Be Still and Know That I Am God

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Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.    - Marianne Williamson

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At lunch time, on the last day of our trip to San Luis Obispo, California (for the California Photo Festival) - Brad burst into our hotel room, "Quick, Kel! Get your shoes!" He dashed to the frig, grabbed a box of berries, some provolone, and Boar's Head ham. He snatched up plastic forks and a wad of napkins and shoved the 'picnic' into his gear bag. Next, he combed through his camera case for additional lenses, mumbling something about location and weather conditions. Hypnotized, I watched.  He stopped, looked at me, "Hurry, Kel! The light is good now - but it's unpredictable, and fog could drift in anytime. Let's go!"

I set my laptop aside, and stood. Inside, 'brakes' engaged and irritated question marks taunted, but I stretched tall, (Okay, I'm moving).  Brad picked up my backpack, handed it to me; then my shoes, my sweater, a scarf. I acknowledged a touch of irritation, but tried not dipping my toe in it.  Instead I bathed in the exclamation points that stick-danced all around him, hoping his exhilaration would glue me back together. When I am suddenly or unexpectedly interrupted, I feel as if I shatter into fragments. I don't think I've ever mentioned this to Brad, or even thought it 'out loud' myself.  But it is so. I am a thousand shapes, a puzzle wrenched apart, scrambling, grasping and struggling to regroup. This was that. But a sharp edge piggy-backed on it, an additional color - no, a shadow of dread - and it hovered dark in the midst of me.

Resistance. I named it, and it stepped forward, clear as day. (Why are you here?)  I forgot Brad for a moment, thrilled I was awake enough to greet this new bit of awareness. Not always the case - but yoga and meditation had deeply stirred my pot of late, and thankfully refreshed my long held 'go-to' recipe for life. Now, life evolved with every moment. New flavors, textures, dimensions, capacities. I never knew what I'd find and that seemed the perfect recipe.  At every chance, I eliminated unnecessary ingredients, simplified. I threw away stale and expired things - old beliefs and concepts, tiresome rules and opinions - all kinds of 'keepsakes'. Especially the ones that never belonged to me in the first place.  (Resistance, though? Why now?) 

As I bent to tie my shoes, Brad slipped a water bottle into my pack, and I zoomed back into the moment.  "But what about your afternoon classes?" I asked.

"I don't care about my afternoon classes!" he answered. He looked at my sweater, judging.  "Maybe you should grab a heavier sweater. It's a bit chilly where we're going. Come on! Come on!"  He smiled devilishly. "I'm taking you somewhere REALLY special. This morning's shoot made the whole trip worthwhile!" 

I had not seen him this excited all week. Each photo shoot he'd been on had been so tightly-wound round one spot and one shot - he'd felt hog-tied and unenthusiastically boxed in. Certainly for some, restraint is a good teacher, but Brad is a nomad. He needs room to play.  When something catches his eye, he MUST see it from ALL angles. Whatever it takes, he roots around until the camera vibrates with the essence of his subject. That's his process, his way of accessing his truest expression. It's where his best shots are born, where God within spills out through his fingers. I understand this.  It's the music of creation. How art comes to life.

I smiled, tasting his tangerine giddiness. I liked seeing him like this - especially after seeing him so frustrated all week.  …And I was curious about his magical place.  

We lunged for the elevator in a clatter and crush, and I noticed 'shadowy resistance' tagging along behind me. I ignored it, focused on Brad and his traveling exclamation marks. "So, tell me what happened. What has you so excited?"

As we drove, Brad explained the events of his morning. He'd decided against staying with the group at the 'tourist-y' spot. The Instructor, Mark, sensed his frustration and waved him on ahead, "There are some cool spots down that way. But be careful."  So, Brad hurried off, searching the coastline for a fresh place to practice long exposures. It didn't take long to find one. "It was magical, Kel!  A few twists and turns down the beach and suddenly there were seaside cliffs, blow holes, crashing waves and great sweeps of spray erupting ten or more feet in the air! There were so many choices, I didn't know where to start!"  He chose a position on one cliff in order to shoot his subject, another cliff further down the beach. "The rock was majestic! It jutted up abruptly, all edges and jags and might. And it reached forward, out over the ocean. It looked like the seat of God himself! Anyway, I set up my camera, took some test shots, and immediately - I knew it was a power shot. I was so excited about it, I barely noticed an older woman and her daughter as they passed behind me following the trail. I figured they'd stay the path, so I took my time, kept playing and looking for my angle. Several minutes later though, the daughter appeared in my camera frame.  She'd left her mother standing on the path, and made her way to the edge of my cliff.  Where she sat down! She sat down, Kel! I couldn't believe it!  I waited a moment, thinking she would leave. But she didn't.  Damn it!  Finally the perfect spot, and I get photo-crashed! Damn it!"

But looking through the view finder, Brad was stunned. Stirred. A human-being added even more muscle to the shot! He snapped away for more than 20 minutes, glad for the happy accident, and thrilled his model was sitting so still. When he finished, he even walked over to tell the older woman he would email her copies if she liked. (He doesn't do that often, so I knew it had to be a stellar photograph!)

"Wow.  So, show me the shot!" I pleaded. Brad reached into the backseat and grabbed one of his cameras. He couldn't help smiling as he handed it over. I was speechless, the photos were dramatic. Primordial. Flash, Dazzle and Muscle weren't even in the same ballpark. I felt prickles dance across my skin…it was a Sacred, Power Place. I felt it.  No words.  No wonder he'd been ecstatic.

When my words arrived, they were a bible verse: "'Be Still and Know that I am God.'  Wow.  It's beautiful, honey.  So - you are taking me to see these cliffs?" 

"Well, yes.  But What I REALLY want, is to recreate the picture - only this time, with you." 

Here, several things at once: Tangerine happiness, because Brad finally got his trip-defining shot. Then a sudden twinge of mildew-y blackness, small but expanding, gaining ground fast.  Next, a gripping feeling clinched hold of my stomach, and a tightening thing seized and pulled at the four corners of my throat: Fear.  Finally, a dark and steely clamp snapped down on my jaw: Stubborn Resistance.

"You want ME to climb out on THAT cliff?!  Brad, I'm not a kid anymore - THAT looks absolutely treacherous!"

Immediately I recognized it - a pattern, a conditioned refusal.  Automatic as breathing. What did it mean? What was my mind saying that wrested my body into knots?

"It's not as scary as it looks, Kel. And that woman was pretty close to your age - she did it. Come on, I want that photo with you in it."

I recalled a quote I'd seen a few months before:  Dr Viktor Frankl said, "Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom."

I pressed 'Pause'. Breathe. Relax. Feel. Watch. Allow.  Maybe it isn't as bad as it looks. The shadowy jaw thing bullied for attention. It had a "HOLD EVERYTHING!" attitude. I leaned in closer, to see if it would speak. The words forced themselves through gritted teeth: "Don't push me! And don't make me feel less-than if I feel differently about this than you do. What's great for you, isn't always great for me. In case you haven't noticed, I am NOT you." The scissor-sharp comments filled my nose with the smell of tar, my mouth with the taste of hoarhound cough drops.  Mental quicksand. To add a little more confusion, barnstormers appeared trailing ribbons stamped with bite and malice.   Chicken!   Don't be a Wussy!    What a Bore!    Get a backbone!   You could fall and die!    Paralysis is possible!     Remember how graceful you AREN'T!    Your friend Linda is going climbing in the Himalayas and THIS little cliff scares you?  My head whipped back and forth.   Finally:   What if, on your deathbed, you regret NOT doing this?     (Ahh...Regret?  That one always gets me.)

Suddenly, insight!  I looked Fear square in the face:  "You are right about one thing, you pushy bastard - You are definitely NOT me!  So, Shut Your Pie-Hole!"   A little peace of quiet followed.  (Funny, how ego plays both sides to ensure it gets credit, no matter what happens.)   Well, there it was...Brad's excitement had sparked my fear.  

Let me explain:  Brad's definition for excitement is bound by 'edges'. He likes risky, dangerous things. He is a swim-with-sharks, wrestle-a-gator kind of guy.  I once watched him walk the perimeter wall on the roof of a skyscraper in Chicago without even blinking.  I (of course) was about 45 feet behind him, safe in the center of the roof, trembling, and welding my body to the exit door we'd just come through. I liked his fearlessness, but sometimes he was over-the-top.

So - Rest in the Pause. Choose my response. Create it from this moment - what is real now. The prize of living an authentic life goes to those who move beyond thinking mind, and past conditioned reactions. No more treading fears. What had it done for me? Nothing good. It left me closed in, self-concerned, and dressed only in Either/Or.  Trust the moment. Believe the right choice, the right action, the right notion will arise naturally at the right time. No thinking required. It took me years to word-picture this idea clearly enough to understand it. It was all edges and no middle. Deep, and slippery as hell. But once I saw it, I also saw the way out.  The sign said, "Exiting Either/Or,  Entering Both/And."  That's the path to living fully.

I closed my eyes. Silent movies sprang into action, playbills of danger and tragedy.  I opened them, stared out the window.  Breathe.  Yoga teacher training invited me to look at fear stripped bare: It's just a thought, only a tool.  I decide...I choose, whether I use it.  And where I keep it.  In a tool chest, or in my lap. 

Fear is a trap. Its walls trick me into feeling safe and cozy, even responsible. But the truth: My vision is clipped short because there's no depth of field. It's almost always a ruse - the boy who cries 'wolf!', a distracting what-if, a question mark that repeats into infinity.  It's good to be on the ground, to see things up close. But it is equally good to climb a tree and get above the forest once in awhile too. The 'big picture' is extremely valuable when mapping a journey, a life. Sometimes we need new perspectives, fresh details. We need to live larger.  Our souls want us to mix it up. 

Later, as I stood on the beach path, witnessing Brad's majestic rock, something very old awakened in me. The roar of crashing waves, the salty smell in the air, the bracing dance and play of the wind, roused my soul and stood it tall, stretching and yawning. I am Called. Hungry for this raw and powerful place. I need Exactly this. I put my things down, and crept out onto the rock so Brad could take pictures. No thinking. Just presence.  A human... being.  Soul took the helm.  It was a beautiful day and the sea was calling.  Qui lay all around me.  Ah yes… Be still and know that I am God.  

 

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                                  One More Escape 

                                    I made a cage
                                    out of my story—
                                    love bent the bars

                            - Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

 

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How Smoke Deepened My Yoga Practice

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When I wandered into my first yoga class, I didn't know what to expect, I just needed a new way to exercise. For most of my life, I had worked out daily, but my experience of it had grown mechanical and flat. It was a sun-parched river bed; sterile and unproductive, barbed wire gone to rust. Because I needed to exercise for health reasons, I was desperate. So desperate - I shoved shyness, my fear of looking like an idiot, and a dislike for crowded places into a corner, and signed up for a 6 week series of classes.  There were bigger fish to fry.

Fortunately, my first teacher was Claudia Cummins. She made practicing feel like poetry. I enjoyed the sign language of the postures in my body. It stirred awake an iridescent light in me. I was hooked.  When our younger sons joined our older sons in playing various sports, my class appearances dwindled.  Four boys with various interests added up to zero 'me' time.  So, I cleared a space in our basement and moved my practice down there. I have been doing it there for more than 10 years.

My experience of yoga is a bit out of the ordinary, but I'll share anyway. Seeing things through different eyes can glitter your perspective once in awhile, you never know. Please know - I am no expert, I am merely a student, sharing my love for this practice. I have much to learn, far to go.

Here's a little background.   My experience of Life is ruled by sensory input: Merging, harmony and the "feel of things" override separateness and logic. In the daily grind of thinking and logic, I get lost, make mistakes, misinterpret, and forget my words. Australian artist Donna Williams believes humanity breaks down into two ways of living: Sensing and Interpreting.  I agree. Considering that, it is no surprise that I meandered into a yoga class and felt like I'd come home. Yoga requires tuning in to the body and falling into the details. A plunging, velvety kind of noticing - like sunlight rolling across a meadow, embracing every wildflower, every blade of grass, every grasshopper and ladybug.  Thinking mind gets relocated to the back seat.  "I'm certainly a noticer," I thought, "and logic just confuses me." I felt a tremble of possibility, it seemed something tailor-made was sidling up next to me.  

Life for me, each and every moment, is a kaleidoscope of color, sound, smell, taste, texture - and more! My brain's filtering system seems set to maximum intake, plus my senses get crossed and stumble into each other. What does that mean?  Everything downloads at once - so I must continually sift through it to find the real target of my attention. My senses sing in tandem, like a round of "Row Your Boat" - one 'voice' overlapping another - as they describe the experience unfolding before me. Sounds, smells, colors and even emotions can have taste, texture, shape and personality - and vice versa. Sound confusing? It's called synesthesia.

What would it be like if you lived in a synesthetic world?  Well, your sweetheart’s kiss might taste like peaches drizzled in apricot-colored circles. Your child’s laughter might smell like tangerines and look like spirals and stars tumbling through the air. Rain might provoke the taste of chocolate and the haunting tinkle of far-away chimes. You might be convinced the letter A is dark red, and that Thursdays are orange and feel warm. Every object you see might have its own story, speak its own language. 

This is how it is for me. 

When I discovered yoga, it fired my senses in mysterious and unexpected ways. Instead of creating a clamor of exclamation points and heart-quaking jolts of energy like aerobic workouts and weight-lifting - yoga was warm butter, melting...shimmery and calming. It felt whole, not scrambled. For years, that alone, compelled me to get on my mat every morning.

My synesthetic response to yoga lured me in closer. Depending on the pose, I hear strings playing - bass violin, cello, viola, and violin. I smell vanilla and buttered rum.  I taste  Crème brulee with warm buttered figs and dates.  I even see soothing colors, the colors of sunset at sea after a storm has passed.  Practicing, I feel energy moving through me: Opposing forces, drawing in and radiating out at the same time. I visualize it as light. My head reaches taller as my feet root down. My waist stretches taut like a sail fastened at boom, reaching skyward to mast. I sense the necessity of this opposition. I feel how it holds me in the pose, keeps me from falling into a puddle on the ground. It 'establishes' me, gives me foundation. But at the same time, it gives me lightness, lifts me up out of myself.  Wings.  After practice, my body feels as if it's just eaten a wintergreen lifesaver: I am a cavern of cleansed space - host to a brisk and curling wind.  Ahhhh....

For years, I listened to this music in my body, wishing I understood the words to the song.  Finally, one night, it started to come together. Sitting by our fire pit, watching stars blink on and fireflies flicker, I became hypnotized by the fire: The liquid dance of flame, the curling wisps of smoke. I disappeared into it. My husband finally asked what I was pondering so deeply. "Somehow the fire and the smoke speak to me about yoga," I answered. "But I just don't understand the connection." We sat quietly, our thoughts softly glowing, until the fire drifted into a hushed crackling smolder. 

The next day, Brad quietly set up his camera gear in a spare bedroom, determined to surprise me with still shots of smoke. A few hours later, he showed me the images and I was stunned!  I was instantly absorbed, entranced, hypnotized. "That’s it! THAT’S what it feels like to do yoga!," I shouted.  "That's the language of yoga!” I was so happy, I had tears in my eyes. Just studying the (improbable!) folding and unfolding turns of the smoke, I realized I needed to throw down my old concepts of what is possible. I saw echos of feelings I'd had in certain poses, and places where I'd misunderstood posture instructions altogether. I glimpsed the ever-hammering importance of breath, and the paradox of doing while not doing. I discovered that teeter-tottering in a pose isn't failing - it is participation! It's where the real work and transformation happens!

What a gift! For two years, I studied them over and over. Every once in awhile, Brad added another batch. My practice intensified, and I let go of other regimented forms of exercise altogether. How organic to simply listen to my body: To move in the direction it requested, answering the call again and again until it felt right to float into Savasana. I was a wisp of smoke, light and free, drifting on the night breeze.  

Last fall, I started aching for more. More knowledge, more experience. Our youngest son was away at college, so I began to ponder ways to deepen my practice. After a few months, I took a crazy leap and signed up for yoga teacher training at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. It was an experience I'll never forget.

For me, yoga is a sanctuary that invites me in from cold and chaos. It separates that which is soul from that which is not. It reminds me who I am by showing me who I am not. I don't need a mask anymore. For an introvert like me, that's a big revelation! It means I can relax, let go of my desire to be like everyone else. I don't have to pretend I'm out-going or fearless, I can just be me. That is enough. Yoga teaches me that slowing down is living fully. There is no rush. Some people say, "Yoga is a journey, a path." For me, it is a "coming home".  

For years, I've worked to hide my overzealous senses, to water down the haze of fizzy, and bewildering statements and descriptions that fly out of my mouth sometimes. I wanted to sound like everyone around me. Yoga teaches me there is no reason to hide. It highlights delicate beauty in the peachy tones and honey taste of vulnerability and surrender.  What good does anxiety do me?   Brahmani, one of my teachers at Kripalu, told me, "Fear is just a confused thought. Relax. Don't ramp it up into a commotion. What would it be like to just let things unfold, without attaching fear to it? Turn the negative energy into a force that works for you, not against you."  That was a step toward freedom, realizing I always have a choice. If I believe a thought that Life is uncomfortable, it will be. If I don't, my options are endless. 

Wrapped in gossamer tendrils, I rise from my mat - inhaling, exhaling, folding and unfolding.  Speaking the language of smoke - the language of yoga - I wonder "Where will the wind take me today?"