The latest from Be Luminous

Spring is springing in Seattle. A bulk of grey, wet days punctuated by brilliant blue skies, the sound of birds calling out from every which direction, many unseen. I’m relishing this space of newness, joy and brilliance, and I’m inspired to share, create and play.

I am taking time today to contemplate the New Year. I get excited about this, in fact, those who know me might say I get a little over excited. My goals list usually looks something like: I will meditate daily, I will write daily, I will workout daily and on top of that, I'll create this new program for the studio, teach in this location... and the list goes on and on. It's always impossibly long and ridiculously ambitious. It somehow inspires me to be in the moment, yet just weeks into the process I generally find myself feeling weary and daunted so that eventually I give up.

Like many great experiences, this recent adventure started and ended, with me posting on Facebook (FB). It’s how it is these days, we share many poignant and mundane moments with our larger Facebook circle, like little road markers along our larger life journey.

This road sign read, “Full tank of gas. Whistler or Bust, Wanderlust….”

Prior to leaving for Whistler, some internal dialogue, “am I going to be lonely,” “I don’t want to feel alone,” “What is this going to be like?”

Practice Everywhere
by Carley Ewert
What would the cow across the pasture think if I were to drop to all fours and bellow my belly to the earth just as it does on a warm sunny day?
What would the mountain think as I stand solid along its surface with my feet firmly planted into its soil and my spine lifted like its tallest peak?
What would the eagle ponder if it were to gaze down from its perch within the trees and see my arms and legs flapping like wings from the right side bind to the left mimicking the birds exquisite movement?

I doubt the cow, the mountain, or the eagle would think much about viewing these scenes and I know from experience I feel free and in touch with the world around me when I practice everywhere. When I teach yoga I remind my students that the poses we are taking can be created anywhere. I joke that although you might get a few interesting looks if you drop down into pigeon pose while waiting in line at the bank you can always practice tree with an aware and attentive breath to get the benefit of presence. I encourage those that work within offices to sit with a leg crossed over their opposite knee and to fold forward at their desk when experiencing low back pain or sciatica. Neither of these examples are too far fetched to cause social discomfort, yet to some they would. We live in a society that determines which behaviors are appropriate and inappropriate at certain times but does that mean that we have to limit our yoga practice to a yoga studio or gym? No, not at all.

Over the last few months, I had the realization that rather than leading my life, my life was leading me. Actually, it might be more accurate to say that my life was dragging me kicking and screaming.

I felt overwhelmed by the most mundane of daily life and daunted by a never-ending stream of “crisis” that seems to lurk around every corner. My attitude frankly sucked and I wasn’t much fun to be married to or work with. Yes, I admit, this yoga teacher was a bit of a mess.

In the last month, though, I have had a profound experience of coming back to the helm, and while I know I don’t get to control my life, I do get to co-create it through my actions and attitude. As I said to my husband recently, “The issues haven’t changed. The pace of things hasn’t changed, but I’m happy and energized.”

The First of the Eight Limbs of Yoga
In October I began a six-month intensive study and practice of the yoga precepts. I’m doing this practice with a group of people from all over the world (literally) through an online course at the Centre of Gravity in Toronto. The study is led by Michael Stone, teacher and author who we are thrilled will be coming to Be Luminous for a weekend workshop in June 2012.

The definition of a precept from Webster’s Third New International Dictionary is: A command or principle intended as a general rule of action. This course defines precepts within the yoga tradition as the first of the eight limbs of practice, the yamas, and they are:
Ahimsa: Non-violence, recognizing that I am not separate from all living beings
Satya: Honesty, speaking the truth as I perceive it and not deceiving anyone
Asteya: Not Stealing, being satisfied with what I have, not taking what is not freely given
Bramacharya: Wise use of energy, encountering all with respect and dignity
Aparigraha: Non-greed, Using all the ingredients of my life, being generous and non-acquisitive

And why take on this practice of ethics?
I have been a practicing yogi and Buddhism for ten years and have experienced the many benefits of asana and meditation practice: physical and psychological. What I have come to appreciate most is how my practice has affected my way of being with myself and others. These changes seem to have happened so organically –like my time on the mat and cushion have magically had effects on the rest of my life. While I know my practice has cultivated the qualities like patience, acceptance and my ability to stay present in challenging situations, their more frequent appearance in my life has increased with out too much conscious effort. As my practice has deepened however, I have also become aware of the places in my life where I remain stuck in my reactivity and fear, how my practice can also be an escape or a way to “feel good,” even a way out of having to face the places I am not free.

I am walking the dog at about 7 pm on a late-summer evening. The light is just right, the sun warms me, although it is no longer as high in the sky as the stellar showing of Seattle’s solstice. Hank, my dog, and I have just stopped to buy an ice cream cone – my childhood favorite of a Baskin Robin’s chocolate fudge scoop. We are heading up the hill toward home, meandering slowly. Uncharacteristically, I move leisurely, savoring each taste of ice cream, each steep step, the perfection of the weather. I think to myself, “This is a perfect moment.”

As I walk, I begin to reflect on writing this article; yes this very article about how sweet life is in these kinds of moments. I can imagine myself waxing philosophical. And then, right there, I kid you not, I find a hunk of vanilla ice cream hidden within my scoop of chocolate fudge.

I freeze. I think. Do I take it back? Do I scoop it out? Do I just eat the contaminating vanilla? What do I do? These thoughts go through my mind in the blink of an eye. They have arrived in an involuntary flash. They are not my choosing, but they are constant. These are the thoughts I live with daily without meaning to. What to do? How do I fix this? What do I do? What is wrong here? What to do?