Holy Dirt!

Once a year my grandmother Carmen (my mom’s mother) would make a pilgrimage to a tiny church in New Mexico to gather up…dirt.

Yup, dirt.

The church is called El Santuario de Chimayo. El Santuario means The Sanctuary and is tucked away off a main road outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. It was built in 1813 on a site where a crucifix was found three times in the early 1800s. Those of faith come to this shrine to collect dirt that seems to be infinite in supply. People either eat or mix the dirt with water or rub it on their bodies to cure various maladies. Many, like my grandmother, take a portion home with them.

My mother would offer portions of her supply to whom ever would ask, to those that believed. When I would overhear those conversations as a child I would silently scoff, “Ha, dirt!”

I was reminded of El Sanctuario in my mid thirties when I came upon in a book titled “The Power to Heal: Ancient Arts & Modern Medicine” (Smolan Moffitt Naythons) that had been gifted to my dad after his heart attack. I felt called to visit the church in honor of my grandmother, so my husband and I made a point to visit the shrine during our travels around the United States.

I didn’t know what to expect. Would this church be grand and elaborate? Would it have an air of importance? Fancy dressed people? Nope, it’s a small, rather cozy church. The only air of ambience inside is that the place is old; in a profound, energetically powerful way.

Prior to entering the small room where one gathers the dirt, I decided to sit in the pews and meditate. I could feel the layers of energy from all the people who had visited - their prayers, intentions and hopes for well being. There was a sense of a warm golden light that created an almost detectable filter to the human eye. As I sat, I connected to the spirit of my grandmother. I thanked her for her faith in prayer, for believing in the element of this dirt and how in her own way she has guided me all along on my path of healing. Then, I felt her. A warm, soft hand rested on my back, at my waist. I felt a deep, connective love. Almost as though she was saying, “I see you, I hear you and I am here with you, now and always.”

When I knelt down to gather the dirt, I felt the ritual of that motion; releasing the ego of the mind and surrendering to the heart of infinite hope and faith. I gently scooped and gathered a small amount of dirt into a plastic bag. The dirt is not like a dirt I have ever seen, even to this day.

The color is almost sand-like; a soft gray, speckled with tones of black and brown. The texture is refined - smooth - almost like flour. It feels like it is meant to shift in the shape of your hand but doesn’t easily fall away. It’s…special.

I tendered that small bag of dirt as carefully as I could during our travels and still have it. It rests in my healings space. It holds a particular energy of its own and, for me, is also infused with my grandmother’s faith and love.

After our return, I shared some dirt with my father who applied to his knee. He said the pain and swelling went away. I have applied it to my abdomen a few times in regards to my uterine fibroids and, I swear, while they didn’t disappear, the one on my lower right side did get smaller.

I have not readily offered the dirt because I believe those in need will come to me and ask, when ever that time is meant to be. In all honesty, I have also not openly said, “Hey, I have blessed dirt that can help you feel better!” - not because I am afraid of people thinking I am crazy, but more out of the fear of “what if I run out? When would I return to the shrine?” And that is all non-sense my ego is proliferating because the real fear is that letting go of all the dirt would separate me from my grandmother.

Silly, I know, but I am human.

In writing this, I know it’s time to share the dirt to whom feel called to it, to those who believe.

The way the dirt can help heal cannot be proven. People come from all over the world to El Santuario; that is a faith far traveled. The fact that the dirt still appears and never runs out is a miracle in itself. I believe is the power of one’s faith. That which is spirt or other-worldly does not need to make sense in order for it to be true.

Yes And....

When I was a kid, I loved playing superheroes with my friend Steve. We would battle one another with our imaginative super powers, trying to out smart each other with our creative strategies.

It would go something like this.

Steve: “I’m going to blast you with my invisible beam of lasers!” Then he’d enact it by taking a warrior stance, extend his arms, palms faced to me and send his laser blasters my way.

Me: I would physically act as though I was about to receive the blast and then exclaim, “Oh yeah? I’m holding up my bulletproof shield that’s going to reflect the lasers back to you! Ha!”

Steve: “I’m going to develop rubber like strength so the lasers just bounce off me and turn into a tornado that whips everything back at you!”

And so on it would go….sometimes for hours.

Somewhere along the way in life I forgot about my ability to play and use my imagination.

In my mid-twenties, while exploring my path as an actress, I was introduced to improvisation. My talent manager had seen me in a Star Trek-like play, where I was really just a back ground cast member. All I had to do in each scene was act as though the gadget in my hand was taking readings of the location. Could and should have been right up my alley. My manager said I looked bored. 

With much of my stage back ground in musicals, I had learned to stick to the script. I had to listen for my stage cues, which involved precise timing and knowing when and what was next. I had forgotten about the imaginary world I could help create. So, at the advise of my talent manager, I enrolled myself in ACME Comedy Theater in Los Angeles. During the course I realized - “Oh. My. God. I have forgotten how to be a kid, how to have fun!” I fell head over heals in love with improv and joined an improv troupe as soon as I could. I even held an improv show as a fundraiser for the Rock n Roll marathon I participated in on behalf of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I called it “Tossed Cookies” wherein we literally tossed cookies out to the audience in between skits.

Through the eyes of improvisation I began to see the world as colorful again and sprinkled with unlimited possibilities. 

WHAT IS IMPROV?

Improv, often called improvisation, is the form of theatre, often comedy, in which most or all of what is performed is unplanned or unscripted: created spontaneously by the performers.

There are basic rules to improv in order to create a safe and creative space for you,  your team mates and the audience. Here are the first 10 rules:

The first ten improv rules are:

1) Say “Yes, and!”

2) Add new information.

3) Don’t block.

4) Avoid asking questions- unless you’re also adding information.

5) Play in the present and use the moment.

6) Establish the location.

7) Be specific and provide colorful details.

8) Change, Change, Change!

9) For serious and emotional scenes, focus on characters and relationships.

10) For humorous scenes, take choices to the nth degree or focus on actions/objects.

In improv, you leap first and figure out the rest along the way. Half the fun is to see how you’ll land. Scary? Perhaps to some. To me; absolutely thrilling!

The thing about improv is; you are not alone. You have a partner(s) you play along with. Each of you support the scene that unfolds one moment at at time. Everything offered by you or your scene partner(s) are gifts. (In other words, what ever you blurt out of your mouth becomes part of the reality you co-create). It’s a beautiful balance of trust and mentally free-falling.

Here’s an example of how a scene might unfold using the above rules.

A: I’m so glad you died your hair green today, honey.

B: Me too. I felt called to honor St. Patrick’s Day.

A: It’s my favorite holiday. It reminds me of the first day we met on the space ship.

B: (Sigh)…I know. That beautiful emerald green interior and lab space was excellent for dissecting humans.

A: I know! Truly brilliant. If it wasn’t for that job, that ship and meeting you, I would have never opted to adopt a human body and come here.

B: You inspired me too, my love. Too bad these bodies age though. We’re going to have to figure how to body snatch another couple.

A: True true, in due time. The public seems to love a couple named Bonnie and Clyde. Sounds like they have excellent skills!

End Scene

It’s zany and that’s why I love it!

Improvisation later resurfaced in my life during my yoga teacher training. Our instructor Kat Connors-Longo (now a dear mentor and friend) integrated various improvisation techniques into her Practicum 1 course. 

Here is an example. During an exercise, Kat directed us to teach our prepared practice without speaking. We could make gestures, sounds, facial expressions - just not speak. The purpose of the lesson was to understand the value of not locking ourselves into our prepared lesson and how we taught it. I was SO excited. I loved the challenge. Some of my peers did not.

All yoga instructors need to remember they are a human guiding other humans - not teaching or talking AT them. The process of instructing is a shared experience. I believe it is important to be open to how a group of students may feel energetically or if someone has an injury because we need to be able to adapt. Being able to adapt is key and not just in a studio, but in life overall. It requires having an open mind and an open heart. 

I learned early on to let go of prepared sequences in order to honor the collective energy of the class. When I allow my intuition to guide me, beautiful practices emerge that were wholly inspired by the participants. Some call that channeling and others call it improvisation. To me, they are the same.

More often than not, a class becomes a collective consciousness. Whether they know it or not, their individual energies become familiar with one another and when you take the time to get to know your students, you can read that collective consciousness. You can feel it. Similar to improv, the insights your students offer can be gifts that lend to the way you guide the class. One of the many truths in teaching yoga is that your students can become your teachers. 

In my experience, improvisation and meditation are similar because with both, you need to be absolutely open and present to what is. In meditation the focus may be on observing your thoughts or feelings; truly allowing yourself to be as you are in the now. This means not thinking about yesterday’s dinner or what’s on your grocery list. Just stay in the present. With improvisation, in order to support your partner(s) and the scene, you have to stay present in the moment and open to what comes next - whether it be from your team mate or your own intuition. The less you are in your head, the more unlimited you are and the more fun you can have!

As my dear and wise friend said, “The only thing we have is the now. Otherwise, you end up living in Never-Never land”.

Both improv and meditation enable me to be here in the now. Whether it is being be playful or focused within, staying attuned to the gifts of the present are precious. We never really know what gifts await us, whether it be from another person or mother nature. Life is a journey that is meant to unfold as we evolve.

When was the last time you played? And I do mean, like a kid! Would you allow yourself to skip around the neighborhood today? Jump the waves in the ocean? Look for four leaf clovers? I highly suggest taking off your adult-hat and let the child within your head loose, even for just a few minutes. The joy of liberating yourself will do wonders for your heart and soul. Trust me. 

Shine On In the New Year

May you acknowledge the validity of your experience

and know that everything and every part of you serves a purpose

May you give yourself time to grieve those you lost

and remember what mattered to you most

May your sense of peace come in easy breaths

and your doubts take a rest

May you trust your intuition

and honor each intention

May you live authentically

and your heart’s dream become a reality

May you be guided in love

and your prayers answered from the highest source above

May you have faith in life’s rhythm and rhyme

and step back or away when it is time

May you practice patience 

and to better know and appreciate your personal pace

May you mend and rejuvenate as your mind and spirit need to

as may you celebrate and rejoice when you feel called to

May there be nothing out of your reach

and no limit to what you can learn and to whom you will teach

May you always gain an understanding

and your compassion be unyielding

May your kindred spirits help light your fire

when times get tough

and may you remember your resilience 

when the tide get tough

May you trust you are not alone

and always allow your inner light to shine on

Becoming Shanti

A few people have asked how I came to have the spiritual name Shanti. I’ve held off on sharing the story because of all that it encompasses. It’s not a short answer.

First, let’s understand what Shanti means.

THE MEANING OF SHANTI

Shanti, in the ancient language of Sanskrit, means peace. Shanti can also mean calmness, rest or even bliss. 

Now let’s take the meaning of Shanti into the intention and purpose of its mantra.

THE MANTRA OF OM SHANTI

A mantra is a word or sound repeated to aid concentration in meditation.

Om Shanti is the mantra of peace. Om is recognized as a universally sacred sound.

The mantra is traditionally said three times for peace in the body, mind and spirit. It can also be chanted thrice for peace in the past, present and future. (Shanti Mantra - Meaning and Benefits)

Now, what is a Spiritual Name?

A SPIRITUAL NAME

“…A spiritual name is the designated destiny that becomes your identity on the Earth… it is the guiding force. And, it is a prayer.”

— Yogi Bhajan, 4/22/1990, Los Angeles

“Spiritual names are vibrational blessings and further it is the frequency of our name makes the ride all the more easier.  If you receive a name, it is important for you to not shy away from it or shame it.  It is important for you to OWN it.  Within our society, taking on another name is like turning your back on your parents and your family but it is nothing of the sort.”

— Khepra Wadjet Ra-El, “Goddess in Harmony” https://goddessharmony.com/2018/04/21/spiritual-names/

BECOMING SHANTI

It was during the Pranayama and Asana course of my yoga teacher training in Integral Hatha Yoga principles that Om Shanti became imbued into my my mind and heart. 

True to the word “Integral” the various branches of yoga were integrated into our training. Most of the western world is familiar with the physical limb of yoga - the asanas (poses). In actuality, there are eight branches of yoga. The word for this in Sanskrit is Ashtanga.

Yama (attitudes toward our environment)

Niyama (attitudes toward ourselves)

Asana (physical postures)

Pranayama (restraint or expansion of the breath)

Pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses)

Dharana (concentration)

Dhyana (meditation) 

Samadhi (complete integration)

The practice of meditation is truly a practice of quieting the mind to enable one to be present. This is when and how we can cultivate our inner awareness and capacity to witness what we are experiencing (Niyama). In a culture that conditions people to diffuse outward, being present in the moment and to what is within, can bring us back home to the self. The practice of meditating (Dhyana) can can include breathing (Pranayama) and reciting mantras to aid in one’s concentration. (Dharana)

A traditional Integral Yoga class opens with the Om Shanti mantra to invite practitioners inward, to cultivate a meditative practice that brings the body, mind and spirit into a union of harmony. As part of our instruction during the course, we practiced the Om Shanti mantra each day. After 108 hours of training, I could almost recite it in my sleep; it had become a part of my frequency. 

At the initiation of the program, our instructors asked if we (the students in training) would like to receive a spiritual name. (A spiritual name is meditated upon and can be received by the individual or their spiritual family.) I’ve had nick names at various points in my life and thought it would be nice to receive a new one. I felt it would honor this new chapter of my life.

Those of us that said yes received our spiritual names during our graduation, upon receipt of our certificates. It was exciting to witness my peers receive their names. A few for example:

Maria became Amma (Mother Goddess)

Nancy became Nandini (To Rejoice or Delight) 

Corin became Kali (Goddess of Time and Death)

Each spiritual name truly suited each person.

I was one of the last. I looked down at the card and read “Shanti”.

Though I knew its meaning and significance, my internal reaction was,“What?

Me? 

Peace? 

But, I’m a warrior, a fighter, a defender. 

What just happened?” 

From my peers I heard, “Oooooo, that’s so perfect!” I, on the other hand, was quite confused.

My higher self said, “They see something in you that reflects this. Try it on for a while. Let’s see how it feels.” I decided to trust there was a part of me that could embody the name of Shanti. I thought, “Ok, I’ll give it a go.”

---

When I was a child, I remember being fascinated with people and being happy just being present with them. But, I soon learned that people required reactions so they could feel engaged and satisfied. It was one of my earliest conditionings: be who they expect you to be.

For the most part, my early childhood was balanced enough in the home. There was a strong family presence and interaction, good food, fun times. But that all shifted when my parent’s relationship began to dissolve. The home then had an underlying sense of tension and anger. As such, I integrated those tones into my own language because it became what I knew. It was a way to cope.

When my dad eventually moved out, I was eleven years old. The separation no doubt had been coming, but no one told me it was actually happening. I found out after the fact and was devastated. My dad was the cornerstone of my family and in just one moment - seemly so - my family had broken apart. As I lay crumbled on the couch, sobbing my mother cooly said, “The agreement was for your dad to tell your sister and I would tell you. I just never got around to it”. That was a knife through my heart.

I suspect my mother’s intention was to have me be angry with my dad so I would be on “her side”. From then on my mother did her best to get my sister and I to turn against our dad by listing all the ways he hurt her and disappointed her. I stopped trusting my mom emotionally.

At that time, my sister went away to college and she was my last cornerstone. I felt alone.  And in many ways I was. I would get blasted with hurtful words from my mother. It makes sense now, because there was no one else left for my mother to divulge her angst against.

A few years later, over dinner with my dad one evening, I was venting about my mom when he cut me short, “Don’t ever talk about your mother like that.” I was stunned. The tangled words in my mouth were, “But that’s the way she talks about you.” My dad went onto say, “You always have a chip on your shoulder.”

My silent reaction, “No shit.”

My error in talking about my mother to my father the way I had, was due to the misimpression that he and I were on the same team. The seething and spats of anger my mom had hurled at my father towards the end and been transposed onto me since I was the “last one standing”. I wanted to say to him, “Hey, I understand what you went through too. Can you please try to understand what I’m going through now?”

There was no one in my family to emotionally rely on, so I became more than angry and anger became my identity. It was a shield that showed strength and resilience and hid just how afraid, sad and alone I truly felt. 

That anger fueled and pummeled me all the way up into my early 30’s. The veil was so thick that I couldn’t see how I took a lot out upon myself. I couldn’t see how that was call for help.

No one ever bothered to ask me what I was angry about because no one wanted to know the truth; the truth was uncomfortable. Instead, I received much criticism for my behavior without a true inquisition as to the root of it. And the truth about being an angry girl is that it is considered unbecoming. It’s not polite; be nice. You’re supposed to be grateful and not selfish. So, I decided to own my anger and have it fuel my personality and identity.  I chose to be a warrior. (Yama)

---

One has to be willing to look deep within and be a witness to all of the thyself: every impactful experience (painful or joyous), past or present, to truly feel and and fully understand oneself. From self-understanding, can come self-compassion and love. Self love and compassion, self understanding and appreciation are immensely healing for everyone. (Niyama)

My path to self healing began with my practice of yoga. My mat became my sanctuary. I could show up with my sadness and grief and leave my tears on the mat. Repressed emotions were unlocked and moved out of me, liberating me to breathe and just be. Within those four corners was a safe space to unlock, unleash and release. Little by little, I stripped off my armor.

It now makes perfect sense that it was during my early years of yoga is when I recognized I could channel. There had been such a healing physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. The doors unlocked, the veil lifted.

So, come the year I received the name Shanti, while I was not used to hearing about myself or feeling that way within myself, but had already begun the journey. Years before, the transition I had begun of me coming into my personal peace. I believe that when I completed my yoga teacher training, my light was as bright and authentic as it had ever been. What my teachers and peers saw in me was a path I was already on. My path still continues.

I still have my triggers. Of course I do, I am human. But each time something surfaces the conscious effort to process it gets a bit smaller, the duration shorter and the peace comes sooner. I now understand that I have the freedom to choose how I want to be in the world and certainly what I do not have to be. I don’t have to carry on the torch of anger. 

In a training last year, a peer said, “When I heard your name was Shanti and I looked at you and thought your spiritual name made perfect sense.” I smiled and said, “Thank you.” 

If for just one moment someone can feel a sense of self love and appreciation - then that’s the moment when they connect with their inner light. That is peace. That is the magic. And that is my hope with everyone I work with - that I can help them sink in to their Sense of Self and remember the essence of who they are. (Pratyahara)

I will continue to cultivate my own sense of inner peace, because I know what it feels like to live without it. Each day, I am becoming Shanti.

Three Omens

During this second lockdown of the pandemic, I’m finding myself re-treading familiar waters. My mindful practice of seeking the beauty in life for what it is, so as to continue cultivating gratitude, requires a deeper sense of focus, a deeper commitment. I find myself wavering in a way, unlike last time. 

For example…

One afternoon on a solo walk I was showered with an array of amber leaves. It looked like a classic photograph coming to life under a paintbrush of golden pixie dust. Magical. The next day, I felt sad and just wanted to be an ostrich. It was hard to see Spirit’s artistry in life. Luckily….a little boy reminded me how life is still full of joy, still full of surprises.

Here are three similar experiences, that I believe are Omens gifted to me by children.

---

ACCEPTANCE

Location: Luang Prabang, Laos, Southeast Asia (2015)

At an evening outdoor market, Dan and I were walking through a narrow aisle, when a little girl was running straight at me. I thought we were going to crash into one another, but when she reached me, she looked up and wrapped her arms around my leg. I looked down at her beaming face. I saw no fear. Just sheer joy. I said “Hi there!” She had been playfully running away from her grandfather when our paths collided. As he spoke to her in Laotian, she held onto my leg. With the tone of his voice and gestures I could tell he was doing his best to goad her back. Each time, she responded by tightening her embrace and with every squeeze her smile got bigger and her large onyx eyes brighter. I came to realize she didn’t see me as a stranger. I was “just someone else”. She held on long enough that Dan joked, “Oh wow, do we keep her?” I laughed. Maybe because of my mixed ethnicity I did look like a local and maybe not. I just felt….loved.

Night Market in Luang Prabang, Laos

SPIRIT

Location: Krabi, Thailand, Southeast Asia (2015)

This is actually two omens in one. 

One afternoon, I floated out in the shallow ocean water and just…was. Between me and the shore was a line of long tailed boats. Behind me, was a great distance of water before the island of Phuket. I could feel the energy of everything around me. It was as though the water amplified everything. So, I closed my eyes, submerged my ears and channeled with Spirit. The message that came through was powerful, one I will never forget. (It really deserves its own blog post). After I was done channeling, I opened my eyes and saw an eagle directly above me. It made several circles before it flew out toward Phuket. Circles represent connection to spirit. The eagle’s orbit felt like a definitive button on the message received. Sort of like Spirit was asking me, “Got it, kid?” Yup!

Afterwards, still filled with the warmth of the message, I decided to sit down on the warm sand and meditate. I sat in the traditional seated posture (Padmasana) and opened my energy to the magic around me.

After some time, I sensed a presence and opened my eyes to see a little boy running circles around me. He was simply…running, as though he could sense a special energy and decided to add his. I closed my eyes so I could better sense his spirit and… he kept running. At some point I sensed a change in his action, so I opened my eyes and waited. With a large smile, he presented me with two deep green leaves. I opened up both of my hands to receive them and he gently laid the leaves in my palms. I smiled gratefully. I was so touched, but was unsure what was meant by them. I looked up at him as if to ask “What am I meant to do with them?” He began to flap his arms and in English said, “You fly,” then pointed up to the sky. He just knew. 

The two “feathers” gifted to me on the beach of Krabi, Thailand

HUMILITY

Location: Santa Barbara, CA USA (present)

Oreo had guided me to a quaint green gate on our afternoon walk. She sniffed its outline thoroughly, while I gazed around. I was standing there just long enough…..“Hi!” Out popped a little boy. He had a full head of brown curly hair and a large smile that said, “Gotcha!”

Such. Great. Timing!

I jumped, smiled and laughed. “Well done!”

“Bye-yeeeeee!” He then ran off into his house.

I laughed the rest of the way home. I was tickled by his timing, the sheer genius of it all and at myself. The had jolted my head out of my ass.

“…so learn to laugh at yourself. It’s really the easiest place to begin. It’s about humility. Laugh at yourself and don’t be so pompous and serious. If you start looking for the humor in life, you will find it. You will stop asking, Why me? and start recognizing that life happens to all of us. It makes everything easier, including your ability to accept others and accept all that life will bring.”

— Archbishop Desmond Tutu, “The Book of Joy”

Indeed, kid, and thank you.

The Shore

A month ago, I received that text.

“Friends, I have some sad news to share….”

I stared at my phone in disbelief.

My reply, “WTF?” 

The friend was from high school. We graduated in 1994, putting us now in our mid-forties; too young. 

Chills begin to surge in my body as the news settled in. It was like standing on shore and watching a tsunami coming. Then it hit. The tears fell and my legs weakened. I wanted to sink to the ground right where I stood but managed to walk to a set of steps and sit down. I let the tsunami crash. The guttural sobs came and quickly the cusp of hyperventilating. I saw myself and could see I was just about to hurl my emotional sense of self out of the plane….

From an inner knowingness, I began to draw in deep, slow breaths. A safety parachute opened. The continual slow, conscious way of breathing created a landing space for me to pause and go within. I was able to ask myself, “What do I need?” 

Sisterhood. All of us, friends since high school, had lost Kristy.

The next few hours were spent in sisterhood on Zoom, sharing our shock and sadness. We heart-fully held one another’s hand and walked through our initial sense of grief together. Eventually, the dismay and tears evolved into laughter as we shared memories of a precious time together, so many years ago.

That evening in bed, I could feel the weight of grief in my body. I knew it needed to be moved through and out. I placed myself on the ground, with only a yoga mat between me and the wood floor. There, I allowed my body the space it needed to just be and breathe. I recognized the outline of my body, the weight of sadness in my belly and ache in my heart. Just breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

In my line of work, I am fortunate to have cultivated a tool box of compassionate skills to call upon when needed. The training, now ingrained through my sense of being, invited and enabled me to breathe deeply, rather than spiral into hyperventilating. The learning and practicing of such various skills didn’t happen during a time of trauma; they were integrated into my second nature when everything was ok. A few years ago, I read a lovely passage about how laying on firm ground can help one feel rooted within themself, so they have a space to steady their sense of being while grieving. I found beauty in the passage and its words found their way into my consciousness that evening.

Our dominate culture values intellect over intuition, rational over emotion. We rationalize away the importance of self care, reducing our ability to listen inwardly and be self attuned. I was born and raised in this dominant culture of belief systems so I was pretty good at ignoring my internal needs. At one point, I tucked and folded myself inward so well that when I simply couldn’t compact any further, I imploded.

The first time I experienced an anxiety attack was seven months after my mother died. After she died, I did my best to propel myself forward and plod on as if it keeping myself busy after the experience of her transition and absence would make me feel better. The cause (of the anxiety attack) was so insignificant, but it was the toothpick that broke the dam. At a home improvement store, Dan had asked which large flower pot I liked better and that did it. I felt the wave of “too much” crash upon me and I couldn’t breathe. My chest and upper back spasmed, while my stomach juggled boulders and mind whirled. Afterwards, exhausted and confused, it felt as though a rip current had been swept me under, thrashed me and tossed me on shore a bit fragmented.

The second time, there was a lot going on with my dad and I had been in a state of continual worry about him for over a year. Fortunately, I had been a yoga instructor for a few years by that point. Breathing techniques had become a natural resource due to my training and consistent teaching. The warning signs of the anxiety attack were clear. Dan and I had just entered the highway and my chest began to tighten and I felt trapped in the car. The tsunami was building.

In the passenger seat, as the car continued down the highway, I began practicing a conscious breathing technique called Dirga Svasm (Three Part Breath). One’s breath is the most resourceful method to steady one’s nervous system. The Three Part Breath is initiated in the abdomen, expands up through the chest and finally under the collarbones. The exhale slowly releases the collarbones, chest and abdomen. When done correctly, can feel like a soft wave moving through you and a sigh of relief. Each inhale and exhale is smooth, slow and signals to the body that everything is ok. By deepening and slowing down my breath I was able to rescind the wave of the anxiety attack.

That’s what I did when our friend died. Breathed. I also allowed myself to be sad, to embody my sense of grief. Rather than pretending the dark rain cloud wasn’t above me, I instead invited it in. I gave myself permission to check-out so I could check in-ward. I rescheduled a meeting and got my yoga class covered to further cultivate the space needed. I chose to be present with my grief.

“We can enjoy the treasures of the world while they are with us, knowing full well we will not bind to them, nor they to us. And as they depart, our arms open wide and let them fly. Steady in both circumstances, we remember who we really are….This concept has its greatest challenge when we are separated from our friends and loves ones, especially without our permission or when it seems permanent. Our heart feels a vast emptiness where it was once filled with love. At these times it takes great strength to restore and sustain our equilibrium. By securing a place within our hearts to hold their love and by continuing our devoted practice our balance is more easily reestablished.” Nischala Joy Devi, “The Secret Power of Yoga”

Throughout the process of my initial grief, I continued to show up for myself through my daily meditations, walks and practices. While this may be viewed as self discipline (intellectual) it really isn’t. It was and is about paying attention to what I need and how to support myself. These acts of self care, I consider rituals, were cultivated when everything was ok. We cannot ready our emergency kit during the earthquake but we can prepare ourselves with coping skills beforehand. The knowledge and know how can and will be absorbed by the brain and body to be stored as resources for the future.

Grief is a road that can be traveled, no matter how difficult it may be. Even if the tsunami does crash or the tornado sweeps you off your feet, your footing can be re-found by stopping to breathe and be in your awareness. When we cultivate a space and capacity to go inward we are able to to see and hear ourselves. When we are able to see and hear ourself we are able to witness our experiences. Baring witness to thyself can be healing.

During this challenging time of Covid, there are many people who have lost someone and maybe many. It is my hope and prayer that everyone takes the time to nurture themself. As individuals we are vast. Be it physical, emotional, mental or spiritual - be present to every part of you, for each element that composes the beautiful, unique tapestry of You is precious. 

Where I'm From

In November 2019, I took “Skill in Action” with Michelle C. Johnson. Skill in Action is a yoga teacher training designed for activists, allies, and agents of change. It was powerful and profound. There was so much to process that my body didn’t know its left from its right when it was time to go home. I opened my car door and proceeded to enter with my left foot first. The rest of my body sort of tumbled in and eventually landed in a heap in the driver’s seat.

In many ways, I feel like that today; like I’m learning to walk again. As my psyche awakens from the pandemic slumber of safety, I am learning to navigate through a world that is a heated and intense political kaleidoscope, with many lenses. I feel called to re-examine my inner dialogue of what it means to be a non-white woman and from a home of conflicting cultures. How do I want to show up on the world? I am now working my way through Michelle’s book “Skill In Action”. Each chapter follows with an exercise. Here I share practice #1, based on George Ella Lyon’s poem “Where I’m From.”

---

Where I’m From

I am from dolls and home made avena.

I am from mud, grass and a sea of unlimited possibilities around the the playhouse.

I am from a Yulan Magnolia tree where I birthed dreams and read, cradled in its hearty trunk.

I am from three languages and a kitchen table that was the center of the world, from Conception and Manuel.

I am from stubbornness and humor, from Shhh! and you’re too loud.

I am from a strong faith and the ability to choose my own religious path.

I am from Southern California’s sunshine and Connie’s spiritual curiosity, from Carmen’s belief in the power of prayer and love served in delicious meals.

I am from the dust on the dance floor, photographs now stamped in the cloud, and trust in the ability to heal and be re-birthed anew. 

I am from the fight of being a non-white woman, from a voice shouting in and to the world and from love blossoming of the Self. 

One Orange at a Time

What do you think of when you see, hold, smell and taste an orange? 

When I see, hold, smell and taste a succulent orange I recognize beauty, sunshine, citrus, and nourishment. There is a deep sense of appreciation for how it was made by the Earth, how it came into my hands, its taste and healthy benefits. 

On a beautiful October morning, my dear friend Mayra, Dan (my husband) and I clipped oranges from our prosperous tree in the back yard. The citrus was to be donated to Santa Ynez Valley People Helping People, a non-profit in which Mayra serves as the Chief Program Officer. I was in wonderful company and knew the benefit of our labor was two-fold: the oranges would be given to families in need within our community and harvesting the oranges would support the tree’s continual health. Yay!

One by one, as I clipped each orange from its umbilical stem, its gentle weight would rest momentarily in my hand, the aroma would fill my nostrils, and the peel’s dimpled texture would be obvious to my eyes. As each orange went from my hand to the growing bundles in the crates, my experience became visceral. Orange by orange, I connected to my mother and her side of the family - when they worked in the fruit fields. 

My mother’s side of the family is Mexican-American. The full break-down is: Spanish, Mexican and Native American. (I’ll only share my mother’s side as it relates to this blog). My mother was born in New Mexico and was the youngest of seven. At some point, the family moved to Orange Cove, a city in Fresno County, California. With its Mediterranean climate, it served as an ideal location to grow citrus and still does. Per the census in 2019, Hispanics or Latinos still comprise a large part of the population at 92.7%, many of them farmers.

My mother’s family did not own a farm but they did work in the fields. My mother hated it. Stories told to my sister and I of working in the fields usually involved intense heat and mental and physical exhaustion. The money earned didn’t go the family, instead, it went to their father who spent it on what ever he wanted to. Some stories were filled with suspicion that it went to flatter my grandfather’s various girlfriends.

As far as I know, my grand parents never had their children exempted from school to solely work in the fields. As a result, all their children were literate and bilingual in Spanish and English. Mom was the first in her family to graduate from college and she later earned her master degree, after she was married with two children of her own. My mother used her education to make sure she never had to resort back to that way of life - of working in the fields. My mom had the drive and courage to push forward despite. She was a female, hispanic who worked predominantly in a white man’s world of education. My mother taught physical education for twenty plus years and later moved into administration as an education counselor. She loved what she did and would not have been able to do so without her degrees.

The idea of college, in my experience, felt forced upon my sister and I. Being that both of my parents were college educated, it was assumed that my sister and I would follow suit. College seemed to come more naturally to my sister than it did for me. If it was not for the various theater and dance programs I participated in while in college, I would have been adrift. I attended and completed college just to win my mother’s approval, to meet some invisible standard she had set for me. When I graduated I was so relieved to be done. I thought “Now, I can go on with the rest of my life.” 

My mother’s mission was for my sister and I to have a different life. Though my mother pushed to provide my sister and I with a better life than what she was raised with, she envied us for it. I felt held in contempt for something she had consciously chosen to do. My mother hated her life growing up and that hate pushed her through school. I hated college and that hate pushed me through life until I assumed authority over my own happiness.

Fast forward to today. Today, in our diverse and intense political climate in which women and people of color are still fighting for equal rights, I know and understand that me being a nonwhite female who holds a college degree is significant. That document, which is stored in my file cabinet, elevates me enough to be privileged in various ways. My degree bares weight with people who use it as a means of evaluation. Culture automatically assumes me with higher abilities, interests and conversations. It makes me relatable to a larger group of people and certain ways of life more accessible than to those without a degree.

On that day, one orange at a time, as the cobwebs and ants dusted my skin, the awareness within grew. Gratitude resonated - vibrated - deep within me…because I am privileged. 

Privileged to be able to enjoy the process of picking fruit; privileged because I don’t have to do it to earn a living; privileged because my parents valued a college education; privileged because my college education sets me apart in many ways I still do not yet recognize. As I gazed upon our collection of oranges, I was keenly aware of the depth of difference between my mother and I and was able to hold it with understanding, clarity and compassion for both her and I.

---

Santa Ynez Valley People Helping People was able to feed 650 people with the oranges from our tree and other produce the organization purchased.

People Helping People is the primary provider of human and social services in mid Santa Barbara County. The population of the Santa Ynez Valley has grown exponentially over recent years to over 30,000 residents. The area is also notable for its income disparities with more than 20% of the overall population living at or near Federal poverty levels. As of 2018, Santa Barbara County has one of the highest poverty rates in California and Hispanics make up more than 54% of its population. 

To learn more about this amazing community serving organization, please visit: www.syvphp.org

What I've Learned From Our Dog

We rescued our dog Oreo from the Santa Barbara Humane Society five years ago. My husband convinced me to foster a dog as part of a Decompression Program (for dogs who had been in the system for a few years that needed to be reintroduced to living in a home). I initially balked at the idea because we had only been in Santa Barbara a few months after traveling for a year. As far as I was concerned, we were a flight risk. Per the formal agreement with the Santa Barbara Humane Society, we were to foster Oreo for only ninety days. Yet it was me, whom within two days of fostering, decided we had to keep her. We were meant to. I knew it in every part of my being - that deep knowingness - that this is what was to be. While it seemed illogical for us at the time, it was a wise choice. We’re proud to be foster failures. Oreo is the first reason Santa Barbara became home. She turned my husband and I from a couple into a family and has been a grounding presence every day.

Oreo is a bodacious beauty. People assume by the size of her muscle-mass-form that she must be a male. Oreo was in the shelter for two years due to her size, color and breed; large, mostly black and being a pit bull mix. Yes, sadly, people can and generally do transpose their prejudices upon animals too. Oreo seems to overcome what life tosses at her. She has won over many people with her genuine generous smile and an excitement that makes you feel like she’s been waiting to meet you…forever.

Here’s what I’ve learned from her:

1. Strength is both feminine and masculine.

2. Make a bee line for someone with a humongous smile and it will make them feel loved.

3. Play with all your might and you will forge deep friendships.

4. A generous smile is a wonderful hello.

5. Play hard and sleep well.

6. Sometimes, simple actions say a million words that words cannot say.

7. Staying mad is a choice.

8. Enjoy every meal.

9. Daily treats are important.

10. Having friends is vital.

11. Affection is a healthy action.

12. Nap often.

13. Another’s grouchiness can be shrugged off.

14. When others cross your boundaries it is important to speak up and stand up for yourself.

15. Extend a paw and open one’s heart.

16. Cocooning on cold, cloudy days is a necessity.

17. Gazing off into the distance and simply listening to the world around you is an essential part of every day.

18. So is soaking up some sunshine everyday.

19. It’s important to let someone know you missed them.

20. Don’t impress upon someone your idea of them; you’ll constantly be disappointed.

In my interactions with Oreo, I spend a great deal of time observing her and intuitively listening to her. I provide this offering for people and their pets in what I call Pet Communication. While I am grateful to be gifted and able to share this with people and their furry (or feathery) loved ones, everyone has the potential to practice this intuitive communication. It’s sort of like speaking another language, but rather than using another part of your brain, you use your heart. In order to connect with animals, we have to move beyond our individual ego and simply. be. present. We need to listen with our hearts. 

Body Shaming to Body Loving

Body shaming.

I’ve been good at it since I was eleven years old.

It was handed down through generations from a seed planted long ago. 

I used to believe beauty was a level of perfection and my physical body was far from it. From the time I started exercising, every repetition made, every step taken, every advancement was towards achieving an idea of perfection. That meant, every effort reinforced how flawed I believed I was. 

When I learned my uterine fibroids would prevent me from birthing, I felt shame because my body was “broken”. I went into survival mode and sought out many holistic practices in an effort to heal my uterus. Just like exercising, each treatment was me attacking the belief that my body had failed.

When I realized this was the underlying approach to healing myself, I knew healing wasn’t possible. So, I decided to stop. I instead chose to believe I was whole and beautiful, just as I was. This became my new “work out regime”.

I stopped running, working out, acupuncture, herbs, even being a vegan and just started practicing on liking myself. It felt so weird! My ego flipped out a little - how could I lessen my intention to fix myself?!

I started small. For instance, when I looked in the mirror to see if my outfit seemed presentable - I’d look at the clothing and not my flaws. Enjoyed the chocolate candy and did not count the calories. Went for a soothing walk with the dog and opted to not worry about the cellulite I should be burning off.

I began to enjoy myself, nature and life again. I could take a long walk on the beach and appreciate the beautiful view and the simple sensation of my feet sinking into the sand. Food tasted good again and I had a renewed vigor to create healthy, balanced and delicious meals. I simply let go of the criticism and embraced self compassion. 

There is a story about a woman who went to a silent Buddhist retreat. She was used to going for a daily run and asked one of the monks if it was ok that she ran daily whilst on the retreat. The monk replied, “Why? What are you running from?” He suggested she reflect within and ponder as to what the intention was, what exactly drove her to run. She stopped running and did not restart until it was something she did for the sheer joy of it, months after she returned home.

This story struck home for me. I realized how much I had been degrading myself with every form of exercise I did. I had been reinforcing my negative self image for 30+ years. So, I stopped. Stopped running, stopped lifting weights, stopped measuring my waist line. 

Feeling insecure and unsafe in my own body and now knowing how the opposite feels - so precious, loving and nurturing - is why I highly value creating a safe space in my classes and workshops. If I can help you tap into self-love, even for a second, then that love has a chance to flourish. When we can stop the wheel, be still and present to thyself - we can connect within and remember that we are radiant energy and not just physical matter. We are connected to a greater source that connects us all - beings, plants, Earth. This connection is reconnecting to our true essence.

I close with these questions, dear reader: when was the last time you looked in the mirror just to smile at yourself? When as the last time you rested your hands over your heart and just breathed?

If you can’t remember, then stop - right now - and go do it.

---

If you’d like to share what the experience was like, please feel free to post a comment.