Inhale, MMMMMMMM. I practice bumble bee breath in tune with the army of leaf blowers who are clearing the common area where I live. I woke up depressed and out of sorts because of a number of things going on in my life. When the leaf blowers start too early their annoying high pitched hum makes things worse. Then a funny thing happened… As I sipped my first cup of coffee, barely awake, I inhaled and started humming to the pitch of the leaf blowers. Just like I teach in my I AM™ Yoga Nidra classes, the humming transports me away from my irritated thinking. For the past two months, I’ve been doing a daily Yoga Nidra practice. This is the first time it showed up unannounced with my morning coffee.
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover I had not lived.
–Henry David Thoreau
Above photo credit Erin Arvella –
Yoga at Sunset on the Summit above the Continental Divide #Feathered Pipe Ranch
I hear my father’s voice when I see the above quote by Henry David Thoreau. Somewhere in the background, I hear the bold sound track of The Pines of Rome. In the mid 1960s, my Dad took a sabbatical from teaching high school. He was awarded a John Hay Fellowship to study in a Masters program at Harvard. Our family of 5 ventured from home in a used Country Squire station wagon, filled with the belongings that would serve us for the year. On one very long day, we drove from our modest suburban Philadelphia home to Massachusetts to live in a 2 bedroom apartment in Cambridge.
“If we dare to dream, we must dare to wake up. When we come to rub our eyes wide open and face up to realness, we can clear our vision and curb a whirlwind of bewilderment that might break our mind apart, once fantasy wrangles with reality and our awareness denies the true colors of facts. (“Behind the frosted glass”)”
I rekindled an adolescent love of yoga 5 years ago. You might not know it to look at me. As a 60 something post menarche who has lived life fully, I wear my “menopot” with a bit a self-consciousness. Although I try to tell myself that my belly is magical or jolly like those of ancient Goddesses and Buddha, it’s very existence seems to defy my post retirement aspiration of sharing yoga with others. Even though many different types and…