Tag: meditation humor

‘Tis The Season

“Are you ready for Christmas?”

What the hell does that mean?

What a season. Sure, we sing Christmas tunes. And things sparkle. For the religious, there’s the whole Jesus thing, which is probably satisfying.

But. Over twenty years in a health care practice, I saw this as a season of huge stress.

The Joy bar, if you can imagine one, is raised. You’re supposed to feel jolly, bursting with good will, eager to be with your loved ones (even the drunken aunts and the bigoted, pedophiliac, shoplifting, arsonist, B&E in-laws), and, most of all, willing to shop for all of the above. There’s nothing like an elevated expectation of joy to make you feel less joyous, to make you feel like a Scrooge-y underachiever in the realm of happiness.

Families get together, which is wonderful and not. Combined families do the absurd and hugely complicated Cirque du Soleil thing in order to be at all twelve turkey dinners around the country, stuffed to the resentful, guilty wishbone by the end of it all.

People spend themselves into debt that amounts to carrying a fat, loaded sleigh for the rest of the winter.

I drive by the mall, stare at four bizillion cars in the parking lot, and head to the library instead. I’ve done this twice in the last week. I’ll be well read, if not “ready” at all, by Christmas.

So what does it mean to be “ready” for Christmas?

Here’s my checklist:

1. Am I listening to my own values? (Do I even know what my values are?)

2. Am I doing what makes me happiest or am I just doing my best not to offend my mother, my father, my lover, my husband (same thing in some cases, but not for everybody this Christmas – talk about Cirque du Soleil stress), my kids, my in-laws, the guy who delivers the mail, every starving kid in Africa who will die because i just wasted $20 on a hat that no one will wear, the clerk who has asked me 600 times to donate an extra dollar to a cause I have no interest in?

3. Am I allowing my kids and lovely man to make their own decisions about what makes them happy (or am I pressuring the hell out of them to do what I want)?

4. Am I finding time every day to remember who I am? To breathe and be sane? To remember that Love is the Point?

Ahhhhh, that’s it.

The moment I remember that Love is the Point, I’m ready.

Are you ready? What’s the point for you? And is it easy for you to remember your own point this season? I’d love to hear.

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 – 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.

Why Meditate? Got a Grudge?

I had a grudge going this week. Full-out, personal, justified, thorny, supported by anyone to whom i presented my case, consuming, blood-pressure-raising, unattractive yet perversely seductive, impossible to let go, and exhausting.

That’s one truth.

Here’s another. I know that a week from now i’ll feel differently. In fact, if i don’t feel differently a week from now, if i haven’t moved past this, i’ll have no interest in living with myself.

That’s a funny thing about grudges. You’re okay with them in the moment. They feel good in some awful sliver-in-your-finger way, but jesus murphy, you don’t want to identify yourself as a grudge holder, you don’t want to be one of those semi-permanent bitter folk. (I picture rollers in stringy hair, gnarly knuckes, a wrinkled face under fluorescent factory lights, and cigarette smoke curling up from a thin, bitter mouth. Evil Bette Davis eyes. This could be me, i know it could.)

This is why i meditate today. In order to remind myself that who i am is deeper than a grudge, deeper than who’s to blame, deeper than the temptation to judge. Deeper than all the stuff I get right and all of the stuff I get wrong. Deeper than success and failure. Deeper than most of what goes on all day long.

Who i really am hums with a different crowd: with love, peace, good will, compassion, beauty everywhere i look, and peace.

When i don’t meditate, i fight my grudges.

When i do meditate, i remember who i am and wrap my grudges in love until they look like love inside and out.

Is that reason enough to meditate? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Thanks for the conversation,

kristin

"everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes"

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I grew up on ee cummings, the American poet. Neither of my parents is a fan, as far as I know, but we had collections of poetry along with Shakespeare and all kinds of wonderful literature on the bookshelves when I was a kid. That’s where ee and I met and fell in love.

ee cummings messed with punctuation, syntax, grammar, and the use of capital letters.Something in me was enormously attracted to that. It’s the same thing that attracted me to yoga.

I don’t love being told what to do. I like discovering my own path in my own way. cummings broke all kinds of rules with language and found his own path.

I adore the fact that in yoga I am encouraged to explore so many different streams — Ashtanga, Anusara, Bhakti, Bikram (and those are just the A’s and B’s!) — and create my own practice any way I want.

I adore the feeling of humble i-am-not-separate-from-you-ness that comes from using a lower case i. (It is hell to do this using a computer, which insists on capitalizing me.)

I adore the humbleness that comes from stepping on my mat every morning, the humbleness I feel in Downward Dog, the humbleness I feel when putting hands to heart.

Even more, I adore the humbleness of seeking truth rather than capital-K-Knowing, capital-O-Owning truth. I feel certain yoga is more about seeking and experiencing than about dictatorial ownership of truth, love, freedom, or wholeness.

may my mind stroll about hungry

and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

That’s ee. Makes me think he was a yogi and that we’re all poets on the mat. Do you feel that way?

Thanks to the i-am-not-separate-from-you-ness of yoga. 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, and on Twitter, and on iTunes.

And The World Comes Crashing In

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Mornings are not what they were. My
lovely man has begun his own morning practice of yoga and meditation. I
should be happy for him. I’m not. The world was mine at 4 a.m.
(God, how early do you have to get up to have the house to
yourself???)

Today morning looked like this: I get up, quietly make my drip coffee and sit on the living room floor, cross-legged. I take approximately 3.5
breaths.

Then Pat comes out of our room and down
the hall. He waves to me. Sometimes I smile. Today I don’t.
In the kitchen he prepares his cappuccino by grinding his
premium beans in a premium grinder that sounds exactly like a
Shop-Vac. My eyebrows smack into each other, I am so not-peaceful. The steaming milk sounds like that kid in
The Excorcist (I want to cover my ears even while typing this). Pat
comments on his coffee while making it. “Ahhhh. Come on, come on.
That’s better, that’s good.” When he spills beans on the
floor, he swears.

I am apoplectic by the time he heads
downstairs to the basement. My meditation becomes post-traumatic
stress therapy. I’m just getting back to the busy-but-not-angry
head I started with when he re-emerges from the basement all
dewy-eyed and blissful.

All of which brings me to this: I live in a world filled with people, sounds, smells, and
cappuccino machines. Some day, somehow, my task is to learn to be
peaceful while living in that world, beyond  the hermetically-sealed morning bubble in which I have practiced for just over a year. Apparently it’s
time to teach myself peace on the outside.

Have you found this easy? Difficult?
Natural? Impossible? I’d love to hear.

Thanks for choosing peace, Pat. I hope
it doesn’t drive me mad. Thanks to yoga, I think, although I’m a
bit cranky about it today. 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,
and on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Oprah’s Card

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I read that Jennifer Aniston recently gave Oprah a yoga mat with a picture of her dogs on it. I suggest
we create a card to go along with the mat.

We’ll make it a big card, so that
each of us can say what we want.

Here’s my contribution:

Oprah, honey, you do your bit as a
human being, running schools for girls in Africa, doing that call-in
series with Eckhart Tolle, running your empire day to day, filling the
TV and your magazine with (mostly) good messages for us.

You give yourself and your body a bit
of flack, but if I were in your sizable shoes, I’d be chewing my
own arms off (not to mention Stedman’s arms and the arms of all
movie stars) with the stress of it.

Speaking of stress, this mat is
special. With this mat, yoga gives itself to you, and millions and
millions of us can tell you that yoga will change your life.

It may be tough at first. The Tibetans
say that at the beginning, nothing comes. (You’ll be tight and
tense and frustrated.) In the middle, nothing lasts. (If you stop for
four days, you’ll be tight and tense and frustrated.) In the end,
nothing leaves. (You will fall in love with the practice and with
yourself.)

Glad to have you as part of our
community. We’re a good bunch.

Yours truly,

kristin

P.S. Don’t push yourself too hard.
Yoga should be a joy.

P.P.S. If you’d like to pay it
forward, I’d love a mat with a picture of my dog Rosie on it.  See above.

Your turn: What would you like to write on a card to Oprah?

Thanks to yoga for offering itself to
Oprah. Good choice. And 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,
and on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.

Beginner’s Breathing

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It could be that I’m getting old and
that my sense of fun has changed so much that I can no longer play
with others in the way I used to. It could also be that yoga is
having its way with me.

January first comes this year without
buffets and booze, without screaming, “10! 9! 8! …” (always a
horror story for me, that one, witnessing drunken, overenthusiastic
and sloppy tongues, party hats askew, friends confessing into
martinis that life’s gone downhill since grade seven).

This year, it’s all about breathing.
No joke. I’m breathing my way into the new year.

I’ll bet we’ve all done Ujjayi
breathing, the Darth Vader thing that slows the breath down during
practice. At some point, that breath leapt into my civilian life as
a de-stressing maneuver. I use it at the dentist, the car repair
place, and when I visit a new yoga studio.

These days, I am intoxicated (I mean
that) by alternate-nostril breathing, bellows breathing, and squared
breathing (all Google-able).

Yoga is about union, and breathing is
truly, madly, and deeply reputed to bring together body and mind,
sympathetic (fight or flight) and parasympathetic (relax and repair)
nervous systems, conscious and unconscious, even life and death.

Read about it, if that’s your thing.
But if experience is your thing, try it. There is something about
yoga breathing that takes you flying, I swear. Once you try it,
you’ll feel as though your lungs have been sitting around on your
bedside table, doing not very much for most of your life.

Have you done this already? Is it a
part of your regular practice? If not, are you drawn by it, or does
it sound lunatic to you?

Thanks, thanks to yoga for all its
diversity, and for being the best way ever to bring in a new year.
And 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,
and on
Twitter,
and on
iTunes.