The Daily Bandha: Stretching, Growing Older and Your Down Dog

The Daily Bandha: Stretching, Growing Older and Your Down Dog



It seems many folks talk the yoga talk and yoga on the web abounds! I love the web for sharing and the mat for yoga! Generally I preach Do Your Practice and as BKSI used to say "my body is my laboratory". Doing yoga is one of the best ways, IMO, to learn and to understand yoga.



However, this blog is WORTH a mat break... Check it out.

HOUSTON, WE HAVE NO PROBLEM

HOUSTON, WE HAVE NO PROBLEM

I  write this blog post on March 4, 2015. This is THE day, Houstonians; the first day that you see pollen on your cars, walkways, et cetera. The conditions became perfect at noon: lack of moisture for a moment, the right wind applied and the trees all excitingly fecund. The magical dusting of yellow pollen has occurred.

For many of you, instead of enjoying the lovely budding scenery, trees full of sprouts and flora, you will panic. Your eyes will become puffy and red, your throat will start to close and your head will come close to exploding.

PREEMPT that. You can do it easily, trust your yoga mama on this, it is avoidable with very little effort. Uhuh. 

There’s a little brown bottle filled with magic

A few drops under your tongue, 2-3 times a day, used at the FIRST sign of pollen and NOT much after that, is miraculous. Once you are buried in the pollen, it won’t be very effective. In other words, you have a few days window of opportunity. Find it here or here. If you do not reside here, they make one for your area, New Mexico, Colorado, et al, have their own local formula. Keep on using it daily until you no longer see and are sweeping that yellow powder.

It works much like a vaccine, by introducing minuscule amounts of the same stuff that makes you ill, and allowing your body to do what the body does, which is deal with it. Some of you use local honey for this very reason and when your local honey is actually local, that works toward building immunity, though in my opinion, for Springtime allergy sufferers, this is the Mack Daddy. If you do only this, with the parameters I have lined out in mind, it’s going to work. Forget your allergy shots and over the counter remedies that either make you manic or turn you into a zombie. Uhuh.

In a perfect world, I would also have you performing nasal lavage (see neti pot blog post) and keeping your eyes rinsed out, too. Keep it simple here. Make an eye wash solution with Boric Acid from your local drug store:

Use distilled or boiled water. Mix one eighth of teaspoon of boric acid powder and one cup of water. This is a good solution to use. If you do not have a collection of antique eye cups, a clean shot glass will suffice nicely. Use the solution warm and it will feel marvelous. Be sure to test the temperature with a sterilized finger before rinsing your eyes. If you wear contacts, wait 10-15 minutes before putting them back into your eyes.

The gist according to AyurVeda (here's a lovely introduction to this time-tested health system,) is that for most of us, allergies are cumulative. You may dodge the effects for years and never suffer until one day, wham, you reach critical mass and you're down. After living in this area, allergy free, for years, I began losing my voice every year like clockwork. I made potions that I sipped all day that kept me vertical but still was affected annually until I began using this homeopathic remedy. 

Another factor causing us to experience these symptoms, is that we are so far removed from the sources of our food, thus, we haven't acquired the immunity or put simply, we've lost the ability for the body to do what the body does, keep us health, happy and safe from imbalance. Granted, there are other environmental factors at play, this is but one layer of the onion.

So. There you have it. Go forth and frolic again. Sigh no more, sniff no more except to draw in the intoxicating scents around you!

I’m an Ass, You’re Okay

From My Rules of Etiquette

This is dedicated to all of the obligatory hello people out there. You should STFU.

There are times and places where a vocal acknowledgement is unnecessary and indeed, to me, intrusive.  One memory that for no reason stays with me or it stays with me to remind me I am an ass, occurred on a particularly serene morning walking alone.

In the days of yore when my children were at home and in their school years, I ran a bustling business, volunteered and was competing for the domestic goddess title. I had a personal practice that had me awake at 4:30am for mediation and physical conditioning; no alarm needed (that’s a yoga practice for you). By about 7:30am I enjoyed walking in our pleasant neighborhood along streets and bayou paths. This time of day was important because in the sprawling and humid city of Houston, Texas, the car exhaust was noticeable to my sensitive deep breath-ed yogi nose and lungs, any later in the morning.

Once in a blue moon, I would walk with a friend in the morning, usually someone who was on a temporary health kick, but mostly mornings were my sacred space. It is said that prayer is when you talk to God and meditation, including walking meditation, is when you listen to God. The place where the sounds of my foot pattering and my breathing synchronized, was an arena that recharged me immensely. As I have said before, we need to create some space between our thoughts and this was mine.  When I encountered another soul and their soles those early mornings, a nod of the head or a lighted smile would usually suffice as a greeting. Rather, it was just an acknowledgement, Hello Person.

This day, I was out a bit longer and later than was my norm. Ahead in the distance, a bundle of color was moving toward me. As it got closer a cacophony of shrill feminine voices pierced my peace. It was jarring in every sensory way.  Literally, my ears were assaulted, my eyes I could smell their lotions and/or makeup (okay, maybe I couldn’t also taste it) and I believe I felt the rush on my skin as they parted the air. As this was happening, and I tried to take it all in and process it fully, and I was working into my smile-nod Hello Person…. wham! All of these hello, good morning, hello, hi, howdy, good mornings – showered over me. I was still trying to form words when I heard - bitch, fucking bitch, and what’s her problem, coming from the gaggle of joggers. Part of me wanted to give chase and convince them that I’m really a nice person, really I am. Instead I thought, whoa, what a lot of hostility. Then I thought, gee, maybe I need to quit judging, need to meditate more or maybe less?  I exhaled it all for the moment and went on about my walking. Yet, it has stuck with me.

At present, I have a different life and job but seem to still enjoy solitude amidst the craziness that is our plugged in - connected world. More, there are places where most of us expect solitude or even privacy. One which comes to mind is the bathroom. What I do in there is private. I consider it my personal space. I feel that the creators of the modern Western style public restroom must have envisioned it this way. That is why they created the stall. The thing with a door that separates you from others while going about your “privacy”.  The Privy, in some places? Here are some  bathroom-etiquette-signs, just because.

If you choose to conduct business on your telephone, that’s your business although I do wonder about those flushing sounds your callers hear; it is your private and personal space – so do what you will. I will admit here, that I have engaged in this behavior on a few occasions. Shame, shame or should I say, poo, poo. Where I draw the line is when you decide to start a conversation with me, you in your stall and I in mine. STFU. I am here to have a private moment with my bodily functions. You are interrupting my stream………..of consciousness, of concentration. In yoga/meditation we practice being in the moment. Being present. Doing what you are doing fully. Whether it is your work, the dishes, love-making or listening to a friend.  Just not while I’m already doing this, thank you.

So like the nod of the head thing, I try not to always be an ass and have developed a soft hmmm hmm. Nothing with too much vigor lest it be confused with any other restroom audio. Mostly though, I will instead just be an ass and ignore you and what better place to show your ass-ness?

Namaste, Dammit. 

MONOTASKING

Do what you’re doing while you’re doing it. This is what we tell our meditation students. Regardless of what it is you find yourself doing, like Nike says, Just do it. In other words, be present.

Meditation is one letter away from mediation perhaps not coincidentally. In mediation we bring two sides together and hold them in a place of objectivity where if successful, the two sides can find their common ground and resolve whatever dispute(s) they may have.

Very often people come to meditation because life has become too full; or at least feels like it is bursting them wide open. The rub is that meditation shows us that we first must deal with the accumulated ‘stuff’ before we can get rid of it. You dredge up and experience fully what you have avoided and pressed deep down inside you. We may come to meditation because we feel conflicted or otherwise divided. The life we are living may feel as though it is running counter to our core beliefs.

This is the same thing that we encounter when physically transforming our lives; we have taken on too much ‘stuff’.  We get bogged down. We feel that the things we have are not in line with the life we want. They serve no purpose for us. Liberation comes rather instantly when we eliminate some of what we have brought into our lives; yet first we have to bring it all out into the open and physically go through it. As my co-minimalist pal reminds me ask yourself ; does this object serve a purpose, if even to bring me joy?

I currently do much of my work at a desk in front of a computer, right now, for example. Because I work at a faster pace than the people I work with and even the software my computer uses; I have learned to play with the social media that is available. Alternatively, I take mini-breaks to stretch, do eye exercises or walk in the sunlight.

I think although popular social media allows us to connect with others it does it on certain queen-of-the-mountain terms. I can toot my horn, I can say my piece and that is that. If I like, it can be one-sided. If I choose, I can listen to your views and opinions but I am the monarch in this domain baby. All powerful and full of me!

I edit my contacts lists frequently and I don’t always follow back. I can here you deleting, unfriending, unfollowing me now. Gasp. It is a type of spring cleaning of my virtual closets. I highly recommend this practice and that of scheduling a media fast.

One main cause of stress in our culture is that with all the marvelous ways we are interconnected and instantly aware of so many things in so many places, we also attached a sense of immediacy to things that are truly not urgent or even vital to our lives. Our oldest brain functions kick in and we are in fight or flight  mode so much of the time it feels like fight and fight mode. Physically, this increases blood pressure, cortisol and myriad other physical effects that keep us agitated until they wear us out and shred us emotionally.

PANIC, PANIC ALL AROUND

When my babes were in elementary school, we walked to and from school together each day. While they were in school I ran my yoga & mediation school. Once at my job, I checked email and returned phone inquiries and then for class, our phones were off. In the spaces between classes, I followed same routine of email, phone, et cetera.

One particular day between classes, I listened to frantic messages from the elementary school. This was in 1997 and I was a cell phone hold out. I responded as soon as I retrieved the messages, and mind you, the kids had been in school approximately 2.5 hours so far that day and I worked a mere 4 blocks away from the school. I ascertained that there was no actual crisis except their reaction to having to wait.

My parenting methods were questioned because I had the audacity to not be available each and every moment. I indicated, plagiarizing from the emergency alert system; If this had been an actual emergency…  the police could have come to inform me. I shifted the attention back to the staff (who btw I adored ) and indicated that I entrusted my most precious babes to them 7 hours a day, 5 days a week. That in an actual emergency, they should call 911 because I was unskilled at reattaching limbs, heads whatever, in the event of an actual emergency.  We agreed to disagree.

I knew that due to the super connected times we live in, theirs was a rather common reaction. These reactions, however, maintain the stress levels we experience.

SCHEDULE A MEDIA FAST 

Want to sleep more peacefully? Don’t finish your day with the news. We all know that it is designed to keep us agitated, excited. This is why we stay tuned and why we buy products. Do yourself a favor and end your day with something sweeter, nice music, love-making, practice deep slow breathing or meditation. Better yet, a whole day with no phones, computers. (Yes, you can).

MEDITATION 101

People will say “I’ve tried to meditate but I can’t”.  I understand that they tried a technique and got frustrated. You have a brain, you have senses, emotions, thoughts and an ego. If you are alive and not in a coma, these will come into play. You might see all the input as distractions or impediments to meditation. As a marvelous sage Ram Dass puts it, it’s all  Grist for the mill.

I tell people to think of the way a child tugs at your skirt hem or shirt to get your attention. It is not the child’s ‘fault’ it is the child’s nature to insert themselves into your moments, perhaps to reassure themselves. When you are in good adult mode, you softly turn your attention to the child, even if to explain “not now”. When you are NOT in good adult mode (because you’re trippin’) you may react in anger to their longing.

So in meditation, we attempt, while not always succeeding, to be the good parent. The tugging child is the thought, the siren you hear outside, the pain in your back or whatever is pulling you from the focus of your mediation.

CREATE A SPACE BETWEEN YOUR THOUGHTS AND LEARN TO EXPAND THAT SPACE. 

In meditation we have a base or focal point that we return to each time. That is how we meditate. If we are distracted 700,000 times, we return to base 700,001 times. We may notice what comes in and out and we learn to minimize our reactions and simply return to base.

Base might be our breath Breathing In-Peace Fill Me and Breathing Out-Pure Peace

If we are more visual base can be an image Wide Open Sky and everything else just Clouds Moving Across we return to Wide Open Sky

WHY MONTASKING

When we are pulled in many directions, we miss our moments. If we are sitting to share a meal with others but distracted by our phone or by thoughts of work and finances, we lose touch. Base is Enjoying the food before us, the smiles of the person next to us and the dog asleep at our feet.

Even in the busiest times of your day, find ways to touch base, frequently. You will feel more at ease and create better health. Perhaps before opening each email Breathing In-Peace Fill Me and Breathing Out-Pure Peace or shuffling kids around in your car all day, before opening the doors Breathing In-Peace Fill Me and Breathing Out-Pure Peace

WHAT YOU NURTURE IS WHAT YOU WILL GROW

How Brotherly Love Taught Me To Be A Woman

How Brotherly Love Taught Me To Be A Woman

My older brother wanted a little brother. Every guy craves one. Our parents broke the ‘boy’ mold after making him; so he made me his little brother.

My best times and scars were minted by him and he still is there for me even though I have grown into his sister. The lessons learned as his bro, support me now as I navigate the waters of my life. They tell me when to paddle against the current and push hard and when to throw my arms back and let the buoyancy overtake me, hold me up and carry me on.

My brother tells me stories of playing football with the other guys when we were younger. Mind you, he is 8 years my senior and I think they start about the time I was his 4 or 5 year old little bother. He marveled at my fearlessness. He’d dress me in plenty of pads and protective equipment. I remember the powerful feeling loaded with the weight of that armor. It was heavy, bulky, ill-fitting on my frame. I loved it. They’d give me the ball, instruct me to hug it tightly and then run, run, run. I can recall the sound of the big helmet sloshing against my mini head. Over and over, we did this and the whole game as I remember it, was running and getting tackled by a mountain of stinky boys.

When he relates the stories now, there’s almost always a moment where he winces and says, “Several times we knocked you down so hard, I was sure we’d killed you. But you always got up and were ready for more”.

Listening to our childhood memories, a friend of his told me that when he’d play with his younger sister, he’d bundle up toys in a blanket and tie her to a fence. Tethered happily she played and watched the big guys. A great story, but I am as thrilled on this day as I was in those glorious moments when I was playing with the big dogs. No leash for me.

If you know me, actually know me and my ‘story’, you know that I am a pretty happy camper. That I have had wonderful travels, a live-the-dream career that was incredible and a sweet family. Also, that in the past few years, the camping trip has been off the rails. I have asked the Universe to let me up on many occasions. The BIG things that can happen in the course of a person’s entire life have been piled on me all at once, it seems, like the football pile ups I enjoyed as a child.

I even got to hang with the angels for a while last year and was hands down-no contest, the hottest woman in Houston, Texas, at 104.5 degrees for I don’t even know how long. The good news is that 9 doctors couldn’t find a single reason for my ‘health event’ and that is great, IMO. My failing organs are back to tip top, my hair departed and has returned in the craziest of ways, thanks to the blessing of the Ayurvedic sages, and I am back to headstands and working out the rest, day to day. I may currently be a few cards short of a deck but those in the know of the ways of this gatita, know I revel in a challenge. Bring It.

The coolest thing is that loads of people showed me how much a person can be loved. I am the luckiest women who has ever been, because of this. So, my training as a little brother prepared me for life as a woman. I was just happy to be tackled. Thanks Bro.

(when he was just D's lil bro)

"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in..." Leonard Cohen

SHOD: Buy One Shoe Get One Shoe FREE

Shoes and Women

For those who don’t understand shoe obsession, it’s rather simple. No matter what sort of hair day it is, whether your derrière looks ‘fat’ in those pants or life is so crappy that you’re preparing to jump off of a rooftop; a great pair of kicks can put you on top of the world, whereas trying on swimsuits can send you searching for the highest one. American girls are trained to believe in the curative power of the shoe. A ruby red that takes you home; a glass slipper that changes your life...

“I want to write a book about shoes that’s full of footnotes”.  Jarod Kintz

Most expensive shoe - is reportedly a pair of Oz-like Harry Winston ruby slippers with actual rubies (Dorothy wore sequins). Price 3 Million Dollars

Pretty expensive shoe – A pair of “So Cal” Nikes presented to rapper Big Boi decorated with gold and 11 carat diamonds. Price 50 Thousand Dollars

Sandals I bought this week – 6 Dollars, 45 cents (Price $59.94 – 40% (23.98) -30 discount vouchers, + .49 tax)

Most expensive shoes I have bought – let’s just say, I spent a month’s salary. I still have them. They feel like human infant skin, deserve the moniker ‘stiletto’, and make me about a mile taller. This opens up a new world when wearing them, giving me view of things that were a mystery before, like the top of the refrigerator.

When I buy a pair of shoes, it must be friendly and utilitarian. That said, I will not wear crocs or nurse-y ‘practical’ shoes. I would lop off my feet first. I believe shoes should adorn.

I respect my feet. They are amazing. The architecture of the foot’s arch alone is astounding and has been copied to erect skyscrapers. I treat my feet as though I worship them and perhaps I do… Yet, I am in the minority here, as you will see from the reviews of various women’s shoes by consumers.

Actual shoe review quotes with 0 – 5 star rating

“…Straps are a little uncomfortable and un-flexible but I am sure they will loosen up as I break them in." 4 of 5

"Purchased these on a whim because I really needed new shoes…” technically a non-whim “ Bought these in the polka dot also. SO cute and get TONS of compliments!!" 5 of 5

“The leather is a little stiffer than I usually expect from her shoes, so it doesn't feel as luxurious as it should, and the platform sole is surprisingly hard with little give. I suspect the balls of my feet would start aching after standing a while in these shoes - a gel insert will probably help, … Overall, I'm still so enamored with how lovely these shoes are that I may still keep them and try to break them in. I haven't seen any other shoes this spring that have captured my heart so!” 4 of 5

“…wore for 4 hours before my feet hurt! love the subtle sparkle”.  5 of 5 In other words you expect painful feet?! (This is a review of a high heeled sandal called ‘Promise’) i.e. I promise I will hurt your feet?

“Beautiful shoe but not built well… the shoe wobbles a bit. That's not a good thing if you have a bad back.” 4 of 5  And keeping the health of your back in mind, wearing this or any 4” heel is…..?

Shoe Terms 101

Toe cleavage: A term I was not familiar with until a year ago. If you can’t figure it out, it is ‘displayed’ if you wear a closed toe shoe that is cut low (down there).  I wish I had invented the term! Though I doubt I’d dare flashing mine about town indiscriminately.

Toe Box: The area (often pointy shaped) where your toes and ball of foot rest or fit in a shoe.

Actual Shoe names: Syncopation Heels, T-Strap Kitten Heels, Sonic Booties, Utopia Platform, Detox Wedge, Provoke Platform, Heya Hot Stuff Platform Pump.

In one of my next incarnations I will design shoes. Shoes that are SUPER SEXY and EASY TO WEAR. The toe boxes of my shoes will be designed to accommodate an actual human foot. Revolutionary. Despite the heel height, they will ensure good posture.

I see women walking around who look ridiculous because the shoes they wear are ill-fitting or have such a tiny heel that cause them to teeter about like a cartoonish dancing mice. If you can’t walk, it is not attractive.

I see women at dances, weddings, et cetera, who cast off the shoes they have painstakingly selected because they cannot walk and/or have feet that hurt two minutes into wear.

My favorites shoes have nicknames. Having actual names would be CRAZY. Meet some of the girls:

(Flower Power)

(Pocahontus)

(Stripey)

(Hippie)
(photos by C. Steen)

Lastly, I love the concept of shoe buying. Buy one shoe, get one shoe free.

A little bit of shoe porn....

Chris Donovan-Shoe Genius

Virtual Shoe Museum

“Never judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes. Then you’re a mile away and you have his shoes”. Attributed to Billy Connolly and Jack Handy

Living, Dying and A Story of Interaction

The scene is a neighborhood in Houston, Texas, about 17 years ago. Two rambunctious boys about three years old are playing outdoors, this is their exchange. "We went to see granddad." "Uhuh?" "He was dead." Yeah?" "He was so dead; you couldn't poke him or nothin'." "Coool." The playing resumed.

My maternal grandfather passed away in Utah and was buried along with his second wife, who predeceased him, in the National Memorial Cemetery of Arizona. Although there is much to tell of his 85 years of life, including his work as a forestry ranger, his service as Colonel under General Patton in World War II and the pride and joys his three marvelous daughters and their families brought to him; I shall concentrate on what occurred between his death and his burial.

He lived a life as independent as any, but in his last years, Granddad had gone to Utah to be near his youngest daughter and her family. I recall my last visit with him. The kids pounced on his bed as he smiled and cooed back at them, and he told me of a resident who was stealing everyone's shoes. He was living in a senior care facility and I assumed he was imagining things. I told him so but he insisted it was true. We agreed to disagree but I discovered when passing the woman's room, rows of neatly arranged men's and women's shoes and slippers were indeed inside her doorway. As had happened many times over the years, I learned not to be such a know-it-all and that most older folks do, in fact, know-it-all.

So after a fuller life than most, he left his earthly body. It was arranged that he would rest in the military cemetery where his second wife was waiting for him. His first wife, my mother's mom, had passed away when they were newly married and my mother was a year or so old. Granddad's sister, had lost her fiancee in the war and for a few years the two came together to raise my mama. Granddad and my Great Aunt were both young, good looking and bright and each soon found the love of their lives, remarried and grew families.

Back to my story. My uncle was bishop and therefore, obtained permission to transport Granddad over state lines to his final resting place. In the back of a pickup. With one of those tops covering the bed, and in a coffin (of course). Okay, not to say his final resting place was in the pickup, but you get the idea.

The families traveled from many places around the country and converged at a La Quinta motel in Arizona for the service. Like many, including Granddad, we arrived the night before. What follows, is worthy of a Chevy Chase movie. We held impromptu visitation in the La Quinta parking lot. Gathered around the back of the pickup. We did the normal stuff, looked at him, remarked on how at peace he appeared, traded stories and tears. In the parking lot. My children had known him all of their little lives so I thought it fine to let them see him too. Not everyone agreed it was a good idea, but out to the truck they went. They hopped right in back with his open casket and peered at him as I explained that he was dead and at peace and watched for a reaction. They simply hopped out and played in the parking lot. 

You might think that now you have heard it all. No. 

It was October and traveling home in that truck was sure to be a haul. The weather was sketchy and  it was decided that the truck really needed a brake job before attempting the trip. Scheduling made it impossible to do this after the service. That's right. My uncle took Granddad for his final brake job. The staff at the repair shop gave them 'no waiting' service. We all remarked that "Granddad would've loved that."

Finally, visitation, check, brake job, check; we met on a sunny day for his burial. With many religious traditions in the bunch, we had a Quaker style circle after the military service, and traded stories about our time with Granddad. Seeing him through other's eyes was interesting, so many facets of one person. Now he rests for eternity atop his beloved. Granddad would've loved that.