Awake

I do not know what it is about these early mornings when the sky is still cast with the night's dye.

The world's harried pace, calmed by the shade of sleep, delayed by early quiet morning refuge.

A perfect place

for warriors to face the dawning of a new day

for dreamers to create

for dark light to illuminate a sleeping lover's face.

remember the peace

live within the beautiful silence of space.

greet the dawn.

steady

calm

awake

Life-o-Rama

A couple of days ago I had the opportunity to go to a concert that my students were playing at in my hometown: Band-o-Rama. In my yesteryear, this same concert was the backbone of every winter from grades 4-12. Driving to the concert, I got that nervous pit in my stomach of going to a place where you haven't been for a long time, not knowing and wondering if it had changed or perhaps even wondering and acknowledging that I had changed, and that the course of life had taken me to routes unforseen from the fourth grader I once was.

As I found a seat perched high in the bleachers, I took in the scene: each band set in configured arcs buzzing with nervous players settling into this new medium, -to the veterans in the back who had been through the whole diametric range of shifting from one space to another year after year. After seeing the lay of the land, I started to pick out the faces that I knew and teared up as I saw the very person that started me on the whole trek through music- Mr. McLellan. It was easy to pick him out from the crowd on the floor. His springy step and professional air was contagious and his problem-solving and incredible scope of the whole room was so readily apparent. This man, I realized, was my first mentor. He saved my life. Literally. Breathe Sharon, breathe. As the haze from my eyes started to clear, I saw each of my students in their respective grade levels and chairs and became overwhelmed with a sense of pride of where they had come from when I first started with each of them, to where they were now. It continually amazes me what every year brings forth.

The rumbles of the fourth grade band stirring into action woke me from my reverie. Raw and squwaky, they made their way through. The fifth graders, with more proficiency, were like a pack of wild horses wanting to blast out of their seats. As the grades progressed, the playing got better and better and at certain points, I could hear where the proficiency was holding them back and where in the later grades, it was a tool to be able to help them express fully.

What struck me was witnessing the progression and seeing the possibilities that the fourth graders were shown, and the perspective that the grades after had of looking back. All in all, the bands were together starting the concert and ending the concert, and no matter how green or advanced they were, they were all there, creating music together. This made me think about entering a room of yogis and witnessing the magic that a room of people from all different backgrounds, days, and levels provides. During a ninety minute class, each person's tempo of practice as well as proficiency might be different, however, we begin the practice together and end it together united by breathe, movement and emotion. In essence, we are all mirrors lending us to look at where we have come from, where we are at present, and where we can go.

Life lessons have a funny way of showing up and waving their hands at you. In my case, I saw the conductor, my mentor from my past waving his arms to conduct, yet it was also that elegant sweep in a four beat pattern that reminded me that the longevity of this man's profession was the passion and love of his job, -the internal knowing of the vital importance to bring a life line to these students to express love, anger, joy and angst. Likewise, as a newer teacher of yoga, I feel a constant student wobbling my way through, where sometimes the spurts of growth can be like a wild and wonderful rollercoaster ride and at other times, the path gets cluttered and it is easy to lose my way.

As I was heading up to Boston this week, I was feeling tired and cranky and my partner gave me a hug and a kiss and said, "ok, honey, it is time to go up there and do your important work". Something about this statement made me do a double-take and the whole ride up was a teary mash-up filled with so much gratitude of remembering to be tender, patient and kind to myself and give space to have the perspective of noting where I came from, where I am now, and where I have yet to travel. So, renewed, I find myself wide-eyed and ready to always be a student of the possibilities ahead. Thank you John McLellan for being my constant mentor and source of inspiration, this work is of vital importance. Thanks you for the reminder.

Let Life Unfold

As a housewarming present a few months ago, my mom gave me a 'pot it yourself' flower in a box to plant. For many weeks, the box sat un-opened and every time I visited home my mom would ask if I had planted the flower with my reply always being, 'next time'.

On a night returning home from a busy week away, I peered at the box and hesitantly pried it open to find a bulb, a disc of peet the size of a hockey puck and a pot. Upon starting the meager assembly, I wet the disc of peet with warm water and walked away to throw something in the trash. As I turned back around, my eyes widened in disbelief as I stared at a huge, brown loaf that was once puck-sized. I called my mom yapping away and all she did was press me to move forward and finish the set up. As I crushed the loaf in between my fingers and started to set the bulb amidst it, my mind started to whirl with the questioning of how and could it grow from this sparse element into the beautiful flower on the front of the box.

Day after day the plant started to unfold, and like a kid on Christmas morning, I would come down, notice the changes, and point them out to my partner. Each week's trip home would be the update to my mother tracking the progress of the plant. What I also started to notice was the progress of our conversations evolving from the everyday niceties to some of the most honest and open revelations upon both of our parts. On those days, instead of noticing the growth of the plant, I noticed the way my mom set the table for every meal and how she would turn down the corner of my sleeping bag with a note perched on the pillow to invite me home.

Eventually from the stalk of the plant emerged a pink bulb. Like wanting to pick at a scab or squeeze a zit, I negotiated the reasoning for prying back the petals, however, I let the plant be and day by day I watched it unfurl bearing forth yellow stamen surrounded by pink and while petals. Beautiful.

I called my mom and after getting off the phone with her, I realize that what she provided me was an amazing gift bearing many fruits: she provided me with a frame to watch a moment unfold, she made me realize that there is always time to change, she let me see what a simple choice could offer and what a simple action could bear forth, -she showed me that letting something be as it is, is letting something live into its own potential.

She gave me a flower in a box. She gave me a life to let live. She gave me my life to live, but now it is up to me to make the choice to take if out of the box, water it, and let it grow.

Gulls

Last weekend as I sat amongst the rocks that lay imprinted upon the Cape shoreline, a huge flock of gulls flew overhead. At first it appeared that there was mass chaos- no order or form to the pattern of their flight like one would witness amongst fold of geese heading in the same direction looking for the embrace of warmer weather. However, as the seconds passed by, the chaotic flurry shifted into a choreography of life at its very essence. As the scene unfolded, my gaze drew to the eye of the storm and at the shifting center was a gull with what appeared to be a highly coveted cheese puff in its mouth. Its wings beat furiously, pounding back the advancing hoard of hungry squawkers, and through dives and ascents the gull averted the advances of its peers. As more time elapsed, the hoard started to settle amongst the crags and stones while the lone gull with its lofty prize hovered aimlessly overhead- it could not land, it could not rest, it could not be at peace, -it could not let go. Eventually, the gull's beak crushed and let dissolve that which in the past seconds had seemed so vital to hold on to, and with crumbs left scattered, it returned to the other white bodies speckled amongst the shoreline, -blending back in amongst the fold of hungry searchers, -not so different from one another in the struggles of nature, but certainly not the same in each of their experiences.

Watching this scene was a powerful reminder that the things that we hold on to, the experiences, the memories, the pain, the labels that we think define us, are the very things that we cannot negate. Rather, they are the things that we either choose to embrace or choose to loosen our grip on and let dissolve lest they become the very things that hold each one of us back from landing in the present: in the presence of peace and into the open arms of love.

Love After Love

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror,

and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was yourself.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

- Derek Walcott

lost and found

In the distance, a long time ago, I tracked a lone figure swimming across the skyline, across the edge of the ocean, as far out as I could see. Unhurried, un-harried, his arms stroked the sky and the water as his body moved with agile grace, undeterred by his body, unstopped by his ponderous thoughts.

I thought he would swim away never to return.

As he turned to head back to the shore beckoning me to come closer, his inclination to let me experience swimming was to lift me up and drop me in. Falling. Failing. Sinking. Sputtering. Fear. Frustration and all of the worldly weights re-surfacing as he lifted me out of the water.

I had wished he would never return.

This man was my father, and I have missed him dearly ever since.

During our time together, the one piece of advice that he gave me that stuck with me for so long was that i would be lucky to have one good friend at the end of my life. Being young, I took this to heart and as my life unfolded I found the revolving door of friends becoming a story much like the one my dad had told me. I began to build, brick by brick, a wall where only I could reach out and no one could reach in, with the exception of one. This scene a perfect mirror of my father swimming out in the distance where the coming closer to shore, the coming closer to myself, was met with falling, failing, sinking, sputtering and fear- a shroud of great intent buried in the wake of believing that nothing would last and that I would fail.

Years have passed and upon the arrival of this 34th year of my life, I find myself at pause, emotional and at a point of reflection. There are many roads that have been travelled and forgotten, but some were beautifully laid out in a birthday book that my family put together for me on my 30th birthday. Each person of my family, reflected on who I was, who I became and yet, through it all, at the very end, there were pages to be filled. How fitting. At the time of the conception of that book, I had lost my dad, and shortly thereafter, I would end a relationship with my then fiance landing me in a world filled with loss not able to see how full my life really was.

There was a time after all of that happened where the world felt dark. I felt alone and misunderstood. It brought me back to the days in high school, dressed in black furiously scribbling in my journal wishing for a release, an end to my so called life. Through the haze of my early years, what beckoned me back to the living was music. Through the haze of my 30th year and forward, yoga helped lead me back towards life. The common thread being that through both of them, the form and practice brought me to an understanding of the sense of formlessness and unity, of emotion and love. I read that a wise person once said that it is far better to understand without practice than to practice without understanding. Life up until recently had been about endlessly going through form and structures and set beliefs until I found some missing elements: Understanding. Forgiveness. Non-judgement.

Until recently, I had not realized that I had never forgiven my father, my friends, my family and myself. I never understood that if I took away the labels of who they were to me and who I was to myself, that at the very base of all of us, we were souls seeking connectivity. The choice to accept this new way of thinking made me realize that I had a choice between love and hate, between life and death, between fear and fearlessness, between a lie and a new way of being.

I choose the possibility of every person that I meet to be a gift for all of the dimensions that they bring and share. I love and and I am loved.

During this time of growth in June, I had the opportunity to take part in a sweat lodge ceremony. In the heat and darkness, the trepidation of fellow sweat mates dissipated as we chanted thanks to all around us, bringing about a profound sense of abundance and peace. After each chant, we jumped into the icy lake in the glow of the morning sunshine. On our final dunk, it was suggested that we run up to the top of a hill, climb to the top of a tall ladder to swing over the water and take a final dunk. While my initial thoughts brought me back to earlier days of fear and failure, I felt my perspective shift as I watched my friends climbing and swinging, whooping and hollering, supporting, living, and trusting. With shakiness, I climbed the ladder to the rope and with the help of a friend, jumped on and flew over the water screaming in fear and delight. At the apex of the swing over the water, I realized I had to let go.

Literally.

Release.

Belly-flop.

I let go of far more than the rope.

As my body hit the water, my being was split in two. While I was experiencing it in my body, I oddly also could see it through a camera lens split between the air and water. As I felt myself sinking, I could see myself sinking. As water rushed into my mouth, I could see myself panicking and looking up to the light above wondering if this was my time to leave the earth. Crawling and scratching to the surface, the moment of breaking through the water was cathartic. I could see it from outside of myself and feel something shift within. Swim! Mind and body united, and with each stroke my arms felt sky and water. I felt unhurried and un-harried. Reaching the shore, I felt limitless. I felt re-born. I felt found in the arms of my friends and my self. I felt my father restored to me in a new light and that my life, like the pages in the back of the birthday book were unwritten for a reason. I feel.

I miss my dad and am profoundly thankful for the journey he set for me, but now I see it is a choose your own adventure novel filled with all that life has to offer. I get to choose my path and there are no wrong choices.

Thank you to all of my friends, family and loved ones past and present. You are my presents. You make me become present. I was lost but now I am found. I see you and now I want you to see me.

"A true friend knows your weaknesses but shows you your strength; sees your anxieties but frees your spirit; recognizes your disabilities but emphasizes your possibilities."

-William Arthur Ward

The Untethered Soul

In the pre-dawn of this day, 4:32 am, a lone bird starts its call to invite the morning.  The darkened streets, damp with the rain of many weeks, and the ominous sky trying to break its tie to the moon, cast a surreal image as I peer out my window in silence and in darkness.

This day is like all others in many regards however what defines it for me is that it marks the memorial of my dad's passing from this world as well as a turning point in my own world.

Four years ago, life was at the peak of falling apart.  My dad was painfully wasting away from lung cancer right before mine and my family's eyes. 29 years of fearing this one man, wanting to love him despite fearing him, fulfilling expectations and sometimes succeeding while at other times failing all came to a head. Life until that moment had been a cautious walk to hold onto stability.  I was so afraid to forget him, I was so afraid of myself, I was so afraid to let go.  Life until that moment had been about taking control of everything I could so that I wouldn't be alone or afraid and it left me broken-hearted, alone, afraid and sinking in despair not knowing who I was or what my purpose on this earth was.

In hindsight, I realize that what I was clinging to were the memories from my childhood of him that held me back from realizing what my own potential was.  It was so easy to cling to and hide behind the labels that had been put on me and likewise the labels that I put on him and my whole family and my whole life.  The fragile cord that had held me through his last days and into the mourning phase after, -an engagement seven years in the making, unraveled and in the wake of losing my father, within the course of less than a year,  I said goodbye to a love gone by and shoved away from the shore and bid that world adieu.  It was then that I started to be accountable for my life rather than letting others dictate or feeling that others dictated it. 

Time heals all wounds.  It does.  In the four years since his passing, I died and then I got a chance that not so many get: I was re-born.  In losing what I thought was almost everything in my world outside of my dear family and friends, meaning myself, I was able to do it all over again.  I climbed outside of this womb of pain and turmoil and loss and then one day I found my feet, I found yoga and started to crawl and then walk.  Yoga helped me find the union to myself, -to take the time to make the time to find what I love: to explore, to see people again, to clear the lens of my perception, to love me again, to trust again, to be a risk taker, to be a light.

On this morning, I think about my father  as nothing other than a beautiful soul and light.  I am grateful for the one life I have lived and for the second chance that I found.  I have two visions of him that I will always hold dear to my heart that project all who he was:

My fondest memories of dad were those times when we would take a break from work at the store and go for walks and talk about life in one of the most beautiful places in Boston, The Arnold Arboretum.  Looking back, I see the way that I will always remember dad, strong and eternally giving.  In good health we would walk together until we reached the highest point of the arboretum that overlooked the grounds below so that we could stretch, breathe and observe silence.  It was at these moments that I most appreciated him sharing this special spot free of the rest of our daily worries to witness him the most at peace. 

My other memory that I would like to share occurred after his diagnosis with Lymphoma.  During the weeks following his diagnosis I committed to walk and workout with him a couple of days each week to boost his strength as well as his spirits.  Despite his initial wariness, we proceeded and it was during this time that I really saw for myself his truest strength and humanity.  No matter how tired or winded he was, no matter how hard his body would strain to do the last lift or step, and no matter how hard it was for him to breathe after a walk around the block, he would continue, despite his fatigue, determined to finish.  After each of these sessions as I was leaving, we would hold hands as I was kissing him goodbye and he would in his breathlessness whisper a thank you.  No dad, thank you.

And so here it is, the dawn has broken onto another overcast day.  The solo song of the one lone bird has turned into a chorus of many birdcalls.  I hear my father and feel my father's soul imparted in this music and I feel his soul free, untethered from all expectations, soaring above, exploring, feeling, loving and in his potential. He is not alone, I am not alone, we are not alone.  Live in love and live in light.  Thank you dad, I miss you and I will always love you.