I know what happiness is. It is a feeling deep down inside that bubbles out when I look at a magpie perching on the topmost branch of a willow tree that is bent with the first snow of the year. It is a feeling of contentment when I sit in my house and watch flickering fire light and am grateful for all that I have. It is going to yoga class and being with myself. Happiness is driving home after rock climbing knowing that I have stretched physically and emotionally. Happiness is loving and being loved, in all of love's incarnations.
Some write that being happy is a conscious decision. I agree that we choose happiness but my experience is that I needed to clear a path in my life and my thoughts that would enable me to be happy. The readers of this blog have witnessed some of the barrier falling as I mused upon my fear of falling, my fear of not falling, my pre-occupation with trying and my thoughts. Over the past months, I have written far less than I have in years. Prior to this blog, I kept a journal, writing in it regularly for about seven years.
Through writing both in my journal and blog, I have cleared out my thoughts. There is still plenty of underbrush but the pathways to happiness are more clear than they have ever been. I suspect that I have written little over the past months - one or two entries here a month, one or two entries in my journal - because I was in the process of checking that new barriers would not emerge. I recall that one of my fears was that "the other shoe would drop".
The shoe has not dropped and I am confident that even if it does, I can navigate the way barefoot or with one shoe or new shoes. I am writing again because that is one of the things that makes me happy. This entry feels good.
Namaste,
Ginny
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
October
October is flying by. I left for Zermatt Switzerland on the third and am just now getting back into my routine at home. The month has been one in which I have received reminders in various forms to be in the moment and to stay focused on the present.
1) I was dreading the airline flights. My route was from Edmonton to Minneapolis to Amsterdam to Geneva and then Geneva to Montreal then Ottawa via rail then Halifax and back to Edmonton. I was carrying skis, boots, helmet, ski clothes and ordinary clothes for two weeks of travel. My fears were unfounded. My flights were on time and my skis and bag traveled safely and with no extra surcharges to all my destinations.
2) I arrived in Zermatt with a pounding headache and wondered why I had come. The answer revealed itself as soon as I was back on skis high above the clouds with a vista of mountains peaking beyond. I love to ski and I love being in the mountains. It's that simple.
3) I didn't want to leave Zermatt but I did. I was conscious of staying open to what the next phase of my trip would bring and it brought ordinary delights. I watched re-runs of the Gilmore Girls with one of my daughters. We walked in woods, where leaves fell gently from trees and autumn light created brilliant hues. We ate good food, some in restaurants with creative flair, some in hotels with years of tradition and some at her home.
4) I didn't want to leave my daughter but I did. When I arrived in my next city, I decided to treat myself with a manicure. The subtle colour that I chose has amused me for a week. The reason I was in Halifax was to celebrate two graduations with a group of family and near-family and I am grateful that I was able to be part of the celebration.
5) I had looked forward to sea kayaking since the trip was planned and my expectations were surpassed. As soon as I sat in the kayak, I relaxed even though the temperature hovered a few degrees above zero. I paddled without effort and enjoyed the sea swells and smells.
6) More good food...and then back to Edmonton and all that I love at home. Back to yoga, climbing and the start of the ski season.
7)An unexpected exit from the Edmonton Ski and Snowboard Show challenged me to stay present and to ask myself what is really true. The truth is that I stayed true to my principles and acted with integrity. What was, was and what is, is.
Namaste.
Ginny
1) I was dreading the airline flights. My route was from Edmonton to Minneapolis to Amsterdam to Geneva and then Geneva to Montreal then Ottawa via rail then Halifax and back to Edmonton. I was carrying skis, boots, helmet, ski clothes and ordinary clothes for two weeks of travel. My fears were unfounded. My flights were on time and my skis and bag traveled safely and with no extra surcharges to all my destinations.
2) I arrived in Zermatt with a pounding headache and wondered why I had come. The answer revealed itself as soon as I was back on skis high above the clouds with a vista of mountains peaking beyond. I love to ski and I love being in the mountains. It's that simple.
3) I didn't want to leave Zermatt but I did. I was conscious of staying open to what the next phase of my trip would bring and it brought ordinary delights. I watched re-runs of the Gilmore Girls with one of my daughters. We walked in woods, where leaves fell gently from trees and autumn light created brilliant hues. We ate good food, some in restaurants with creative flair, some in hotels with years of tradition and some at her home.
4) I didn't want to leave my daughter but I did. When I arrived in my next city, I decided to treat myself with a manicure. The subtle colour that I chose has amused me for a week. The reason I was in Halifax was to celebrate two graduations with a group of family and near-family and I am grateful that I was able to be part of the celebration.
5) I had looked forward to sea kayaking since the trip was planned and my expectations were surpassed. As soon as I sat in the kayak, I relaxed even though the temperature hovered a few degrees above zero. I paddled without effort and enjoyed the sea swells and smells.
6) More good food...and then back to Edmonton and all that I love at home. Back to yoga, climbing and the start of the ski season.
7)An unexpected exit from the Edmonton Ski and Snowboard Show challenged me to stay present and to ask myself what is really true. The truth is that I stayed true to my principles and acted with integrity. What was, was and what is, is.
Namaste.
Ginny
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Caught
I was caught, twice this week, leaving yoga class. There I was sweating among 20 or 30 other people and I left. I didn't leave the room. I left the moment and I was caught.
The first time that it happened I was moving from a front down savasana into the next pose. I do Bikram yoga, which is the same 26 poses every time, so I know the routine. Somehow (actually I know how) my mind stopped listening to the dialog and I found myself upright on my knees with my hands on the small of my back. It took another moment before I realized that I was one pose too early. I chuckled quietly to myself and moved into the correct sequence but the instructor and I exchanged glances as we both knew that my automatic pilot had shifted in gear and then gave me away.
Today in class I was very present at the outset. I was coughing and assessing how my body felt as a result of a mild cold. I could feel the tightness in my shoulders as a result of rock climbing two days in a row. I could feel my hamstrings and glutes stretch as we warmed up. We then shifted from the standing series to the floor series. The instructor varied slightly from the dialogue and commented that the floor series presents new challenges, that since we take savasana between each pose, we have more opportunities for our minds to shift into gear. I listened, agreed, and decided that wouldn't happen to me.
Ha!...I was midway through the floor series, laying in savasana and heard the instructor say "Ginny, are you sleeping?" I nodded, realizing that I had momentarily closed my eyes. Then I heard him say "Cathy really doesn't like you that much" and I realized that I was laying face turned in the wrong direction, nose to another's nose, removing any privacy from the person on the mat next to me. I laughed out loud as I become conscious just how far away I had slipped.
Several things have become clear to me as a result of practicing yoga this week. Staying in the moment continues to be a challenge and, ironically, I am catching myself leaving when I believe I am most present. Staying present in yoga class is not to be taken for granted. Chuckling and laughing when caught is a new reaction for me. In the past when I received feedback to do something differently I would strain and try too hard. I became heavy. Maybe I am still not present as much as I believe I am but I am grateful for this new lighthearted response. Rather than feeling caught, I feel a light shining the way.
The first time that it happened I was moving from a front down savasana into the next pose. I do Bikram yoga, which is the same 26 poses every time, so I know the routine. Somehow (actually I know how) my mind stopped listening to the dialog and I found myself upright on my knees with my hands on the small of my back. It took another moment before I realized that I was one pose too early. I chuckled quietly to myself and moved into the correct sequence but the instructor and I exchanged glances as we both knew that my automatic pilot had shifted in gear and then gave me away.
Today in class I was very present at the outset. I was coughing and assessing how my body felt as a result of a mild cold. I could feel the tightness in my shoulders as a result of rock climbing two days in a row. I could feel my hamstrings and glutes stretch as we warmed up. We then shifted from the standing series to the floor series. The instructor varied slightly from the dialogue and commented that the floor series presents new challenges, that since we take savasana between each pose, we have more opportunities for our minds to shift into gear. I listened, agreed, and decided that wouldn't happen to me.
Ha!...I was midway through the floor series, laying in savasana and heard the instructor say "Ginny, are you sleeping?" I nodded, realizing that I had momentarily closed my eyes. Then I heard him say "Cathy really doesn't like you that much" and I realized that I was laying face turned in the wrong direction, nose to another's nose, removing any privacy from the person on the mat next to me. I laughed out loud as I become conscious just how far away I had slipped.
Several things have become clear to me as a result of practicing yoga this week. Staying in the moment continues to be a challenge and, ironically, I am catching myself leaving when I believe I am most present. Staying present in yoga class is not to be taken for granted. Chuckling and laughing when caught is a new reaction for me. In the past when I received feedback to do something differently I would strain and try too hard. I became heavy. Maybe I am still not present as much as I believe I am but I am grateful for this new lighthearted response. Rather than feeling caught, I feel a light shining the way.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Expectations vs. intentions
The last time that I went rock climbing, I climbed really well. I was telling a group of friends just that and one asked "What does climbing well mean?"
Good question. It's not like there are time trials or judges. Even route grades are controversial. What is easy for one person is not so easy for another, whether it is a 5.7 or a 5.11b. When I say I climbed well, I mean that I broke through either a physical or mental limit. It means that I have climbed with my mind quiet and my body active. On that particular night, I climbed a route, that none of my friends have done, top to bottom without stopping. It was the fourth time that I tried the route. I had the benefit of knowing the pattern of movement from my past attempts. There was one moment when I almost stopped but I continued.
I then tried another route that I have climbed many times. Only once have I climbed it without a stop. There are three moves that I find mentally challenging. Physically I can do them all. My self-talk is what inhibits me. I look at the hold out to the right and know that I have to move my foot up and out parallel to my hip. Once I do that, the only parts of me that are close to the wall are my hands, gripping holds, and my feet, placed on hold. When I climb I like to be close to the wall and this position plays on all my fears.
As I made the first move, I was pleased with myself. I was even happier when I made the second difficult move, and at that point, I lost focus and listened to my talk and didn't succeed in making the third move. It's like in yoga when I try to balance just on one foot in toe stand. The instant I realize that I am doing it, I fall out. I am afraid not to fall because that would mean that I would have to stay in toe stand even longer. The expectation is what causes me to fall.
Expectations are inherently a balancing act. If my expectations are too low, I don't reach high enough. If they are too high, I get frustrated. The answer: set intentions not expectations. For me, setting intentions creates challenge but allows me freedom to let my body move and my mind observe. Expectations are more rooted in outcomes, in the future. An intention is set in the present. An expectation is rooted in the past and future. When I climb hold by hold, rather than focusing on the end, I climb more confidently and smoothly. Moment by moment, hold by hold with quiet intent.
Good question. It's not like there are time trials or judges. Even route grades are controversial. What is easy for one person is not so easy for another, whether it is a 5.7 or a 5.11b. When I say I climbed well, I mean that I broke through either a physical or mental limit. It means that I have climbed with my mind quiet and my body active. On that particular night, I climbed a route, that none of my friends have done, top to bottom without stopping. It was the fourth time that I tried the route. I had the benefit of knowing the pattern of movement from my past attempts. There was one moment when I almost stopped but I continued.
I then tried another route that I have climbed many times. Only once have I climbed it without a stop. There are three moves that I find mentally challenging. Physically I can do them all. My self-talk is what inhibits me. I look at the hold out to the right and know that I have to move my foot up and out parallel to my hip. Once I do that, the only parts of me that are close to the wall are my hands, gripping holds, and my feet, placed on hold. When I climb I like to be close to the wall and this position plays on all my fears.
As I made the first move, I was pleased with myself. I was even happier when I made the second difficult move, and at that point, I lost focus and listened to my talk and didn't succeed in making the third move. It's like in yoga when I try to balance just on one foot in toe stand. The instant I realize that I am doing it, I fall out. I am afraid not to fall because that would mean that I would have to stay in toe stand even longer. The expectation is what causes me to fall.
Expectations are inherently a balancing act. If my expectations are too low, I don't reach high enough. If they are too high, I get frustrated. The answer: set intentions not expectations. For me, setting intentions creates challenge but allows me freedom to let my body move and my mind observe. Expectations are more rooted in outcomes, in the future. An intention is set in the present. An expectation is rooted in the past and future. When I climb hold by hold, rather than focusing on the end, I climb more confidently and smoothly. Moment by moment, hold by hold with quiet intent.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Winnie the Pooh as glue
In the past two weeks, I have read several books. At first they seemed disparate. I read "Last Child in the Woods" by Richard Louv which reinforced my belief that nature is a source of healing, spirituality and beauty, and that without contact with nature, our souls are thinner. I read "Comfortable with Uncertainty" by Pema Chodron. I resonated with many of the concepts but wondered how to reconcile the notion of "groundlessness" with the feeling that being "grounded", being "centered" contribute to me being a more true me. I also took some to time to begin to understand Tonglen. The idea of breathing in whatever seems bad initially felt counter-intuitive, though the idea of breathing out and passing on good made sense from the outset. I read "Shadow Catcher" which contains some of the most poetic prose I have ever read and a number of themes, varying from early photography as an art form and truth-teller, to the treatment of Native Americans, to trains as metaphors, to children whose fathers disappear. I also re-read the "Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Huff.
Language is one of the tools through which we communicate and I realized that "groundlessness" and "being grounded" express the same concept, but with slight difference in nuance. Groundlessness means not being rooted, allowing one's self to be open to the moment, allowing one's self to feel all that is present. When I do that, I am me and more. I am me and I am connected to all that is. When I am grounded, I mean that I am feeling open to my feelings but the connection to all that is, is more limited almost as if the connection extends only as far as my roots.
Breathing in the pain and bad feelings and the breathing out the good has helped me deal with a number of stressful situations over the past couple of weeks. I found that as I practice Tonglen, I observe my own thoughts and feelings more closely and feel a tighter link with others. For example, yesterday, my car was rear-ended as I drove down a freeway. I immediately got out of my car and checked that the driver of the car that hit me was okay. Later, I felt angry that she had not done the same for me. Later still, I realized that I could relate to how she was feeling, that she wanted to believe that she was not at fault, that this inconvenience could be pushed away by denial. In the past, I would have told everyone I saw that day that I had been in a car accident. I would have fondled the story (and perhaps I am now) but I do know that I haven't focused on the incident the way I would have in the past.
"The Shadow Catcher" is a novel which intertwines history, fiction, and personal memoir. It's value to me at this time is to illustrate that the lines between the three types of oeuvres are illusions, and made stronger or weaker by recounting or forgetting. Interpretation of any story is individual as well. Perhaps a scholar could determine if A.A. Milne had read Lao-tse or been exposed to eastern philosophy, but I doubt his intent in writing "Winnie the Pooh" was to create a parable illuminating Taoist ideas. Even if A. A. Milne did have such an intent, it wouldn't matter. Rabbit's calculations and Owl's pontifications would still just fall on Pooh's ears. Winnie the Pooh is a simple bear who illustrates a way of learning from whatever happens in everyday life. He is pretty much okay with whatever happens. He does without doing . And despite my protestations to the contrary, it is no coincidence that Winnie the Pooh is a childlike bear who lives in the woods and is very comfortable with uncertainty. Winnie the Pooh is the glue in my reading.
Language is one of the tools through which we communicate and I realized that "groundlessness" and "being grounded" express the same concept, but with slight difference in nuance. Groundlessness means not being rooted, allowing one's self to be open to the moment, allowing one's self to feel all that is present. When I do that, I am me and more. I am me and I am connected to all that is. When I am grounded, I mean that I am feeling open to my feelings but the connection to all that is, is more limited almost as if the connection extends only as far as my roots.
Breathing in the pain and bad feelings and the breathing out the good has helped me deal with a number of stressful situations over the past couple of weeks. I found that as I practice Tonglen, I observe my own thoughts and feelings more closely and feel a tighter link with others. For example, yesterday, my car was rear-ended as I drove down a freeway. I immediately got out of my car and checked that the driver of the car that hit me was okay. Later, I felt angry that she had not done the same for me. Later still, I realized that I could relate to how she was feeling, that she wanted to believe that she was not at fault, that this inconvenience could be pushed away by denial. In the past, I would have told everyone I saw that day that I had been in a car accident. I would have fondled the story (and perhaps I am now) but I do know that I haven't focused on the incident the way I would have in the past.
"The Shadow Catcher" is a novel which intertwines history, fiction, and personal memoir. It's value to me at this time is to illustrate that the lines between the three types of oeuvres are illusions, and made stronger or weaker by recounting or forgetting. Interpretation of any story is individual as well. Perhaps a scholar could determine if A.A. Milne had read Lao-tse or been exposed to eastern philosophy, but I doubt his intent in writing "Winnie the Pooh" was to create a parable illuminating Taoist ideas. Even if A. A. Milne did have such an intent, it wouldn't matter. Rabbit's calculations and Owl's pontifications would still just fall on Pooh's ears. Winnie the Pooh is a simple bear who illustrates a way of learning from whatever happens in everyday life. He is pretty much okay with whatever happens. He does without doing . And despite my protestations to the contrary, it is no coincidence that Winnie the Pooh is a childlike bear who lives in the woods and is very comfortable with uncertainty. Winnie the Pooh is the glue in my reading.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Dragonfly
I went outside a few minutes ago to make sure the front gate was closed and there was an amazing dragonfly holding tightly to my doorknob. It had a wingspan of about 2 1/2 inches and its wings were like bronze lace. I felt like I was in the presence of a tiny ancient warrior. He's still there now, guarding my door.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Left, right, right
I was at the rock climbing gym one Sunday afternoon and none of my friends were available to belay me, so I bouldered (which is climbing without a harness and rope but only to a certain height). Some rock climbers prefer bouldering. Others use it to train endurance by doing horizontal circuits around the gym. Still others boulder to work out certain "problems" which are series of moves determined by the placement of particular feet and hand holds.
I bouldered a circuit for a while but I could only endure so much for so long and I turned to the problems. The ones at the gym where I climb are graded in increasing difficulty from 1-24. Usually I can complete problems 1-8 without much difficulty and I have never completed a problem higher than 12. This is still true. That Sunday, I completed 1-8 with no problem. I started 9 but it is in the cave with the moves set from the side to the ceiling. I get stuck on a ceiling move. Whether I lack the core strength or technique or willingness to commit, I don't know, but I get stuck at the same place every time. I was able to complete problems 10-11 with coaching from others and I am now working on 12. I can do each individual move but cannot string them together to flow from start to finish. I would like to break past this level of climbing and progress, so I decided to specifically work on moves that I find either mentally or physically challenging.
One of the moves that I find difficult is to be in a position with my feet high on the wall, knees fully bent and hands on a single hold, somewhat like a backstroke swimmer at the start of a race, and then dynamically reach up high with one hand to the next hold. It's like being in a squat and reaching up to a basketball hoop. I decided to practice this un-coiling and catching the hold until I had done it ten times in a row.
First try - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my right foot up and then my left foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try, I did the same thing and succeeded in catching the hold. My brain and body had used the information from the first try to gauge how much unfurling was required. Third try, I did it again. My neurological circuits were firing and the move was transitioning into body memory.
I decided to experiment and make a subtle change in the movement. Experiment - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my left foot up and then my right foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try in the experiment, I did the same thing and missed. Third try, I missed again. Fourth try, I missed again. Clearly, something was amiss.
The pattern of movement - left, right, right - is not the pattern I am accustomed to in ordinary life. I walk, left, right, left right. I swim, feet kicking left, right, left right and my arms arc left, right, left right. To move two limbs on one side of my body in succession feels wrong. This is why it is good for me. I am breaking through old patterns and creating new neurological pathways. Not only will this help me climb better but research shows this learning will help me as I age. Learning dance moves or yoga poses, I encounter the same thing. New ways of moving create new ways of being.
And so, if you notice yourself moving in the same pattern, time and time again, alter the pattern slightly and notice what happens next. You may feel a frisson of fear as you do something new, but it's all part of the fun.
I bouldered a circuit for a while but I could only endure so much for so long and I turned to the problems. The ones at the gym where I climb are graded in increasing difficulty from 1-24. Usually I can complete problems 1-8 without much difficulty and I have never completed a problem higher than 12. This is still true. That Sunday, I completed 1-8 with no problem. I started 9 but it is in the cave with the moves set from the side to the ceiling. I get stuck on a ceiling move. Whether I lack the core strength or technique or willingness to commit, I don't know, but I get stuck at the same place every time. I was able to complete problems 10-11 with coaching from others and I am now working on 12. I can do each individual move but cannot string them together to flow from start to finish. I would like to break past this level of climbing and progress, so I decided to specifically work on moves that I find either mentally or physically challenging.
One of the moves that I find difficult is to be in a position with my feet high on the wall, knees fully bent and hands on a single hold, somewhat like a backstroke swimmer at the start of a race, and then dynamically reach up high with one hand to the next hold. It's like being in a squat and reaching up to a basketball hoop. I decided to practice this un-coiling and catching the hold until I had done it ten times in a row.
First try - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my right foot up and then my left foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try, I did the same thing and succeeded in catching the hold. My brain and body had used the information from the first try to gauge how much unfurling was required. Third try, I did it again. My neurological circuits were firing and the move was transitioning into body memory.
I decided to experiment and make a subtle change in the movement. Experiment - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my left foot up and then my right foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try in the experiment, I did the same thing and missed. Third try, I missed again. Fourth try, I missed again. Clearly, something was amiss.
The pattern of movement - left, right, right - is not the pattern I am accustomed to in ordinary life. I walk, left, right, left right. I swim, feet kicking left, right, left right and my arms arc left, right, left right. To move two limbs on one side of my body in succession feels wrong. This is why it is good for me. I am breaking through old patterns and creating new neurological pathways. Not only will this help me climb better but research shows this learning will help me as I age. Learning dance moves or yoga poses, I encounter the same thing. New ways of moving create new ways of being.
And so, if you notice yourself moving in the same pattern, time and time again, alter the pattern slightly and notice what happens next. You may feel a frisson of fear as you do something new, but it's all part of the fun.
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