Spring

After the long darkness of winter, at least here in New England, the sunshine and birdsong can feel like a rollercoaster accelerating suddenly. Are you ready to throw off all your blankets and start running around accomplishing things?! No?! Me neither.

This is a great time to take it slow, and notice what that frenetic nesting, burrowing, sowing, energy brings up for you. Observe nature in its business, and gently tap the brakes any time you feel overwhelmed.

If you’re in the habit of occasionally efforting towards animal energy, choose this time to be a turtle. Find a sunny spot, and lay in it. Feel your breath, and take a break. Allow the springtime energy to nurture you and bring zest to your chosen activities, but lovingly resist when it feels like “should”, pressure, rushing, stress.

When it feels like, “Yay!”, playtime, passion projects, satisfaction, lean in.

Ebbing and Flowing

Life flows all around us, as we are surrounded by the constant motion of the living world. We have human motion, animal motion, clocks ticking, plants growing, the flow of air and water, the solidity of earth. All of reality, seen and unseen, surrounds us all the time in an epic and constant dance. We feel this especially at certain times of year, during the shifting of the seasons. Today is breezy, cool, and dry. An August day that could just as well exist in early October in New England, a day that feels like the heat of summer is swirling around the drain as it makes its way out of our year. In Spring after the long cold stillness of winter, we feel the energy of life rushing back into the land, and into ourselves. Exuberant flowers poke up through the snow, like nervous ballerinas who can’t seem to wait for their cue. And a month ago, we had days that were so hot we could barely move - the energy of summertime laid over us like a heavy quilt, the blossoming of the year in its full ripeness. These cycles of energy, of fast and slow, are a natural part of our lives here, although we can feel quite separate from them through modern convenience and the year-round workplace metronome that never changes. Meditation is one of my favorite ways to connect to the natural world, and to experience being a part of the interplay of energy. And there is no one right way to open to that connection - we might find that it needs to shift, depending on the season, and how we are feeling.

In meditation in nature, I have had the experience of being nothing. This is a scary idea sometimes, for the human mind, and perhaps an oversimplification. In spiritual practices, we often seek to be at one with Everything. To truly open, we must allow the motion of life to flow around us, and even through us. There have been times, sitting on the side of a mountain in a gentle snowfall, where my mind was able to be quiet enough that I could imagine the snowflakes falling through my body, the wind blowing through the space where my mind has been. To visualize a transparency of body and mind, as if our presence here is not separate from the flow of the earth and her mysteries, but deeply intertwined, and connected. We ourselves can become part of the backdrop if we slow down enough.

In seated meditation, I have also had the experience of being the Still Point. Clearly seeing my existence, in a meditative state, as a deep stillness surrounded by the swirling motion, passing traffic, and cheerful conversation nearby. It is deeply healing to know that we have the option to drop out of the busy pace that surrounds us whenever we can. We can choose to look at a flower petal for three minutes, as long as we have those three minutes to spare. We can sit and drink our morning coffee without distraction, only observation or quiet contemplation. We can be drawn into thought, and return to the present moment as often as we recognize that our mind has wandered, infinitely going and returning.

And in moving meditation I begin in relative stillness. By quieting my mind, I find the existing rhythm of the world, the heartbeat of the earth, and I begin to play along. On a good day, I am able to dive into the flow of the eddying energies around me, and swim like an otter into the stream of constant motion. Fast or slow, it carries my limbs about, my mind free and clear of clutter, and I experience the kind of flow that I imagine the plants and animals do: Being, rather than Doing. Becoming into clarity. This, to me, seems to be a combination of the other two experiences: softening the boundaries of Self and Other, and then allowing that softer self to play, tossed on the breezes of existence, the constant flow of life energy.

All of these practices are ways of being in relationship both to ourselves, and to the reality of the world around us. Whether we dissolve, find stillness, or enter the flow, we are exploring our ability to connect with the natural flow of life

The Routine of Tending (Chickens)

The routine of tending chickens reminds me of how a good self-care practice ought to be.

No wait, hear me out.

In the morning almost first thing after dawn, I put on my clompiest slip-on boots, and my coat, and I go out to free them from the coop. I lower the drawbridge-style door and see who pops their feathered heads out first. I say good morning to them and ask how they are. They don’t answer of course except with their quiet chicken sounds, so instead I use my senses to check in with each of them as they emerge and see how they’re doing and what they might need. On especially cold mornings I pour warm amino acid broth into a rubber bowl that they always knock over, because it’s good for the whole flock. This is the warmup of our practice.

Then I move on to the meat of the practice, pardon the pun. Providing what might be beneficial for balance. On a cold evening, I give cracked corn, so their digestive systems can work as a little furnace and provide them extra heat throughout the night. At midday in the heat of the summer, I refresh their water with cool water and give them frozen peas. Most of the flock can be maintained in similar ways by offering them things and allowing them to choose what they want to partake in, and every once in a while, we all take turns being Pepper.

Pepper, right now, is a mess. She’s molting, I think, and she has always been the meanest, but it seems that recently the other hens have come into their own and started pecking back. She’s missing some feathers - not a lot, but not so little that you don’t notice. She has the air of a harassed mother of multiple toddlers, a customer service worker, or someone who went from a chaotic management position to being suddenly self-employed with only herself to boss around. I can certainly relate to the latter, although I have long-since adjusted and decided just to work well and kindly with myself. just like I would anyone else. Pepper is a metaphor for the aching hip, the “bad” knee, the sore neck that after spending too much time reading the news on a smartphone, is sending small sharp pains to the right eye. Pepper needs some extra help, so later I will give her some scrambled eggs to give her the protein she needs. (To us, this seems cannibalistic, and to her, it seems like warmth and strength.)

The rest and movement we provide to our bodies might seem like very little, or even strange to an external eye. We might think of this because the movement practices we see have been curated for our eyes. Dance performances, sporting events, acrobatic routines, and the strange crossover between beneficial movement and advertising movement in all kinds of media, including recorded classes. But most of the time, what you really need to give yourself might look like nothing at all from the outside. A cushion on your wooden chair to be gentle to your hamstrings, to soak your feet in warm water, to gently unwind any tension you’ve picked up through your day, week, month, and life.

If we find ourselves tending more lovingly, carefully, and compassionately to creatures and tasks outside of ourselves, how much can we bring those qualities into our practice? How much can we be just as kind to ourselves, as we are to others - this is the modern American version of the Golden Rule. Of course, there are exceptions, but I’m guessing that in general, many of us are more polite and considerate of others, at times, than we are to ourselves. (If it makes you mad or brings a tear to your eye to read that. . . you are in the right place!) Be as kind to yourself as you would be to others.

On days when we are Pepper - and we all are sometimes - how much can we slow down, check in, and give ourselves what we need?

What a time to be alive, as they say...

Pros about these weird times:

-Having the security and privilege to work from home. I am so grateful, and sometimes guilty. Praying for our healthcare workers, and those who are out in the world daily.

-It turns out I like teaching yoga online!

- My cat has gotten to know me better. I can now touch his feet briefly without injury. If the moon is right.

-I eventually get my housework done faster and more often. Eventually.

-Introvert burnout is a thing of the past. No indeed, I cannot go out to the bar this evening or any other forever.

- More time for introspection, meditation, and movement.

-New house project productivity has been at an all-time high!

-Trying new recipes, and making pickles

-Collective Attention on social issues that must be changed: We are not free until we are all free.

Cons about these times:

-Knowing that many others are at risk, exposed, and underserved.

-This is scary!

- I prefer teaching yoga in person.

-Missing our loved ones, and distancing from them

-National and worldwide grief, the losses that continue daily. Feeling helpless.

-I mess up my cat's napping schedule often, he gives me the stink-eye.

-Anchor Yoga having to close its doors. It was as much of a home as a wandering teacher can have. I love it forever.

-I might cut my own hair. Should I dye it pink?

-Fear.

This is where I’m at today. How are you? I hope you’re doing well, or holding on as well as you can. Some days seem fine and easy, and some days are too heavy. What’s important is that the next day will come. To take care of ourselves and if we have energy, the people around us as best we can. It’s important to remember that although it’s been nearly five months, this is not normal. Day to day life should be softer, gentler, easier. We should be able to hug as needed. It would be surprising if your mental health was not some variation of a roller-coaster during these times. We do the best we can, with what we have.

Some practices that can help:

-Therapy, or talking things out with a supportive friend.

- Journaling (or scribbling swear words cathartically on notebook paper)

- Brushing your cat while wearing rose-tending gloves and goggles. Just kidding. About the goggles. You should probably wear the gloves. Maybe also the goggles.

- Spending time in nature, but not after you’ve touched Japanese Beetle bait: They will land in your hair.

-Connecting with loved ones in meaningful ways. Send a card, a photo, a weird gift. Tell the people you love that you love them.

-Wear costumes, weird hair styles, brilliant blue eyeshadow. Mask-friendly fashion is the new red lipstick.

-Yoga (or laying on a blanket). Meditation (or positive daydreaming). Exercise or movement that feels nutritious in the body (or napping). Use the modifications as needed. Do what you need to do to be kind to yourself. We’ll be doing a little bit of all three self-care options on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays 9-10:30 through Zoom. I love you. Hang in there.

Nesting

Well, my plan for the fall went right out the window! Sometimes it’s great to make plans, just so the universe will mess with them by giving you exactly what you need.

Instead of running off to the woods every weekend to howl at the moon, I’ve been moving towards wild domesticity through paperwork, inspections, and budgeting. Next week, Tom and I will be moving to our own little sanctuary near the woods. I’ll be able to walk out my back door and lay on the earth as needed. I’ll wander in the rain, and howl at the moon from my own back yard. My garden will be a wild, sustenance-providing mess. There will be baby chickens. And I will be looking forward to teaching more in the Westport and Tiverton areas (Hi, new friends!) while keeping some of my classes in Mattapoisett at Anchor Yoga (I love you, old friends!).

Another amazing autumn adventure has been the opportunity to teach mindfulness to Elementary School Kiddos in New Bedford, through the Mindful Collaborative. It has been a fun change of pace from teaching adult classes, and I love, love, love sharing mindfulness skills with the kids so they can start to cultivate a supportive, compassionate relationship with their own selves as they grow and learn. The week before the Holiday break, there was one little boy in kindergarten who had “volcano mouth” for fifteen straight minutes. I spent the whole class teaching the information and reminding him to be considerate of his friends and to raise his hand. Just before I left, he finally figured it out and raised his hand. And when I called on him, he threw his head back, his arms up, and said “Aaaaah, I LOVE THIS!” Who knew?!

I can’t wait to finish my move, get snuggled in, and start to branch out teaching more and more. I hope to offer gentle yoga, more vigorous strengthening practices, natural movement, mindfulness, and of course - private lessons in all of those options!

Remember that no matter what else you have going on right now - this winter darkness is a time of sacred rest. It’s ok to be tired, it’s normal to be a little lazy, it’s always about balance. Whenever you can, give yourself the gift of coziness, love, and compassion. This is how we bring light to the world.

Taking a Break From Circling to Dive Deep

Happy New Moon, Wild Women!

This most recent new moon was our very last in the Tiny Revolutions Cycle through the Wild Woman Project. And what that means is that in circle this year we have spent this year investigating our relationships to everything within our sphere of influence in our lives. We all have preconceptions about what a Revolution looks like (sometimes large, violent, frightening undertakings), and as I have spent so much time digging into this idea over the past year, this is what personal revolution means to me: if you close your eyes and think about living your most authentic life, what does that look like? Are there small or large changes you can make, to fully inhabit your potential? And if you close your eyes and think about what kind of world you are longing to pass down, looking ahead to the future in five, ten, fifteen generations, what do you see? Is it more love, more authenticity, more compassion? Is it clean water, fresh air, and a healthy earth? What values do we want to embody in this lifetime? What do we want to hand down to the children of the future, and what changes can we make now, to make space for that to happen? Although the changes we make may feel small, the ripple effect of our aligned actions is immeasurable.

Living in alignment with our values is so important. Walking our own authentic path, and checking our intuitive sense of direction, is what leads us to a life fully lived. For now, I will be taking a break from leading circles for two reasons. One, to get in touch with my own authentic way of leading, and to align myself with making this work more my own moving forward. The Wild Woman Project is a fantastic, wonderful organization, and I want to apply my intuition to their thematic cues as fully as possible now that I have some experience with leadership. And two, so that I can spend as much time outdoors and unplugged as possible over the next few months.

After a couple of years of leading circle I want to know what you are looking for in community, for support, and for self exploration. Do we need more dance parties? More sharing? More crafting? More movement, more stillness, more time in nature? Are daytime circles best, or would you like to see more evening events on the schedule? Let me know! ️ What do you want to explore, and how can our work together support you?

This month I attended the Wild Woman Fest - camping out on top of a magical mountain, and the time was spent diving deep into spiritual work, and wondrous childlike play. We danced, we ate chocolate cake, and we howled at the moon. It was very healing time, and a very motivational time, and I want to embody that magic as fully as I can - to bring it home to my students, and to hold space for us all as we grow. I look forward to reconnecting with you, and hearing about how you have been, how you are now, and how you will be as you move forward with intention and in your own power. I invite you to follow me on social media for updates (unless you're unplugging from social media, and then go you!), and check out the schedule on my website to see upcoming classes and events. I hope that the turning of the year brings you coziness, self-care, and all the things that bring you home to yourself.

Supportive Hands at Your Back, and Best Wishes,

Love,

Lindsay