher looked on cautiously and quietly. The boy stroked Rosie, and I wish you’d seen the change that came over his entire body. Although i didn’t understand every word that came out of his mouth,  it cracked my heart in half, it was so beautiful.

It’s not that i don’t feel for the teachers and their  responsibility. But i feel more for those kids.

Many thanks to that one teacher who let that one kid follow his instincts. You are a gem. And many thanks to all of those kids for showing me what it looks like to shout, I WOULD REALLY LOVE TO KISS YOUR DOG!

I hope we all find our way back to our instincts, one way or another. It feels as though everything important depends on it.

Thanks for the conversation,

kristin

 

Meditation For Real Life: Love

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“If we have no peace, it is because
we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

This quote is from Mother Teresa, apparently. I’m
wary when I read things attributed to her. I often wonder
whether it’s really Bob at the liquor store, who, in an inspired but insecure moment, came up with something really beautiful that he wanted to
share. Bob doesn’t trust himself, at the deepest level, to
be unique or worthy, to have quote-spreading clout, so he puts
MT’s name on the idea, hoping others will now enjoy it.

Bob might love meditating.

Why? Because with every sitting (or
standing or lolling, whatever your method is), we sink through layers
and layers of our “not enough”s: I’m not smart enough,
adventurous enough, wealthy enough, young or old enough, creative
enough, altruistic enough, quote-worthy enough, and on and on.

It’s not as though we look these
things in the face as we meditate, it’s more that they soften and
eventually slough off with practice. Over time we learn who we are not, and let that go.

At the same time, we sink gradually
into what we are: compassion, love, peace, hugeness, trust in what
is, connectedness with everything.

These sound like woo-woo lightweight
absurdities. They aren’t. They are the palpable realities that show
up when I sit still long enough to get beneath the chatter-brain.

And when I get down there, one of the
things that becomes evident is that capital-L-Love is what I’m made
of, what every cell is packed to bursting with, and when I open my
eyes, everyone and everything I see is made of the same stuff.
The world, including the parts of it I was not thrilled with before, becomes almost unbearably beautiful. At that point I
understand myself to be enormously worthy and “belonging to each
other” in the most intimate way imaginable.

In this context of Love (or whatever you call it when you get inside), two seemingly opposite things show up. The need to be unique or special disappears. The simplicity of who I am is enough. At the same time, Love moving through me, or me meeting the world with Love, matters more than ever.

That’s what I want to
tell Bob at the liquor store, or the grocery clerk who won’t meet
my eyes, or my friend who feels awkward about teaching yoga for the
first time. We’re gems, all of us.

Is this your experience with meditation?

Thanks to Mother Theresa or to Bob,
both of whom are worthy and indispensable. Thanks to yoga for being all about union of body, mind, and spirit.

Thanks, always, to you for the
conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Meditation And Real Life – One Minute of Peace

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It’s been a wonderful, crazy month: auditions, filming, workshops, a cabin in the middle of nowhere, speaking for beautiful groups of people, and heaps of yoga. It’s easy for meditation to get lost in the kafuffle.

My guess is that you live a similarly kafuffle-y life.

Luckily meditation is portable and can be done anywhere you can breathe. Meaning anywhere and everywhere until you’re dead. Perhaps you can do it then, too, for all I know, but I’ll speak from my own experience.

This morning I practiced in bed. Yesterday, on my living room floor. On the weekend I meditated in the middle of the night while visiting my dad, whose snoring shook my molars. I can do it anywhere.

I don’t have time, we say.

I can’t motivate myself, we say.

I can’t shut my mind up, we say.

Because I’m certain the planet becomes a healthier, more loving, peaceful place with every moment of personal peace, I’d like to suggest something to those of you who don’t yet adore meditation enough to spend huge whacks of time sitting cross legged:

You can start with one breath. The closed eye thing just makes it a little easier to detach from the attention-grabbing world around you. There’s no rule that says you have to close your eyes or sit cross legged or chant om. These are all options, like leather seats or the electric bum warmers that we have in our cars in Northern Ontario, but which may not suit you at all.

Pause for one minute, and focus on your breath, on the way it feels in your body, in your nose. When the thought that it’s fall and you’ll need those bum warmers soon enters your head, gently take your focus back to your breath. Do the same thing with the next 14 thoughts that enter your mind. No resistance at all. Thoughts are simply doing what thoughts do, but my decision for this minute is to return each time to my breath.

A one-minute meditation practice. By the end of that minute, you may not have found lasting peace, but you have turned yourself in its direction. The rest is practice, and every single one of us who owns a mat is familiar with practice.

I’d love to hear your thoughts, whether you’re new at this or you’re someone who has adored meditation for a lifetime.

Thanks to yoga for offering us so many ways to be present.

Thanks to you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr. Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the web, on Facebook, on Twitter, and on iTunes.

Meditation And Real Life – Training Thought

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A friend called this morning, unable to
tear her thoughts away from an all-consuming problem in her life. She
wanted help.

Here’s a reason to meditate.

Unable to tear her thoughts away? That’s a bit like me going to yoga class and being unable to tear myself out of Downward Dog.

This sounds ridiculous, but it isn’t.
I love Downward Dog. I find it easier than almost anything that comes
before or after during a class. It is a familiar place for me. I know
it isn’t best practice for me to stay in Downward Dog for the
entire day, but I’d do it for an entire class if I had my druthers.

Similarly, my friend knows that staying
with lousy thoughts is an easy, seductive rut but isn’t good for
her. She comes back to the painful story over and over like an
obsessive-compulsive wound-picker who would love nothing better than
to be free of herself.

Somehow, we expect to be able to
control our bodies – time to brush my teeth (good hands!), time to
open the door (good wrist action!), time to move out of Downward Dog
(eyes ahead and jump forward) – but not our thoughts. “I can’t
help thinking about this,” we say.

But we can. In fact, the moment I
notice myself thinking an unwanted thought, I can make a choice to
move my thoughts somewhere else, somewhere more loving, more joyous.
If my thoughts return to lousy, shmucky, destructive places, I make
the choice again. I make that choice 570 times a day if I need to.

This is a practice, just like our yoga
on the mat is a practice. Some days I’ll be a genius with it, some
days I won’t. Such is humanhood. But the practice works.

Meditation is this practice. It is the
practice of letting go of my sticky attachment to thoughts.

Something to contemplate next time I am drawn to fear or worry, next time I judge myself, or you, or my life.

And just another reason to adore
meditation.

Thanks to yoga and to meditation’s
central place in yoga. I’m so grateful for both.

I’m also grateful to you for being
here. Thank you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Meditation And Real Life – Training Thought

YJROMwoman.jpg

A friend called this morning, unable to
tear her thoughts away from an all-consuming problem in her life. She
wanted help.

Here’s a reason to meditate.

Unable to tear her thoughts away? That’s a bit like me going to yoga class and being unable to tear myself out of Downward Dog.

This sounds ridiculous, but it isn’t.
I love Downward Dog. I find it easier than almost anything that comes
before or after during a class. It is a familiar place for me. I know
it isn’t best practice for me to stay in Downward Dog for the
entire day, but I’d do it for an entire class if I had my druthers.

Similarly, my friend knows that staying
with lousy thoughts is an easy, seductive rut but isn’t good for
her. She comes back to the painful story over and over like an
obsessive-compulsive wound-picker who would love nothing better than
to be free of herself.

Somehow, we expect to be able to
control our bodies – time to brush my teeth (good hands!), time to
open the door (good wrist action!), time to move out of Downward Dog
(eyes ahead and jump forward) – but not our thoughts. “I can’t
help thinking about this,” we say.

But we can. In fact, the moment I
notice myself thinking an unwanted thought, I can make a choice to
move my thoughts somewhere else, somewhere more loving, more joyous.
If my thoughts return to lousy, shmucky, destructive places, I make
the choice again. I make that choice 570 times a day if I need to.

This is a practice, just like our yoga
on the mat is a practice. Some days I’ll be a genius with it, some
days I won’t. Such is humanhood. But the practice works.

Meditation is this practice. It is the
practice of letting go of my sticky attachment to thoughts.

Something to contemplate next time I am drawn to fear or worry, next time I judge myself, or you, or my life.

And just another reason to adore
meditation.

Thanks to yoga and to meditation’s
central place in yoga. I’m so grateful for both.

I’m also grateful to you for being
here. Thank you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Why Meditate, Take 1

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Many of you do it already. Because I’m an enormous fan of meditation, I’m going to compile a list of whys over the next week or so. Please add your own, knowing that everyone who begins meditating contributes to a more conscious, loving planet.

  1. You can do it anywhere you can breathe. Over the last month I have meditated in my car (in three cities), in bathrooms (in three cities), at our university, in a hospital, in a mall, in a hotel room, in my bed, in someone else’s bed (it’s not like it sounds), with my lovely man, by myself, while sitting, standing, and lying down, eyes open, and eyes closed. What else is so portable?

  2. The physical practice of yoga is more likely to become deeper than physical when we add meditation. And yoga, in my humble but opinionated opinion, is not merely a sport.

  3. I don’t know who I am until I meditate. Or I don’t remember who I am. This sounds like hyperbole. It isn’t. Too often, my focus is on what I’m doing today, rather than who is doing it. Why does this matter? Because who I am is far more stable, centered, and peaceful than my to-do list, which can look like an attention-deficit-stream-of-unconsciousness nightmare. I’d rather be grounded in the peaceful me.

  4. I’m homesick when I don’t meditate. I’ve said this one before, but it’s so worth repeating. What we’re doing by meditating is remembering home. The truth is we are home, we are loving, peaceful, whole people. But we have these attention-grabbing rodent brains doing their best to make us forget that.

That’s it for today. More next time. I’d love to hear the reasons you meditate, or the reasons you find yourself unable to start. Both will create great conversation.

Thanks to yoga for being so much more than moving on a mat.

Thanks to you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr. Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the web, on Facebook, on Twitter, and on iTunes.

Yoga Laughs

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Things that make me laugh:

  1. The way we all think our form of
    yoga is the best yoga ever. I am the worst culprit that ever lived.
    Kundalini rules!

  2. The way I’m afraid to go back to
    an old class, try a new class, go to a friend’s class, have a new
    teacher show up in my class. For god’s sake, I’m anxious when I
    try a new DVD.

  3. The way a small part of me
    fantasizes that the right mat or the right yoga pants might improve
    my Handstand/Headstand/Crow/Forward Lunge/Camel. No luck so far.

  4. The inside voice that says, “I
    can’t do it, I can’t do it.” That voice has no imagination.
    She’s a one-liner. At least I’m laughing at her now.

  5. The way a yoga practice takes
    60-90 minutes, but yoga thinking, wondering, and dreaming consumes
    about 50 percent of my head space some days.

  6. The way I can’t wait to practice
    and then can’t wait for each pose to end sometimes. Make up your
    mind, honey.

  7. The way I feel. Honestly, I feel
    fantastic these days, so fantastic that it makes me laugh.

    I’d love to hear your yoga laughs.

Thanks to yoga for the humor. Thanks to my brother Adam, a yogi with a flexible face. Thanks to
you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

I Am More Than This

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Warning: We are all actors.

Acting in theatre is like growing a
yoga practice. You do it with wonderful people. Some of it is
challenging, most of it is fun. There are a lot of laughs.
All the while, a character and a life story grow. Try it. You’d
love it.

If you come from theatre, acting for
film is crazy.

My agent, who calls me Christian (this
is not encouraging), sent me to a film audition this week. He prefaced
the event by telling me how unlikely it was that I’d get the role
of Lawyer in the movie. Bizillions of other actors auditioning for a
one-paragraph part, he said.

Here’s how it goes. I take half a day
to do hair, makeup, and what I hope are lawyerlike jeans and a jacket.
By noon I don’t recognize myself. I memorize the lines and do my
best to feel like a lawyer.

I arrive at the hotel where the screen
tests are being done. I see 10 other women, all 15 years
younger and beautiful, all dressed in navy suits and stilettos, all
of whom make me feel older than my grandmother (who’s been dead for 25 years) and
profoundly un-lawyerly.

I do a two-minute screen test on camera
during which no one in the room makes eye contact, and I go home,
laughing nervously, saying, that’s the end of the big film career.

Here’s the thing: I’ll bet we all
have days when we’re doing things that are beyond comfortable. New
things, difficult things, potentially humiliating or embarrassing
things. We take risks, all of us, following persistent, tickly
instincts that say, “Try this. Come on, just try.”

I’m a huge fan of risk, of trying new
things. It keeps me alive and I want to be ALIVE while I’m alive,
if you know what I mean.

What I need, in order to take risks, is
something to go home to that pats me on the back. Something that
says, “Good for you, good for you.” Something that assures me that I am
more than the risks I take, more than my successes and failures.

That something at home is yoga. As soon
as I walk in the door, I change clothes, and in full fake lawyer
makeup and hair, begin a good, thorough practice that brings me
home to the real me.

So. I’m grateful for yoga for
creating a comfort place from which I can leap a little higher and a
little more often. (This time, miraculously, I got the part. I’ll
let you know how it goes.)

Has yoga changed your approach to
confidence, risk-taking, and comfort?

Thanks to you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Yoga Challenges

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During
one of this summer’s visits to a friend’s cottage, I brought a
stack of yoga DVDs. We did two classes each day for four days. One of
my friends–I’ll keep her anonymous for reasons that will become
obvious before the end of this sentence–happily reported that she
began pooping four to five times a day by the time we hit day two.
This pooping continued through to the end of day four. She was
thrilled and radiant.

This
makes me wonder about yoga challenges. When I Google “yoga
challenge,” I see 21-day, 30-day, 35-day, and 40-day versions, all of which
promise fabulous benefits, particularly if you throw in meditation, a
vegetarian or vegan or raw diet, gallons of water, and throw out
caffeine, sugar, and chips, I suppose. (Kill me now, why don’t
you, says a significant chunk of my ego.)

I
can’t speak for the dietary changes, but it occurs to me that I’ve
been doing y
oga daily for the last 90 days or so, since the onset
of my Kundalini infatuation. Here are some observations:

1.
I’m glad it happened without me labeling it a challenge at the
onset. There’s a chance that a formal commitment would have whipped
up my resistance. I’d like get beyond this kind of resistance.

2.
I adore it every day, often twice each day.

3.
No extra pooping for me, perhaps because my GI tract was happy
already.

4.
There are days when I begin with less energy than I’m used to. On
these
days I learn something about how my sleep is affected by my
lovely man’s snoring and the smacking of my dog’s lips all night
long. I learn about what food depletes my energy and what food
restores me. I learn about the effect of my attitude and mood on my
energy levels. Mostly, I learn that I still feel far better within
minutes of beginning practice. This learning has been invaluable.

5.
Practice has become a solid habit. I don’t question whether I’ll
practice, only when.

6.
I think daily practice is increasing my enjoyment of meditation. This one was
unexpected. My meditation feels deeper and more blissful most days.

That’s
it for me. I’d love to know whether you’ve done one of these
challenges and how you felt it changed you or your practice. Was
it significantly different than doing three days a week? Did it help you establish
a home practice? Did you lose your taste for chips altogether? So many questions.

By the way, Yoga Journal has a 7-day Ayurvedic Fall Detox challenge beginning Sept. 12th. Good timing?

Thanks
to yoga for presenting all kinds of
challenges. Thanks
to you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Learning What I’m Not

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“Don’t
pretend yourself beyond your evolution.” Byron Katie

I
thought by now I’d be calling all poses by their Sanskrit names. I
thought I’d be vegan, dressed in earthy-bushy-leafy colors and
hemp cloth, sprouting sprouts, and drinking water from my own well.

I’ve
been at this yoga practice for almost two years, and my current
thought is that it ain’t gonna happen.

Sometimes
you approach what you are by learning what you aren’t.

As
far as I can tell, I am not a disciple, one of the solemnly
eight-branch earnest. I do not see yoga as the one and only path for
all. I’m not interested in quoting the sutras the way others quote
the Bible or any other religious text as an ultimate authority.
Although I’m impressed by yoga’s longevity, I feel no obligation
to do it the way it was done 2,000 years ago.

Nor
am I one of the Lululemon movement, on a modern marketing train, doing some
miraculous hybrid of the old and the capitalist/activist new. Kudos
to them for being the reason so many people my kids’ age will love
yoga. And for making so many bums look good in yoga pants. Not my thing, so far.

Where
am I, then? So far, it’s all about feeling great.
I like yoga because it feels deliriously good, inside and out. My greatest belief is that we should all pursue whatever makes us feel this good.

I
love what makes me feel at home in my body and on the planet. I love
feeling strong and increasingly peaceful. I love meeting myself
during practice every day. I love following the kind of practice that
makes me feel most alive.

I
suspect, bottom line, that yoga is the best vehicle for taking me where I’ve been
headed all my life anyway.

This
is not to disparage yoga in any way. Rather, I’m wary of setting
yoga up as the be-all and end-all, the great savior. I’m not
interested in worshiping yoga. I’m interested in questioning her, learning from her, spending time hanging out with her. I’m interested in her
companionship.

So
that’s where I am. Yoga as friend.

I’d
love to hear your thoughts about what you are and what you aren’t. About where yoga fits in your life at this point.

Thanks
to yoga for being so roomy, so multifaceted, and so generous.

Thanks
to you for the conversation,

kristin

Dr.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (About All
Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on the
web,
on
Facebook,
on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.