Retreating Lessons

Maple at cabin.JPGIt seems to me we learn lessons all day, every day. With every yoga class, every home practice, every work day, every family gathering, I learn something more about my body, my frustrations, my desires, and my direction in life.

Once in a while, it’s nice to remove myself from ordinary life in order to see it all from a completely different window. I’ve just finished a few weeks of this by staying by myself (well, with Rosie, the dog) at our cabin on an island in Northern Ontario. It meant days and days of chopping kindling, hauling water, and tending the fire. It also meant doing as much yoga and meditation as I wanted.It’s over. Sigh. It was beyond fabulous.

I learned a few things:

1. I’m doing as much yoga as I want already. This was a surprise. I thought, given so much time, that I’d practice for hours. Not so. I was completely content doing my regular practice, which takes about an hour. I am where I am, is the lesson.

2. Yoga is all mine. This was a chance to wear whatever I wanted, all day long. (Clown-stripe pajamas. Surprise.) To eat whatever I wanted. (Cereal, yogurt, and hummus.) To sing whatever I wanted, at whatever volume. (Broadway musicals, loudly enough to make my molars ache.) And to do whatever I wanted. (Yoga, every morning.) I love yoga in my life, is the lesson.

3. Slowing down enough that I land inside myself is easier said than done. I need to retreat from the world, occasionally, in order to remember how to do this. Although the meditation took more discipline than the yoga, it was hugely worth it. By the time I arrived back in town, I found every face, including mine, beautiful. Who I am inside is worth looking for, is the lesson.

Have you done your own retreats, ever? For an hour, a day, a month? Did you learn new things about yourself, or just confirm what you know already? Do you find your face beautiful?

Thanks to yoga, for being one of the best teachers ever, 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.

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Tasting Kindness

A few days ago, I flew home from Bangkok after finding out my lovely man has a tumour in his eye.

You may have had one of these experiences in your life, the kind that catapults you into love and clarity (it reminds me, now, of childbirth), not to mention instant intimacy with the Thai cab driver, the woman at the check-in counter at Cathay Pacific, cashiers at the grocery store, and on and on.

Two of these intimacies were enough to wake me up in the middle of the night to write this.

On the packed flight from Hong Kong to Toronto, I sat beside a woman whose face I never really looked at, because looking at anyone’s face made me cry. She didn’t speak English. I helped her with her seatbelt at some point and she did what I’d done in Bangkok for three days: she grunted, mumbled, and nodded her head.

We sat beside each other for something like 15 hours, during which I started to cry (silently, I hope, though why I give a damn, I don’t know) perhaps 15 times. The third or fourth time in, she patted my thigh and passed me a piece of gum. Gum. It was one of those disgusting flavours that turn my stomach: fruity, maybe fake strawberry, with an explosive, liquid centre. Horrifying.

I chewed it till it was cardboard, and in the three minutes it took, I fell in love with disgusting strawberry gum, because of the way it filled my mouth with kindness. (It’s a good thing I fell in love with the flavour, because she gave me approximately ten more pieces, one each time I started to cry.) Thanks, thanks to you, whoever you are.

Later, in Toronto, going through customs, I had one concern and one only, and that was to have a smile on my face when I met my lovely man.

The customs guy justifiably questioned my three-day trip to Asia. I doubt I look like a drug dealer, but I’ll bet lots of them don’t. I answered his questions by saying my trip had been cut short. By what, he wanted to know. By something bad happening, I said, which wasn’t good enough for him. By something bad happening to my lovely man, I said, and started to cry.

Never believe what you hear about airport personnel being unkind. He asked for my boarding pass. In full snot at this point, and rifling pointlessly through my purse, I told him I didn’t have it. How about the flight number, he asked, which sent me over an edge. I don’t remember it, I said, but every $%&*ing person behind me was on the same flight, can you not ask one of them?

He paused for a second. I’ll make one up, he said. You can go ahead. As I passed his desk, he put a hand out toward my arm and asked, how is your lovely man now?

I don’t know yet, i told him, and ran past.

Thanks, thanks to you, whoever you are.

What wakes me up tonight is that kindness is everywhere. The world is so filled with it that even this awful event in our life, this huge, catastrophic slam, is a love story.

I’m glad to know that.

Thanks, thanks to you for the conversation,

kristin

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Meeting Place

f you’d asked me a year ago about
yoga and my goals in practice, I would have talked about improvement.
Hanging lower in forward bends, gaining strength everywhere,
developing some kind of physical grace, and reversing the slumpiness
I sense in my 48-year-old body.

Although those goals haven’t changed,
and although there has been progress in all of these areas, my practice
is about something else these days.

The living room floor is more a meeting
place, today, than anything else. During practice, my body and I
meet, yoga and I meet, my busy head and I meet, my energy level and I
meet. More and more, my heart and I meet.

And whatever happens, happens.

This isn’t indifference or
resignation. I’ve just stopped making demands. Stopped pushing so
much. The result is that my practice has become more like a
conversation than a military parade (hup, two, three, four, hup, two,
three, four).

This reminds me of my kids. At some
point late in the parenting game, I stopped managing them and began
having real conversations. And, oh, all of a sudden, without the
pushing, I began to see them for who they are. And they’re
extraordinary.

I feel as though I’m beginning to see
yoga, rather than pushing my way through my likes and dislikes,
through my attempts to manage myself in practice. The change is
good.

Do you know what I’m talking about?
(Are you picking up what I’m putting down, the kids and I used to
say to each other) Is practice a meeting ground for you?  A pushing place?  A climbing place?  A love fest?

Thanks to Kali and Adrian, the best
teachers ever. Thanks to yoga for being another excellent teacher,
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.

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Counting Crow

crow.jpg

I’ve been working on Crow Pose. So
many of you have mentioned loving Crow, hating it, hoping
to master it, or dreading it, that I finally looked it up.
That’s how new I am at all of this.

Hands in front of feet. Up on toes,
knees on upper arms. One foot off the floor, then the other. Feet
crossed, look forward. Count.

Well. I’m great until the second foot
comes off the floor. Most days both feet will cooperate. And who
can’t look forward?

But the counting! Never have five
breaths taken so long! In fact, unless I breathe very, very quickly,
and I’m not sure hyperventilation is recommended as part of a yoga
practice, I can’t get past three. Sometimes I can’t get to two.  

(What’s the big deal about five breaths, anyway, I wonder as I collapse after my tenth try.  Well, the big deal is that until I get to five, I’m not actually holding crow, I’m just passing through Crow on my way to a banged head.)

This afternoon, I will try Crow with chanting. Chanting is new for me. I don’t know anything but Ohmmmm, and Shanti, Shanti.  Love them both.

Today’s chant will be, “I believe I can fly, I believe I can fly.”

I’ll let you know if it works.

Tell us how you feel about Crow. If you’ve told us before, tell us again. Let’s have a Crowfest.

Thanks to yoga for ridiculously challenging poses, and for that infernal count of five breaths. Thanks to you, always, 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

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Laughasana

oliver1.jpg

The other day I recommended yoga to a
client, suspecting she’d benefit hugely from a regular practice. I
suggested she go to a local studio with great teachers.

Her response was to ask, “Do they
laugh there? Because I really need to go somewhere where we can
laugh.”

At my studio, the teachers are
lighthearted and genuine. There is the odd giggle, but it isn’t a
belly laughter kind of place. And, come to think of it, I have done
classes at other studios where the climate is far more serious, where
you’d be frowned at for laughing.

I understand the value of quiet focus.
I don’t love being distracted by crazy noise around me. But
I suspect that silence can be intimidating for beginners, who
might appreciate something lighter.

I wonder what you prefer, and whether
your preference has changed with time and experience. Is there room
for us to laugh together, or is disciplined silence the way to go?

I’d love to tell my friend that yoga
has room for all of us.

Thanks to Karen for the excellent
question. Thanks to my sister Tory for her laughasana photo, above.  Thanks to you for your answers, and for this wonderful
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.  Also at iTunes, as though we don’t have enough options already.

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Was Lost And Now Am

Bangkok is filled to spewing with smells, sounds, heat, motorcycles, and people, people, people. It’s overwhelming by 8am.

This morning, after the best coffee i’ve had in a long time, i set out walking what was supposed to be five minutes to the water taxi stop (A huge canal snakes through the old city), and got completely lost.  Which was okay with me.  I had a vague idea i was headed toward interesting stuff.

The first thing to present itself, after 4,000 street stalls selling flowers, fried things, noodley things, and apothecary-ish things, was an exhibit of modern sculpture.  Two rooms, in the middle of nowhere.  The sculptures, particularly one called Sorrow, made me feel at home for the first time in three or four days.  Who knows what that says about me.

And then, lost again, overwhelmed again, i was wandering in some back alley, wondering whether i had enough steam to pursue the sights. A Buddhist nun passed me.  She had extremely short hair and wore white robes.   A few seconds later, I heard “hello” from behind me.  It was the nun.  I said “sawatdi,” which is supposed to be hello, though no one yet has understood my pronunciation.

“Meditate?” she asked.

“Yes.  I do,” i answered.

She motioned me to follow her.  I did, through alleys and more alleys.  “Vipassana,” she said at some point, over her shoulder.  (Vipassana is one form of meditation.)

We arrived at a doorway with 10 or 12 pairs of shoes arranged  on mats.  She pointed at mine.  I took them off.

“You meditate before?” she said.  At least i think that’s what she said.

“Yes.”

She opened the door and pointed toward a second room.  I followed her finger.

In the room were 20 or 30 people in white robes, sitting cross-legged on mats.  The nun, behind me, pointed at a mat.

I meditated with them for maybe two hours.

It was heaven.  They chanted for the last few minutes.  When i opened my eyes, another white-robed nun was in front of me.  She mimed eating and pointed to yet another doorway.  So i joined them for lunch – the best meal i’ve had in Bangkok – and then for washing dishes. It was tough to leave.

There are two thoughts for me.  One is that miracles happen everywhere you

look, or don’t look, as it turns out.  Another is be grateful, Kristin, for the way things unfold.  And those two thoughts are enough for today.

Thanks, thanks, to that nun for her generosity and clear sight.

And thank you for the conversation,

kristin

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Making Peace

buddha.jpg

I’ve made peace with Triangle Pose. This statement may not rock your
universe, but my mouth is hanging open.

I have not enjoyed Triangle Pose. No,
no, it’s more than that. For a year, I have approached Triangle
with a tense jaw and significant resentment of the long-dead yogi who
thought Triangle was a good idea in the first place. “Oh, god,
here we go,” is what went on in my head for a year during every
practice, when it came time for the Dreaded Pose.

Why? Because I have short, tight
hamstrings. Worse on the left, I thought, until a few months ago,
when my right hamstrings tightened just enough to match the left.
Yes, ancient yogi, they tightened after eight months of practice.

I give up, I thought. Threw my hands up, or more accurately, threw my tight legs half way up and just went back to practice the next day, not bothering to
resent the pose anymore.

And somehow, without any fanfare,
without any gnashing of teeth or knuckles, without any deep
contemplation, Triangle became … all right. My hand reaches no
lower on my leg than it did before. I probably look no different
from the outside than I did a year ago, but something inside is at
rest.

I wonder if this is, at least in part, what practice is
about? Not results, but making peace.

It also occurs to me that this practice
of peace might come in handy with my mother and with my body, to name
a couple of biggies.

Are you practicing peace with any
particular pose? (Or with your mother? With yourself?)

Thanks to yoga for unexpected lessons.
Thanks to my hamstrings and my mother, 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.   Also on iTunes, if you can believe it.


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Live Your Business With Open Arms

Over lunch today, a friend and i discussed the ownership of ideas, and whether or not you need to protect them (and your future, and your finances) by not sharing your ideas.  What if someone else uses them? What if we share and then there’s no room in the market for us anymore? Isn’t it wrong for someone else to use my ideas?  Etc.  This is the way we were brought up to think.

All of that thinking reflects a lack of trust in ourselves, in others, and in the basic goodness of the universe.  (If trusting the universe seems ridiculous to you, just ignore all of this and go on being proprietary with your ideas.)

I think business can be done with open, generous arms and complete transparency.  In fact i think that’s the only way to do business and remain human.

In the middle of this discussion, Shari, the waitress, came to our table.  I told her the raspberry cheesecake was delicious, and asked her whether the recipe was a secret or whether she’d share.

Of course we share, she said.  Our recipes are healthy and delicious.  Why shouldn’t the whole town have them?

This is good business.  Will sharing the recipe stop us from going? No.  Will it grow her business?  Yes.  Can we all apply that to our businesses?  I hope so.  Because love wins.  Every time.

Thanks to Shari and the owners of VegOut for the great cheesecake and the great advice. And thanks to you for your thoughts,

kristin

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Yoga Goes Viral

spring in high park.jpg
I returned to yoga last year with a feverish intensity. Within two months I’d started a home practice just for the pleasure of it, and it seems there’s no looking back. I was ripe for it.
After Christmas, my lovely man began classes in order to help his low back and hips. He will not miss a Thursday night Yin Yoga class now.  (If you’d told me that three years ago, I’d have laughed in your face. So would he.)

Then my sister Tory started, just to balance out her running and cycling. She’s got the fever, no question. She just took a “floating class,” which has something to do with transitions between poses. That’s way over my head.

My daughter’s been doing yoga classes at university this year, and is looking at a Master’s thesis involving yoga. I’m not kidding.

And this morning, my niece, Gabriella, sent a note telling me she enjoys the blog (how lovely is that!). Gabriella began classes shortly after Tory, and loves it as much as the rest of us do. She’s just landed a job at her yoga studio in Toronto. One of the stipulations is that she has to do either Mysore or classes six days a week. Incredible! I asked her how it’s going, and she’s sore, and head over heels.

It’s like a virus, isn’t it? Like something bursting into bloom. It makes me wonder how there can be anyone left at this point. How long will it be before we’ve got them all–our parents, our kids, our friends, our coworkers, the guy at the hot dog stand–in our classes? Practicing Crow at home. Hanging out on Yogajournal.com. Working on new moves at lunch.

Has yoga gone viral around you? Were you infected by someone close? Are you still contagious?
Thanks to yoga for spreading the healthiest virus ever, and thanks to you and all the rest of the little yoga microbes, 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.

Posted in ashtanga, bakasana, cranepose, crowpose, family, homepractice, mysore, Yoga, yogacommunity | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on Yoga Goes Viral

All The Time In The World

For the foreseeable future (one week? three weeks?), I’ve got all the time in the world. I’m celebrating the end of one career by spending time with the dog (my lovely man is working) at our cabin on an island in Northern Ontario. That means no electricity, no running water, and no watch. All of which means heaven.

11_16_BM_cabin.jpg

One of the purposes of this Great Adventure is to do as much yoga and meditation as I’d like, without having to squeeze it in between meetings, phone calls, and … well, 30 other time wasters I have perfected.

Just me, the dog, a wood stove, and a mat.

Today is day five. So far, I figure I’m doing an hour of yoga each day, and about three hours of meditation. These are, of course, approximations based on having no watch and absolutely no familiarity with where the sun is supposed to be at any hour of the day. I’m guessing, is what I’m saying, but I do know my regular home practice, and this feels about the same. (The meditation just feels like forever, at each sitting.)

Between hauling huge pails of water from the lake to the cabin, and learning to chop endless bits of kindling (at the risk of sounding melodramatic, these are the essentials of survival here), yoga has become an extraordinary luxury for the first time. Not a discipline, not something I’m trying to do more of. That yoga hour, followed by a freeze-my-face-off dip in the lake, is my visit to a spa each day. Absolutely unnecessary for my physical survival, absolutely essential for my well-being.

It makes me wonder. Is yoga your discipline? Your pleasure? Your creativity? Your hard work? Your prayer? Your relaxation? Your hobby? Your reason for being? Your luxury? How much yoga would you do if you had all the time in the world?

Thanks for the rare opportunity to have free time. Thanks to yoga for its luxuriousness, 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, on iTunes, and on Twitter.

Posted in homepractice, sitinmeditation, solitude, wellbeing, Yoga | Tagged | Comments Off on All The Time In The World