Kate's Magic Bead

A daughter asks a mother a simple question. The mother gives a simple response. Though mothers are sometimes distracted, busy or hurried they can some how sense that some questions which appear deeply simple and innocent are much more. My mother asked such a question of my grandmother when she was a young girl. She asked, "Mother, how do you know someone loves you?" My grandmother's response, "You give them the shirt off your back!"
At the time I'm certain my grandmother, who was often busy and distracted, did not realize that her answer would travel generations into the ears of my children... those words would also guide my mothering. There is never a time that I don't say to my children, as I take off my sweater or coat, "How do you know someone loves you?"
I thought of those simple words of wisdom and giggled to myself as I stood on my deck to escape the confined odor of my daughters poop. Of course the circumstance required a slight change to the answer... you know you love someone when you, day after day, wait for the bowel movement of a six year old and are thrilled when it comes, just so you can sift through it with a plastic fork and gloved fingers for a small magnetic, hematite bead ...you know you love them when at night, while they are sleeping, you gently lay your hands on their belly feeling for any tension, then you allow your hand to relax and send healing love in the hopes that her body will sense the love not the fear ...you know you love someone when three and a half days later your greatest joy, is the discovery of that magic bead in the smelly poop ...you know you love them when you feel absolute elation and celebration over the finding of a bead which you now realize has been blessed with the gift of traveling through this miraculous little being's body!
Kate's magic bead now sits on our altar to the Divine Mother. I pray often to my Mother, to my Ancestors and to Divine Mother energy for guidance... She never lets me down!

My Father's Eyes

I truly saw my father for the first time the other day. No words were spoken, but I understood. Sitting holding his hand, listening to nonsensical sounds and witnessing chaotic movements. His face wrought with tension, some how I saw beyond the form.

As I gazed into his eyes I saw a yearning, a yearning to be heard, to be recognized. Language at that moment became unnecessary and superfluous. Then something beyond intellect took over and we spoke in the most intuitive and heartfelt way.

He told me of his deep sadness and unspoken pain. He spoke of his regrets and of the sorrow he felt for giving up on his family, for giving up on himself. Underlying our subtle exchange I sensed, for the first time, a profound love. Love which held no condition or pretense.

Before my father's decline into a nearly mute world he could say none of these things. Yet now, in spite of his struggle, he need not use words. It was loud and clear and I understood.

It is in the first and last moments of life that one recalls this primal language.
This language of the heart, which expresses the inner loving essence of the soul that shines from the eyes.

Speechless
by John and Em

Harry Potter is often told that he looks like his father, with his mother's eyes. Our mother was recently told that she looked like her father. Our grandfather is, at the moment unintelligible, often dissolving into fits of frustration in which he shakes his fists and sometimes cries.

He left our grandmother when our mother was not quite eleven. He remarried and was eventually diagnosed with dementia. He can say few recognizable words, although he recognizes our family and becomes upset when we leave.

My sisters do not really understand what is wrong with him. They draw pictures for our grandfather's wall, but are very quiet when doing so. I am equally quiet, but I understand a bit more.

As I conclude this blog, I think of the things my mother has written of before. I think that this will be different.

Emotional Landscaping

We meet ourselves in the moment when we stop and observe the breath. Sometimes I'd just like to go back to that first breath, that breath that just happened to me. On the other side of that first expansion, that first breath, there was release and all at once I was breathed. How effortless and embracing to receive breath and give breath.

One of the gifts of practicing yoga is the development of an inner witness which observes the breath, the body and the senses. As you move through the practice of postures, breathing and meditation that witness is recognized as the core of your being, your essence. When you bring your yoga into your life it becomes the ground you stand on.

While creating a heart focused closing meditation for class my breath led me to an insight. For the meditation I used the Law of Giving and Receiving (as outlined in Deepak Chopra's book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Yoga) as inspiration. This Law seems to me to embody the heart's expression. So I began the meditation by witnessing the receiving and giving of breath. I then expanded this observation to the whole inner body and then directed the flow back to the heart.

Upon practicing this at home I noticed many nuances. One in particular puzzled me. It was easy for me to focus on the gift of receiving breath, but what was I giving when I breathed out. I felt a sense of discomfort that I was giving anything. What could I possibly have to give? On a biochemical level I understood that I was, in fact giving off something. Yet what irked me was this subtle sense that what I was giving was not worthwhile.

So, what to do with such a sense? Sitting in stillness I just curiously allowed it to be there. Here I was at rest in my emotional landscape and there was no where else to go. Meditation has a way of turning you inside out.

When I was given life, I received breath. Nothing was asked of me, it was just given. With my last exhale I will give it back.

Fun House Mirrors

When my first daughter was born I had the profound sense of looking into dressing room mirrors. Looking forward and backward into infinity. Here she was a girl that had grown within me and I within my Mother. A girl, who might one day look into her own little baby girl's face and observe the same awe.

As she has grown the mirror doesn't seem to be the same. I don't get awe and infinity anymore, I only get this moment. This moment with all it's nuance, energy, joy and/or grief. This moment which may involve another entangled battle or tender hug.

The other night my husband went to lay beside her before falling asleep. She is aglow with tenderness and devotion when she has one of us all to herself. When he got up to leave in spite of her wanting him to stay longer, she turned away and said, "Go away, who wants to look at you anyway!"

Everything I give her I get back. She has all my lines and she uses them on me too. It is totally exasperating and yet, strangely so, I admire her gumption. After all if I'm yelling at her, who am to say lower your voice. If I am acting annoyed, and in some way disrespectful, who am I to demand respect.

How shocking it is to me now that my first impression of her precious newborn face was that of a mirror! Somewhere inside I knew this little girl was going to alter my perceptions and cause me to expect more of myself. I don't always like what I see, but I'm working on changing the reflection.

Mother's Whisper

My Mother often spoke in circles. She would begin talking about something and you might wonder how did she get there and where was she going. Regardless of interruptions or changes in topic she was determined to finish. At some point, maybe two hours later, she would pick up where she left off and then the circle would close.
I find myself also doing this. Sometimes I've said to my husband, "Stick with me, I'm coming back around. It will make sense in the end."
My last, best conversation with my Mother was like this. I was alone with her for several hours while she was in the hospital. We were interrupted often by nurses and assorted health care providers. She was so gracious, so easy to care for. She was also determined to finish the conversation she had started.
It began with, "So what do you want to do? Do you think you will return to teaching?" I told her I wanted to do something I loved, I felt that that is what we are all really here for. Teaching wasn't really what I loved to do. Thus began her telling of the story and of the job she loved.
She had been substituting, or as she called it "guest teaching" for several years in the NYC school system. My Mother loved working with children. They inspired her. Her dream was to be a full time teacher and eventually a counselor. She held her intentions, as she would say, in the light. Believing and affirming that she would attract into her life a position she was passionate about.
One day it all fell into place. All the right people appeared and the Universe did truly conspire to give her the most amazing job. She became an Elementary School Substance Abuse Counselor. She traveled between three different schools carrying a bag full of puppets and other tricks. With great heart and passion she led the children through life skills lessons that included decision making, positive alternatives and self esteem. Her honesty, compassion and pure intentions were made apparent by the love the children had for her. She wouldn't say it, but in my eyes she was a success, because she became the person she was meant to be!
Deep wisdom or intuition must have compelled her to once again tell me this story.
I know this because the guidance she offered that day I would need after she was gone.
Recently I expressed to a friend how I came to studying yoga instruction.
I wrote, "I truly love yoga, yet when I think about it, I'm not sure how it will all work out. The thing is, I'm trying not to think about it, I'm just following my heart. I'm trying to keep my conditioned mind and ego out of it and just move forward from my heart. I've never done this before. Everything else I ever did made perfect sense from my mind's perspective. In the end what my mind created and imagined never came to fruition, so I figure why not try another way.
When ever I'm in class I struggle with my conditioned mind telling me: I'm not good enough, I'll never be able to do this. This will be another thing I fail at. But the beauty of yoga is that it is a way of life. Learning to leave the ego behind is a way of life. So yoga, my life and my spirituality go hand in hand. I'm not sure where it will lead me, but in the end I think I will love myself more. If I can give my children this gift, that of self love and acceptance... wow... that would be great!"
So the circle has closed on this last, best conversation. I understand how my Mother got there and where she was going. She was following her heart and leading me to do the same. There have been so many other times I have wanted to turn to her, so many other things I want to talk with her about. Since her death, I have learned to turn within and to listen to the soft whisper of my heart.