Choosing Happy

We have the choice to be happy. That’s what yoga teaches. I sometimes need to be intentional about remembering that. Ego interferes with that sometimes. “Am I good enough?” “ “Do I do enough in this world to be deserving?” “ Am I loved enough?” Do I love enough?” “Is it ever enough?”

These are some of the questions that plague my soul sometimes.

Last night I went for a bike ride into town. I grabbed something to eat and just got on my bike and rode. I’m happy on my bike. I feel free. I observe, feel a part of what’s going on and yet I keep moving as if I’m just passing through. As I glanced over my shoulder, passing a crowd of men laughing together while sipping tea at an outdoor table, an older man with a long white beard called out to me, “Don’t look back, miss. Never look back.”

Only in India would someone shout out comments like that on the street. Its’ simplicity is profound. It doesn’t really take much more thought than that. Just “Don’t look back.”

Ahimsa is the Sanskrit work for doing no harm. It’s also simple. I often think about my behaviours in this life and how I can be better; do more; practice tikkun olam (healing the world). I have come to believe that to live cleanly is a matter of making sure I do no harm. Often teachers in my workshops ask me questions that begin with “Is it okay to….. when trying to help a student?” My answer is inevitably, “It is okay to try anything you think might help, as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody.” The more ways we interact; the more approaches we use to attempt to communicate, the more likely we will be to help others realize success. Ahimsa….no harm.

Morning in Cochin

There is just something wonderful I feel as I travel through the streets of Kerala. After 28 hours of travel from Canada, I feel absolutely exhausted, and yet I am exhilerated! I am full up. People here are so welcoming and happy. As they see my smile, theirs becomes even bolder. There is a silent communication that happens between us that is so loud. I feel close to many of them as if we are actually brothers and sisters. There’s something so familiar.

I wish I could photograph the noise on the streets. Cars honk at each other vigorously. Bumper stickers here shout “Please Honk!” And they do. There is no road rage. Just everyone driving wherever the heck they want, with no rules, no boundaries and no order. And no one gets angry! It’s crazy!!!

Jet lag is what wakes me this morning. But the life outside is what inspires me to open my eyes. The musical prayer of the muezzin from the nearest minaret comes louder than the vicious spin of the fan above my head. I turn off the fan just so I can hear the rest of the world rousing outside my window.

The birds are waking up too. They begin to squawk with purpose and strive to share their song with each other. I can’t imagine they do not act as an alarm clock for many once the call to prayer has ceased. They have certainly woken me up from the inside.

The mosque reverberates with men’s voices in prayer. I hear them from very far away. There is nothing but the sound of the waking birds to interfere with their sound transmission. I don’t mind being woken. I like being surrounded by others’ prayer.

With the fan off, I hear the mosquitoes and the neighbour washing outside my window. A flute plays softly as she prepares herself for the day. Does anyone know it’s 5 in the morning?

I suppose I’ll make it to the early morning Yoga practice with Sajee. As always, I don’t like having to get up. And I welcome being up for it if I am awake.

There is something very special about the homey streets of Fort Cochin early morning. Men, wrapped in their sheets, stand outside their walkway brushing their teeth. “Good morning” I crow as I pass each one. “Gut morning” they each inevitably reply! The city is waking up and I feel it exploding in my soul! Good morning all!!!

Leaving Home

I want this day to last forever and I also want it to end. I’m leaving home tonight for India. For the next month I will be on my own. My love and best friend stays at home. I’m off on an adventure!

My children are grown and independent. My work is good and provides us with enough income to get by. I have a reputation that is strong and promising. I like what I do and I seek balance. I am a partner in a storybook fantastic marriage with a man who supports my sense of adventure and loves me no matter how crazy I appear. I crave time to explore in my own time and in my own way. I want to understand the dance between independence and interdependence. I want to meet new people, practise Yoga, and experience other lands. I want to give Paul the gift of a full night’s sleep.

Too much unfinished business in India left over from Paul's and my trip earlier this year inspires my repeat visit. We had such amazing experiences, sometimes passing through places where I wanted to spend more time. I am doing that now. I am on my way directly to Fort Cochin, a small diverse community in Central Kerela. I’ll be studying Yoga, working in a school for multiply handicapped children, being creative and free, and healing with Ayurvedic treatments.

YOGA.....Sajee helped me bring my Yoga practise to another level. It is through Sajee I began to experience my practise as a prelude to living. His gentle guidance and non judgemental, unconditional love became part of Yoga as I know it now. It is no longer just exercising the body, but an on going practise for life, striving to be a good person and a loving being in search of balance.

WORK.....Shilpa Society (www.shilpasociety.org) is the name of a school for multiply handicapped kids. Paul and I visited there when we were in Cochin in February. They’re waiting for me to come and anticipating my working with their kids and their teachers for the month I’ll be there. My luggage is full of books and toys and musical instruments that several people have donated for me to bring to the children there. I love that my teaching practise brings me there. I can’t wait to get my arms around those children.

HEALING.....Fort Cochin is the hub of Ayurveda Medicine. The last time we were there Paul and I made use of the Ayurvedic massage. The doctor there suggested, that in order to really benefit from the Ayurvedic practise, you need at least 10 days. I intend to benefit during my stay this month. In the West they call it arthritis and the remedy is cortisone and then surgery. In India special diet, homeopathy., meditation and aromatherapy might heal my body. I’m going to give it a try and see if the pain goes away.

CREATIVE AND FREE.....I am carrying a guitar over my shoulder. I like carrying a guitar. It’s a little bit like walking a dog. People initiate conversation more. I don’t really play guitar. Not because I don’t want to play. It’s just that I never have time to practise. I am going to learn how to play 5 songs really well while I’m in India. They are songs that I have hand selected. I printed out the words and Paul wrote the chords down. I want to practise. I want to learn to play.

Writing is how I make sense of my world, and, ultimately isn’t making sense of our world what each of us tries to do in life? My world is full of wonder. I want to live it, understand it, and share it always!

I’m off on my adventure…

Brookdale

My mother lives in a nursing home now. She is one of the many people sitting in the middle of the common room of Claire Bridge community. The residents are placed there because it is easier to care for everyone when they are rallied together instead of being alone in their rooms.

My mother is not happy. She is in the middle of this world and the next. Dementia seeps in and spreads quickly. There are many simple things, some of them basic hygienic practises, my mother can no longer do. She needs the regular care of others to help her in her daily tasks.

Brookdale is a good place. The people who work there show a great deal of compassion and care. They seem to genuinely like my mother. It’s the best we can do. And my mother is not happy. Mom puts up with the people in her midst. She is trying to fit in quietly.

“What’s your name, young lady?” That’s Georgia. Georgia has Alzheimer’s. Her eyes barely move. She seems to be looking at the same thing all the time. Her head moves but her eyeballs stay constant. Georgia smiles a lot though, especially when she looks across the table.

“That’s my husband”, she says. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. We’ve been married for 63 years”

I look inquisitively at the man sitting next to my mom at the lunch table. The same people eat their meals together regularly. This is my first visit. I am meeting them for the first time.

“63 years!”, I exclaim. “Wow” that’s amazing!”

“Yes” says Harvey, “We’ve been together for 65 years. I live upstairs. I come down every day to have lunch with Georgia and to make sure she’s getting whatever she needs. We moved here from Arizona a few years ago to be near our children. We moved in to one of the apartments upstairs. Now Georgia needs to be down here, but we get to see each other every day.”

“Yep” says Georgia. “We met 65 years ago. He just walked in to my brother in law’s gas station and we’ve been together ever since. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. “

“That’s true”, Harvey pipes in. “It was a real gasser” He’s obviously used that joke before.

Constance sits across the table from me. She too, seems a bit disoriented. I watch her turn her head to look straight at Georgia. Her hand slowly crawls “I love you.” She says clearly. “I would love you even more if you loved me too. Give me your hand.” Georgia ignores her. Constance continues to stare.

I slowly slide my hand across the table. “I’ll hold your hand.” I say. Constance shifts her eyes from Georgia to me. She smiles gently. She thinks briefly and then switches her hand from Georgia’s direction into mine. Her eyes close just a touch and she says, “Hmmm, that feels so good. You feel so warm.” We sit holding hands for several minutes massaging each other’s palms and warmly moving our hands around one another.

The man sitting at the end of the table is called Ben. Ben never speaks with his voice. Everything Ben says happens with his eye gestures and the nature of his smile. Today, Ben is happy. His toothless smiles shows contentment with each bite of the hamburger he munches. Ben smiles and winks at me, a stranger. I am a friendly face sitting at his table.

Mom doesn’t want to talk to anyone. I am acutely aware of the stories that will never be told. Nobody seems to care about the stories. Nursing homes are necessary places in this society in which we live. I am uncomfortable.

As warm and compassionate and loving as the staff might be, they are still strangers to my mom. I wish I could take her home and be there for her on a daily basis. I know she is comforted when we hug together or when, while lying on her bed we lie side by side as two spoons in a drawer.

It will take a few generations to get us back to caring for our parents. It won’t happen in my lifetime. But if I plant a seed in my grandchildren’s soul, it is possible that they might nurture it and help it grow.

For now, I am comforted by the fact that (at least) my two oldest boys know that, whatever they choose to do about me better be pretty nice because they are not long after me.

Doing and Being

There is a woman who comes to our synagogue every week. She’s not Jewish. I know this because I’ve talked to her.

Eva is a small framed, solid-looking Philippino woman with long, thick dark hair pulled together into a simple ponytail at the back of her head. The wheelchair that she maneuvers holds middle-aged Penny. She is paraplegic with coiffed sandy red hair, and thick wide rimmed glasses that often fall down the arch of her nose. Eva, I find out is Catholic. She is non practicing and unsure of her religious commitment. She has been sponsored from her homeland to be a full time caregiver for Penny.

Penny is Jewish and tells me she is relieved to have found our Reconstructionist synagogue in Toronto. Here, she can practice Judaism in a liberal, traditional practice that values inclusivity and diversity. As a Reconstructionist, women and men have the same rights and responsibilities, Jews and non-Jews are both considered chosen by God, and the synagogue sanctuary is a home for all.

Penny’s accident a year and a half ago prevents her from living independently. She relies completely on the help she gets from others. Attending synagogue has brought her back to her roots, allows her to self reflect and helps her to feel reconnected. I’m not surprised to learn that Penny anticipates her weekly involvement in Shabbat service, time for prayer and meditation, and opportunity to interact and engage with others. I feel the same way about my attendance each week.

Eva makes sure that Penny gets to services each week, pushing her wheelchair through the snowy streets and settling her among the synagogue pews. Eva sits down beside her and throughout our very long service attends to Penny’s needs, sometimes turning the pages of the prayer book, often wiping her nose with a fresh tissue, occasionally whispering something to her.

Week after week they are there. As the traditional prayers and songs are sung together, I often sympathize somewhat with Eva. “She must be so bored,” I think to myself. “How noble is she to sit patiently with Penny during a 3 hour service.” I wonder about the depth of the relationship that must be developing between these two women and how each depends so much on the other.

At the end of each service, as we all meet in the dining area for our shared Shabbat meal together, I greet them both with a “Shabbat Shalom”; in English means “Good resting day”.

A few weeks ago, engaged in my own self-reflective prayer, I happened to glance over to the other side of our sanctuary. There was Penny in her wheelchair, leaning back, cushioned in her protective neck brace. Next to her was Eva. This time Eva had her own prayer book in hand and she was confidently and knowingly singing along with the rest of the congregation. “A real Jew.” I said to myself, and with a smile and a nod shared the sight with my husband Paul.

Eva was being Jewish. I wondered how much she understood…how much she knew. And then I thought, that for those three hours of practice, it didn’t really matter. She was engaged in communal prayer in our Jewish community. The two women shared something profound.

It reminded me then of what an old mentor of mine once said. In preparing me for professional growth and possible promotion, she commented, “In order to get this job, Amy, you will need to already be doing the job.” It made sense to me that I need to show that I could do what the job required.

Sometimes being depends on what we do. In Judaic law you don’t have to believe in God to serve God. Judaism is a religion of practice - lighting candles on Friday night, sharing a ritual meal before the Sabbath, sitting Shiva for deceased family members, and remembering the anniversary of their death by saying a memorial prayer each year, fasting on Yom Kippur, and symbolically throwing our sins in to the rivers in the form of breadcrumbs for ducks to eat as they swim away. For many the practice is the beginning of the belief. If we “do” Jewish before we feel Jewish, it is only a matter of time before what we do becomes who we are.

I don’t know if Eva will ever consider herself to be religious. And religion isn’t what this is all about. I realized that what we do in this world eventually translates to who we are. And what we are is recognizable, ultimately, in what we choose to do.

Singing in a Choir

I sing in a woman’s choir. Every other Monday night I ride my bike down to the community centre to join about 35 other women who also love to sing. There is no auditioning for this choir. The only pre-requisite to membership is a desire to sing, an ability to (at least) try to stay on key and enough adventure in musical skill to harmonize with the rest of the group. I learn a lot about music by being a member of the choir.

I listen carefully to the other people surrounding me so I fit myself in harmonically. That takes careful listening skills. It’s about listening with an open heart. No judgement. I just want to fill in where everybody is.

In June we had our end of the year performance. Our choir had 7 selections that our choir leader, Gillian had chosen. It was the first time we had two nights of performance instead of one. And both nights were completely sold out!

My husband, Paul, loves to come to see me perform in the choir. He says I beam up there on the stage. I’m not sure what he means by that! He says it looks like I’m having such a good time. I do have such a good time. And I feel glowing and energetic with the other women on stage. It reminds me a little of Canada geese. Their flying formation suggests the perfect support system. They fly in a V formation and rotate leadership simply by sharing the responsibilities of the front flyers.

Singing is like that too. I maintain my pace based on the energy and skill of my co singers. We have an amazing group of singers!

This year I reflected on the performance process. I was thinking about my connection to the audience, and, before the second night of performance I asked Gillian

“Should I be looking at the audience to connect with them? Or should I be reading my music, neatly piled in my black binder? Or should I be watching you?”

“All of them,” she replied,” If you want to maximize performance possibilities.”

I got it, I thought. It is just like learning! The best learning happens when we are able to help our students connect 1) to themselves, 2) to their immediate world, and 3) to the content we share with them.

Welcome back to school 2010-2011

Sharing Space in Nature

Our outside living situation on Gabriola happens only during the summer. Paul and I decided that we would hold off building a house, because, quite honestly, if we built a house, we would probably live in it. And we really like living outside!

So we have a beautiful tent and we put a firm foamy mattress inside. We cover the mattress with clean sheets and warm blankets. And we’re happy each night looking out of the top of the tent, becoming familiar with the star formation that design in the sky above our bed. The moon becomes memorable as the season progresses and her position swings further and further west as the summer continues.

I usually sleep well in our tent. And if I’m not sleeping well, I still appreciate being awake and aware of the outside. Last night there was a mouse in our kitchen and I could hear the little critter gnawing away at the paper towel that I inadvertently left out on the counter top. Every few minutes there would be a scurrying of mouse feet running past our tent. The straight pathway from kitchen to woods was repeated several times. It sounded as if there was a shuttle party running back and forth. I could almost hear the shrieks of joy from the mice as they carried the bits of treasure from source to home. I Think I lay awake for a long time, a gentle smile on my face, listening to the action.

I was thinking about what it would be like for me if this were in my kitchen in Toronto. A mouse in my kitchen would completely freak me out. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I would be investigating the nearest and greatest rodent removal company. There is no way I would be able to withstand the idea of mice running around my house and infiltrating my kitchen.

I realized how, here, I gratefully share the environment with the mice.It is, after all, their space too. I have no fear. I experience no sense of disgust. I simply enjoy listening to the commotion and welcoming the presence in our home. I feel a true sense of co habitation and I love the idea of being a part of this natural world! And I am humbled.