Hypnosis Overnight

In the modern-day version of the Broadway play “On A Clear Day,” Dr. Mark Bruckner (played by Harry Connick, Jr.) hypnotizes his patient, David, to uncover the cause of his inability to move on with his life. Dr. Bruckner accidentally uncovers–and subsequently falls in love with–one of David’s past lives: a 1940′s cocktail waitress and aspiring singer named Melinda. When I went to go see this play with my family back in November 2011, I had mixed emotions about it. Despite my decades-old love for H.C., Jr., I did not fall in love with the play. And I never thought that I’d be thinking about, or researching, the concept of past-life regression therapy until I had a dream about it.

In my last post, I talked about a tidal wave of unworthiness that washed over me for a good 12-16 hours. While that wave dissipated on Monday morning, a low tide remained, occasionally pulling back and then sneaking up on me again. I could not quiet the constant chatter inside my head that I was not Good and did not deserve Happiness. Despite my awareness that it was “crazy talk,” it simply wouldn’t leave me alone. As with everything, I realized that a) it would eventually end and b) there must be a purpose for it.

That purpose revealed itself in the dream I had last night, a dream in which I underwent hypnosis with a large group of people. In the dream, we were told the hypnosis would clear us of all past “trauma” in our lives. We were warned that we might shake, cry, yell, or do “crazy things” but that we should just let it happen, as withholding from fully expressing ourselves would have a negative effect on the process. With this permission, I succumbed to the hypnosis in my dream and proceeded to do everything from spin in circles to act violently (things I would hopefully never do in my waking life!).

When I awoke this morning–the dream still fresh in my mind–I suddenly became aware that I had been exorcised of the pain and “negative talk” that had been residing deep within me. While it’s not clear if this pain/trauma was from this life or past lives, I knew that I was one step closer to getting back in touch with–and restoring–my soul…my good, pure Soul.

Give Me a Really Big Slice

In Mastin Kipp’s recent TDL post, he talks about how we are not a reflection of the world but rather how the world is a reflection of us. So, does that mean that if we wake up one morning feeling happy then the whole world will respond to us with kindness? Will strangers wave hello? Will customer service reps really mean it when they say, “How are you?” Probably not.

Last night, I had an episode during which my latent feeling of unworthiness came washing over me like a tidal wave. Why? Because I had been really, really happy over the weekend. The episode was a reminder–once again–that when I feel true happiness, inevitably fear and guilt come barging through the front door like bullies. They stand in front of me until I plead: “How much time do I have until this happiness goes away?” They respond: “Two hours top. Then we take over.”

Fortunately, Mastin reminds us that these feelings happen to everyone:

Everyone has the core fears that they aren’t enough and if they aren’t enough, they won’t be loved. Everyone. And MANY people spend more time looking for evidence about why they aren’t enough than why they are…You may have been a victim of a past event that you still identify with as a victim, but can you really be a victim of something that happened in the past unless you allow it in the present?

So how did I snap out of my unworthy funk last night? I didn’t. The truth is: I had to ride that tidal wave until it was over. It happened sometime around 11 a.m. this morning. And it wasn’t fun. As I sat in a meeting this morning with my mind racing about how much I didn’t deserve happiness, I had to consciously wrestle fear and guilt back down to the little cave they live in deep inside of me. (Someday I’ll figure out how to evict them altogether.) I had to remind myself–and really convince myself–that not only am I good enough but that it’s okay to want MORE in my life. More love, more peace, more happiness.

I’m starting to think of happiness as an apple pie. I may not be ready to take the whole pie (because that would be selfish, right?) but I’m going to take a really, really big slice this time.

The Set Up

v. set up: 1. to elevate; raise. 2. to deceive or trick someone

About a month ago, I was set up on a blind date. It was a first for me so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I rejected the idea of a ‘set up’ so much that right before we were supposed to meet, I drove through the restaurant parking lot and back out onto the street. For a split second, I seriously thought about ditching the date and driving back home. (I had a similar reaction back in May 2008 when I sat in the airport by myself, about to take a 10-day trip to Ireland alone; I was supposed to have taken the trip with my then boyfriend but he broke up with me a few weeks earlier and backed out.)

I was reminded of that pivotal moment in my life –that “crossroads” moment– as I sat in my car staring at the reflection of my headlights on the STOP sign before me. Left blinker on. Hands gripping the steering wheel. What…to…do.

Did I rip up my plane ticket to Ireland and walk out of the airport back in ’08? Hell no. I got on the plane bawling my eyes out and had the best trip of my life. So what exactly was preventing me from taking the next step forward in my current situation? Fear of something new, different? Confusion that this ‘set up’ would deceive me instead of elevate me to where I’m meant to go?

How would I choose to steer myself in this moment? Simple. By thinking about myself being filled with light.

As Sarah Manguso says: “You can’t learn from remembering. You can’t learn from guessing. You can learn only from moving forward at the rate you are moved, as brightness, into brightness.”

So I turned around, parked my car, and walked out of the darkness.

Running Out The Clock

Toward the end of 2011, I was knee-deep in the “I-don’t-have-any-time-for-myself” game. So one of my New Year’s resolutions was to start practicing yoga as much as I teach it (i.e., take two classes a week). I wanted to put an end to the brief flashes of dread I was experiencing on my way to teach my yoga classes. I no longer wanted to rattle clumsily through sequences in my head as I sat in rush hour traffic, thinking about the end goal: “Namaste. Thanks for coming!“

Those moments in which I felt as those my yoga teaching gig was “just a job” nagged at me. How could this be?! How could I not be fully present in the moment but expect that of my students? How could I ask them to meditate if I hadn’t meditated in over a month? Was I…dare I say it…a yoga hypocrite?!?

No. I was human and just guilty of over programming myself. I was giving to others without taking any for myself. I was also giving myself something to complain about. Worst of all, I was hanging out with my old “painbody” (as Eckhart Tolle calls it)…that smug and uncommunicative Sam Spade character who used to live inside my head and who occasionally stops by every now and then to say, “Why hello there, stranger.”

A lot of teachers are guilty of “burning out” at one point or another. We may even start to feel like a vehicle, nothing more than a robotic hub where knowledge is absorbed, processed, and transferred to others. We drain ourselves. We become uninspired. As Chris, a yoga teacher from Northampton, MA, said to us in class yesterday, “We run out the clock on the front end.” Wait a sec. Didn’t “running out the clock” mean keeping the ball away from the opponent? Precisely. Unbeknownst to us, we become our own opponent and we run the clock out on ourselves. Game. Over. Running out the clock (i.e., not taking action/not practicing) is clearly cheating ourselves. It’s cutting short the play, truncating a chance to be inspired, eliminating the possibility that we can learn more in order to teach better.

In the end, we learn that practice doesn’t make perfect. Practice makes us whole. It teaches us to meet frustration with patience. It brings us peace with the knowledge that there is always something to work on, always something to improve upon, and always something to take us to the next level.

The Imperfect Year

Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” ―Marilyn Monroe

At the start of each new year, I find myself subconsciously striving for a “perfect year.” So when I woke up on New Year’s Day without a hangover (despite being prepped with Gwyneth’s handy hangover guide) for the first time in recent memory, I knew that things were off to a good start.

In 2012, sobriety (i.e., consciousness) is the new black. Being aware of who we really are means approaching life one-day-at-a-time. I learned this from a wise family member.

Yet, for recovering overachievers like myself, adopting this mentality can be extremely difficult. How do we hush the voice inside our head that whispers: ‘This year will be the year that you “get it right” and figure it all out’?!

The answer is: we must meditate on what “getting it right” means to us. Does a “perfect” year mean you’ll…fall in love? Get married? Have a baby? Manage to have a year in which no problems come your way?

What I’ve learned is this: the older we get, the more imperfect we become. We will never “get it right” entirely because that’s not what we’re meant to do. It is NOT about trying to figure it all out so that we are flawless creatures (no hangovers, no embarrassing foot-in-mouth moments at cocktail parties, no tragedies, no illnesses, no tears, no fights!).

During a recent meditation, I was hit with the realization that our flaws and imperfections bring us closer to God, and closer to a higher understanding of the universe. While we can’t avoid what life throws at us, we can recover more quickly from our mishaps by truly accepting –and appreciating– who we are. In my mid-30′s, I am finally embracing my imperfection for what it’s given me: forgiveness, compassion, fearlessness, a great sense of humor, and the knowledge that living an imperfect year is living closer to the truth.

The Burning Bush

Last Saturday marked the end of a very long two-week period during which I had not been able to stay at my house for various reasons (Connecticut’s epic week-long power outage followed by a week-long trip). To say that I felt unsettled was a major understatement. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed my home; not only did it provide me with peace and tranquility, it was also my sanctuary in an otherwise hectic life.

When I pulled into my driveway around 11 p.m. that Saturday, excited to finally unpack and settle in, I could not believe my eyes. The large four-foot wide bush in my neighbor’s yard was on fire. When I later tried to describe it to other people -including the volunteer firefighter who showed up a few minutes after I called 911- they had a hard time believing that I had seen three-foot flames coming out of this bush.

Despite having been raised as a Catholic, I had no recollection that a burning bush had any religious symbolism whatsoever. (I had decided to chalk it up to someone flicking a cigarette out a car window as they drove by.) It wasn’t until I mentioned the story to my brother that I learned the burning bush had a much deeper meaning. My brother explained that Moses had seen God in a burning bush and even though it burned, the bush somehow remains undamaged: “Though the bush was engulfed in flames, it didn’t burn up” (Exodus 3:2). According to the Bible, God shows his grace to Moses in order to transform him.

The next day, as I walked past the bush in my neighbor’s yard, I realized that it also showed no signs of having been on fire; in fact, it looked almost exactly the way it had before. When I talked to my neighbor about it, he said he hadn’t seen the fire…nor had anyone else he’d spoken to. The only evidence I had to confirm that what I had seen was, in fact, real was the fire fighter’s assertion that the bush had been smoldering when he arrived.

I wondered about the connection between the burning bush and my feeling extremely unsettled and disconnected from my Self after having spent two weeks away from home. Was it just a random coincidence or was it, once again, evidence of something much greater?

Praying to the Mantis

Last week I prayed. And I’m not talking about those “It-Would-Be-So-Great-If…” kind of prayers when you almost feel guilty about even bothering God with such a ridiculous request because you know that your life will go on –and be relatively unscathed– if it doesn’t happen. I’m talking about getting down on your knees by the side of the bed (the way my Irish grandmother taught me) style of praying. Elbows on the bed, hands clasped together, eyes closed.

I prayed this way –understanding that I had no other choice– for a family member who had been carrying a tremendous burden for more than seven years. Last week, before he had courageously chosen to finally accept help, I genuflected and shook with emotions: sadness, relief, fear, hope. I prayed to God (and my deceased relatives) in a firm tone: “Listen up…this HAS to happen.” While much more of a yogi than a church-goer, I can’t help but believe that when we throw ourselves selflessly and purely behind the convictions of our prayers, they are answered.

Imagine my surprise when at the end of my “prayer week” (also the day of another family member’s funeral), I saw a praying mantis, mixed in with all of the fall leaves on the ground, walking next to my car. Despite the fact that the praying mantis is Connecticut’s official state insect, I’ve never seen one before in my life. But I instantly knew what it was and I knew it meant something.

According to animal symbolism, the praying mantis symbolizes the need for peace and stillness in one’s life. Yet the mantis (which means “prophet” in Greek) is a walking contradiction: a fighter who prays. It’s both aggressive and calm, a predator and meditator. Could I identify with these characteristics? Perhaps. It was, once again, nature reminding me that it’s watching, listening, and answering my prayers.

The Dog and the Coyote

My last blog post was about how I’ve been stuck in robotic, auto-pilot mode for the past several weeks:

7:30am: Get in car, sit in rush hour traffic.
8:30am: Arrive at work.
5pm: Leave work, sit in rush hour traffic.
5:45pm: See the “Welcome to Connecticut” sign. Start to feel panicked that I won’t make it to my yoga teaching job on time.
6:15pm: Teach yoga class.
9pm: Cook dinner and play with dog who’s been neglected all day.
10pm: Watch television.

Whenever any of us are stuck in auto-pilot mode –which completely disconnects us from our true self– it’s only a matter of time before nature sends us a sign to jolt us out of it. So I couldn’t help but recognize the strange coincidence between my meditation on Monday night (in which I literally asked for a sign to guide me) and the very clear message from nature that I received on Tuesday.

As I sat in rush hour traffic on Tuesday afternoon around 5:45pm –again, semi-panicked that I wouldn’t make it to my 6:15pm class on time– I noticed a dog in the backseat of the car in front of me. The dog looked right at me and then rested its head on the shelf of the back seat. And then…I could have sworn…it winked at me. As traffic picked up, I didn’t think much of it (other than to ponder the possibility that my eyesight/mental state might be in jeopardy).

After teaching my yoga class, I then drove 30 minutes to my parents’ house. Around 8pm, as I drove my mother and I to a late dinner, I heard two female joggers let out a scream on the sidewalk. Naturally, I hit the brakes. Were they okay?! What caused them to scream? Just as I looked in my rear view mirror, I saw a coyote dash across the road, right behind my car.

It took me a full 24 hours before seeing the symbolism of the dog before me and the coyote behind me. While dogs represent loyalty and obedience, coyotes symbolize ingenuity and transformation. I understood that I had literally been “sandwiched” between these two signs in the same day. So what did it all mean? Was my transformation behind me and obedience in front of me? Hardly. These two animals represented where I am in my life, vacillating between “doing the right thing” (i.e., obedience) and “putting myself first” (i.e., transformation). I also thought about my love of dogs and the fear associated with coyotes. Had nature intended me to see love before me and fear behind me? Perhaps. One thing I know for sure is that I’m no longer in auto-pilot mode.

Holding Your Space, Part II

Okay. So sometimes I forget how “new-age-y” I’ve become in the past few years. And sometimes I’ll throw out “yoga terms” and forget that not everyone knows what I’m talking about. So if you’re one of those people who read my last blog post and asked yourself, “What the heck does ‘holding your space’ mean?!” rest assured. The remarkable Mastin Kipp explains it much better than I. Read his The Daily Love post on what “holding space” really means.

P.S. I love how other bloggers’ posts magically align with mine. Must be in the air.

Holding Your Space

Last weekend, I was asked to assist at lululemon athletica’s annual Salutation Nation event. Assisting, or “adjusting” in yoga, is not only important for the student (as it helps them correct their posture, settle into their pose, or find their technique), it’s also beneficial for teachers in that it allows them to “connect” to their students. For someone brand new to yoga, however, being “adjusted” can feel uncomfortable, especially if he or she is not accustomed to being touched. Yet the majority of yoga students have no problem with it; in fact, it’s often one of the things that they most look forward to when they attend a class.

At this particular event, I was one of 20 yoga teachers adjusting students. As three teachers began leading 108 sun salutations, the rest of us started walking around the park, adjusting the 100+ students. Conscious of the fact that I’ve never felt particularly at ease adjusting students, I found it especially difficult to do on this day since students were instructed to hold each pose for only 4-5 seconds or so, giving us very little time to jump in and make corrections.

About an hour into the class, I approached a woman from behind while she was in upward facing dog and very gently pulled on her shoulders. She immediately flipped over on her mat, glared at me and said, “Don’t you dare touch me!”

I was in shock. I apologized and stepped away from her, dumbfounded that she had met my gentle gesture with such hostility. I then immediately began judging the woman.

‘What the hell is her problem?’
‘Doesn’t she see the other students getting adjusted?!‘
‘Why is she even here if she doesn’t want to get adjusted?’
‘Couldn’t she have said that in a nicer way?’

As I glanced back at the woman, I discovered that she had picked up her things and left the event. My heart sank. I was the reason she left. Fellow teachers comforted me and reminded me that my encounter with the woman had more to do with her than it did with me. I knew I didn’t need to take her lashing out personally but it still stung.

After taking a little time to digest the experience, I reflected on the fact that I had been a yoga adjuster on auto-pilot. My goal from the very beginning of the event was to adjust as many people as I could. I was there to do a job! Or at least look like I had a purpose. But I had failed to keep in mind two very important things: how to take care of myself and how to hold my space.

As yoga teachers, and as human beings, we have an obligation to ourselves to think about how each situation and scenario feels. If and when it feels uncomfortable for us, do we then “stick it out”? Ironically, the woman’s angry outburst (though misdirected at me) was just her way of taking care of herself. Perhaps she wanted to do yoga but didn’t want to be adjusted by so many people. Whatever it was, she did what she needed to do at that moment. And I needed that reminder to always feel the space I’m in, especially the energy of those around me, before setting myself on auto-pilot.