Clinking

From this lovely blog.

Anyone else for a pastry and tasty drink break? 

Sometimes I imagine myself somewhere fancy, where soft light is streaming in the windows and there are only the sounds of a far-off fireplace -- flames dancing, wandering around the wood -- and the soft clinking of silverware on fine ceramic, glasses clipping the saucers they're held on, evidence of people gathered together, sitting alone in a full room.

Evening Poetry

Photography by Glen Allsop. 

Thought I'd share a few beautiful images, plus a poem that stole my heart a long time ago. Take a moment in your evening to enjoy.

Wild Geeseby Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Ballerinas

Photos via The Ballerina Project. More about them on Facebook, too.

A long time ago I posted about awesome urban ballerinas. Thought I'd share a few more of those inspiring and incredibly graceful images today.

Isn't it amazing how bendy and beautiful they are?

Suddenly

All photos by Justin Battenfield, an Oklahoma wedding photographer.

PS A little love poem for your Saturday afternoon, by one of the greatest poets (and a favorite of mine). If you can read Spanish, check out Pablo Neruda's work in his native tongue. It is beautiful and tends to take your breath away. 

Sonnet LXIX

by Pablo Neruda

Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,

without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.

In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:

since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we'll be. 

Here's to a weekend filled with sudden hugs!

Age Old Tree

Photo and inspiration for the poem from I Am An Age Old Tree.

A poem for your Friday afternoon. Just because :)


Age Old Tree


An age old tree stands in the desert,
is greeted by the blankness


of stars. What echoes, what remains,
what the branches say to each other.


They say nothing.
All are branches standing upward.


What seems to continue 
despite darkness, despite cold,


dampness, dusk, dust.
Perhaps we are all branches,


the standing upward our only way
of calling out into what we don't know,


can't remember, shouldn't have seen
as children. For beyond the throes of pain


lies a calm we can find
only with the heart open.


Once you have a heart,
you can remember where you are going.


An age old tree stands in the desert,
where snow begins to fall.

Coqui: Paradise Reverie

Photo via DaydreamLily.

Paradise Reverie
a thing too perfect to be remembered:
sudden croak of the coqui


invisible and concealed
from far or from very close

in the night it is dangerous to listen     at a distance
in the night, listening becomes

living,      coming to assure me     are the sounds of 
nature speaking its name     co     qui


I was healed
free of situations
in the faraway
co     qui       co     qui  co     qui

voices stirring the sky
a strange happiness    suddenly there


sound could slip through it
co qui    binding us      to this night

Married & In Love

I couldn't be more happy to be married and in love with my best friend. And you know what? I still love wedding blogs :)

These are some beautiful photos I recently discovered on Green Wedding Shoes, which I must admit is still in my Google Reader. Aren't they breathtaking?

And, just for fun, a poem from a long while ago:

The Breaths Inward

what is simple

between us      what is

some complex forward motion

we are lying

looking out      hearing only

the drum of the night      wet

tires meeting pavement      meeting

the cool breath of rain

what is simple

in the meeting

the cars      and our lives moving

forward      breath in the dark      rain

we are simple

in the night between us

The Weepies Live in Evanston!

The Weepies are one of my favorite bands ever. I belted out every song :)

The show last night was incredible. I am more in love with The Weepies than ever! Hubs and I smiled, laughed, tapped our toes, and sang along with every tune. Deb and Steve were adorable, as usual, and the band rocked out. I was very impressed by their stage presence, spot-on vocals and silly stories.

They all came on stage dressed in crazy Halloween costumes and wigs, Deb with black lipstick on and long, black hair. Steve was hiding behind a wild side-swept wig and sunglasses, and the rest of the band was sporting awesome hats and makeup. After a couple songs Deb laughed as she introduced them as "The Creepies." It was great.

My two favorite songs were "Can't Go Back Now" from their Hideaway album, and a fantastic ballad sung by just Deb and Steve called "Sing Me to Sleep," from his first album Big Senorita. I really loved all of their charming stories about the inspiration behind songs (anything from spam porn emails to their son playing peek-a-boo to fighting with each other). It was a beautiful night and they sounded even better live than on the recorded tracks. Lovely! Beautiful! Wondrous. I am still grinning and humming their songs.

I've checked another dream off the list :)

In case you don't know The Weepies and their playful lyrics, here are a few tidbits...

Yesterday when you were young
Everything you needed done was done for you
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone, what can you do?

You and me walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now

-from "Can't Go Back Now," which was my personal theme song earlier this year during a hard time. It inspired me to carry on despite challenge, pain, and worry. I truly believe in the idea behind the song: sometimes, in order to grow we truly have to take steps on our own!

--------------------------------------------------------------------

And at closing time we're a nickel and a dime
In the deep back pocket of America
Trying to find wings or something to carry you home
Right now you better make the best of your situation
Escape through a hole in the conversation
The sun comes up like a revelation and I'm so lonely without you

Baby sing me to sleep turn down the covers ‘cause talk is cheap
Baby sing me to sleep ah turn out the lights
Remember the nights when the rain fell eighteen inches deep
Baby sing me to sleep

-from "Sing Me to Sleep," a tune that's beautiful and heart-wrenching at the same time. "A hole in the conversation?!" Brilliant.

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If you've never been to SPACE in Evanston, you should check it out. They've got one of the prettiest, classiest venues around. Delicious pizza and a warm, inviting yet modern atmosphere with gorgeous over-the-bar lights and ceiling art fans that look like jellyfish!

My view looking up at the ceiling. Jellyfish fans! They were so calming and stylish.

Summer Reading in the Fall

This is a sweet craft project I made awhile back simply by folding the pages of a cheap, library-sale-bought book.

If you're like me, your summer reading list extends year round, and fall is a great time for catching up on some of the books you've been meaning to read during the warmer months. 

When it's chilly, rainy or gray out, that's the best time to cuddle up to a good book. 

Here's what's on my shelf at the moment:

• The Wisdom of Yoga by Stephen Cope. An intriguing and approachable look into the yoga sutras by an intelligent psychologist and writer who knows how to tell a gripping story.
• Bikram Yoga by Bikram Choudhury. The man behind the madness tells all about his experience growing up as a yogi, bringing his infamous series to the West, and discovering the amazing benefits of the class.
• Bikram's Beginning Yoga Class by Bikram Choudhury. Bikram's other book outlines his 26-asana trademarked series, taking an in-depth look at each posture and how to do it and how it helps your body. Bikram also explains the difference between the ideal pose and your reality/ your edge, and how no matter how out of shape you are, it's never too late to start the yoga! 
• Divergent by Veronica Roth, pre-authorized copy. My amazing writer friend Veronica is about to publish her first YA dystopian thriller novel about a futuristic world where young people face incredible choices that will determine the rest of their lives. Think the Harry Potter series meets the Ender's Game series and 1984. Amazing stuff! Congrats and thanks for sharing, V.
• Plenty: One Man, One Woman, and One Raucous Year of Eating Locally  by Alisa Smith and J.B. Mackinnon. This fascinating tale is extremely well-written and informative. Ready to open up your eyes to the sad state of affairs in the American food industry when it comes to sustainability? Alisa and J.B. will show you the challenge, beauty, and reward of making the choice to eat foods only within 100 miles of their Canadian home.

             

I'm also listening to:

• Julie Rader's meditation CD. Amazing! Have I mentioned that you should buy this? You should buy this. It's wonderful.
• The Weepies. The Hubs and I are off to see them live in Evanston in about half an hour! I'm wiggling in my boots and just can't seem to wipe this grin off my face... :)
• "Club Can't Handle Me" by Flo Rida ft. David Guetta. It's just good for dancin'. No shame here!

What are you reading and listening to lately? Please share any of your favorites, yoga-related or otherwise, in the comment section below!

Thank you, Northwestern Library, for some seriously intelligent yoga-related books.

The Latest Greatness by Billy Collins

Photo via Lost.

Well, it's Wednesday already, and I've got nothing to say for the fact that I don't have a new original post up for you guys. Well, I guess I could use the "Just got back from the honeymoon and I'm busy opening wedding presents, having adventures to Target & Ikea, and cleaning like a crazy lady" excuse, but that just doesn't seem fair, does it?

Just like it doesn't seem fair that I haven't been able to make time for the Hot Room yet and my toes, sore neck, and monkey mind are longing for it! But then again, we all make excuses for the Bikram we don't do.

Or the relationships we don't foster, the regrets and anger we hold onto, the faith we let slip.

In a way, I think this poem by Billy Collins speaks a little bit to that. The way history sometimes fades into the background so far that we forget it's really hovering there, reminding of us of the mistakes we should try not to repeat. Collins often does a beautiful job of evoking the past without writing too sentimentally, and the way he paints portraits of everyday life is altogether stunning.

I wouldn't mind joining him this morning in that "little bakery down the street/ where I often go for coffee and a muffin" and pausing to appreciate the world around, and the blessings we're given within it. So, without further ado:

"The Quaintness of the Past"

by Billy Collins (via Slate)
I turn the page of a magazine
and find a black-and-white photograph
of a roadhouse taken in the 1950s,
an old clapboard affair
with a car of that vintage,
maybe a Plymouth, parked in front.
It is almost enough to inspire me
to take a snapshot of something around here
first thing in the morning,
maybe the little bakery down the street
where I often go for coffee and a muffin
and the big city paper
and the French girls behind the counter.
Ideally there would be a few modern cars
parked in front,
then all I would have to do
is walk back home and wait 50 or 100 years
for the photograph to become a thing of interest and value.
Of course, I will be long gone by then
and time will have marched on,
though I never think of time as marching
down a football field blowing a trumpet
or into a city square
with a rifle on its shoulder.
I picture time advancing more slowly
up a mountain, leaving
all the moments of history behind
like climbers who have to leave behind
one of their companions on a cold glacial slope.
And sometimes, decades later,
the body is discovered,
the ice is chipped away, and we get to see
a photograph of the remains—
the bones of the hands arthritically
fisted up, the jaw locked tight,
a skull wearing a woolen cap,
the man quaintly smiling out at us from the past
before we wet a finger and turn the page.


PS: The Wedding Day Yoga Adventure post will be coming soon! Stay tuned. Photo by the talented cousin Joelle. And yes, those are my toes, a-dancin' on the Big Day!

Poetry in the Posture: Toe Stand

Photo Via LifeInterstitial's Flickr Photostream.

So I've recently fallen in love with the last posture of the standing series: Toe Stand. A posture that will test your patience, develop your focus, and seriously work out the muscles in your feet, Toe Stand is a great one for yogis who have been attending Bikram awhile and really want to get deep into the meditation. Don't be worried if it takes you awhile -- it's a difficult posture to do -- but if you stick with it, the thrill of floating right above the floor will pay off. Plus, you free your knees and ankles of rheumatism, arthritis and gout, and you strengthen your stomach. Go, toe standers!


Also, a little poem dedicated to the posture. Enjoy, my yogis!

Balance Alone

We support ourselves

on point, on perfect

balance, both sides equal,

mind and body made even.

Steady eyes level

the mind. A gaze

goes a thousand miles,

a clear empty cloud –

being without thoughts the ideal –

goes farther.

Implausibility achieved:

what would appear to be

floating.

Our bodies made clear,

empty, like clouds

floating, hovering, we linger.

Our bodies made into birds,

small perched perfection

grown from a tree,

held closer to the ground

as if we were sparrows

who have been calmed,

no longer the flitting, stir-crazy

creatures they generally seem to be.

Here, we sit on our own energy.

We need not flit

from corner to corner

of a sidewalk, hopping,

making our own flittering

dance of jumps and nerves…

We are not sparrows.

We are still. We get here

by trust in our own bodies,

we carry this moment

motionless harmony of thoughtlessness –

the mind filled only by equilibrium,

balance alone –

what we bring to the beach,

the busy street,

the tallest woods,

prideful in their soaring limbs,

steady trunks…

the balanced bodies

we take home after class.

"The Life That I Have" (A Poem by Leo Marks)

Photo Via Sarah Rhoads Photography.

Apparently, this lovely poem by Leo Marks was read at Chelsea Clinton's recent dreamy wedding. Reminds me that we should really be grateful for the lives that we have, and our Bikram practice that's such an integral part of those lives. As my instructor said in class the other day, "You guys are SO lucky to be here right now. Imagine the people who could never make it to the studio who wish they could do yoga! People who can't walk, people who don't have the money, people curled up on their couches just watching TV..."
So, so true. Are you grateful for the life that you have?


The Life That I Have


The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.

A Bikram Poem: Savasana

Here we are, feeling

like letting go
submerged in the submerged
layer of the dream
which we don’t realize is strange
until we wake. Multiplicity
forms in waves, pausing
and unpausing the life.
Can you hold open
your eyes? Can you hold,
open, or situate time?
Letting it rest in the way
your body sinks,
and is held,
the floor,

you are held

by your own mind

above the wide pool,

the widening ocean

of thoughts, constant

threat looming.
Leave what isn't meant

for here. Leave what isn't yours alone.

Be here, alone,

where you cannot hold,

open, or situate time,

though you try.

What is meant to be right now

is nothing, is perfect,

is simply you.

Drift Away with a New Sleepy Tuesday Afternoon Bikram Poem

this one's about the experience of floating into deep, deep space during the break between the standing and floor series...

Filament

arms arch upward fingers interlace

of course

I’m stretching of course it’s early morning

summer here upon us

arriving

curved upward haze behind a building

announces

the day coming. of course

I haven’t got my mind yet

haven’t quite found where it’s hiding.

this is supposed to be a day,

a beautiful life,

a wild and precious life,

a centered, kept, contained

moment held.

I’m floating elsewhere

away for now, back in five minutes

that little hand-drawn sign swinging from a string

pastel and ink, dream-like messaging inescapable

if not caught and held, perhaps gone to the wind’s

carefree moving mind-path: the breeze.

surely a life is not a day,

a day is not a moment of course

it can all boil down to just the one

split second,

one big break,

one forgetting,

slip,

breath,

one long fall toward failure.

Enter the room.

Set down your old mat,

bones, songs, fidgets, fears,

expectations, set your old life down

and unravel your very life-threads, your five minute signs, strings,

etched maps for knowing where you are.

Unroll your mind you can’t even find

and be somewhere: only here

is where you are

a corpse, body breathing in place

a two-minute savasana

floating filament thoughts out

the twisting of an untied cord,

rivets disentangling, notion-rope come undone

working loose our own bodies,

lives, days, pulling out the stitches

so that we are in fact of course

nowhere at all.

A Bikram Poem

The Good Morning Arriving


face
in the value of
the mirror

I feel like a bag of bricks
I feel like a million bucks
I feel like a breeze spreading across a pool of water

pretty invincible
even in this heat
mirror-made self being witnessed

I just don’t feel very capable
I feel a bit lightheaded
In fact, I feel like I could fall asleep right on the floor…

looking toward me
what I am
reflecting back

around in repetition:
bodies breaking limitations
pushing toward a better practice

I feel beautiful in a way
I feel a little less crazy
I feel this stillness blossoming in the room

the way the heat holds
between the rows
a collectivity, moisture of the mind combining

I just feel this overwhelm of energy
I feel a peace in this strange pocket of time
I feel a sense of gratitude ballooning up inside my chest

Everyone is nowhere
Have we all forgotten?
No one can get in the way of what we’re feeling
with the mirror there, with our eyes
all beauty and truth caught
connecting up in the practice of the body

I feel ready
I feel empowered
I feel a part of the system which moves the body I belong to

I have been here before
and I know the way
through the fire
the lonely ice the way of breaking
the body down into its base
falling it out of its formulaic habits, absentminded imperfection eluded

I feel superstitious but
I feel myself trusting the process if I can let myself
feel my body fighting its own way, marking its own entropy over the mat

I can go there, where

all the yogis are pretending to be yogis
as we simply human people exhale toxin-breath
and replenish our lives with compassion, elasticity, duty
to leave what we don’t need, hallucinatory reconciliation
and elaboration on all the reasons we’re tired
our bodies no longer on the list

I feel like a pilot performing a long-distance raid
I feel like a mountain climber conquering El Capitan
I feel like this is all there is,

will be,
intricate,
delicate

our bones reshaping
our lives we take
back to the mat
sweat falling like rain
and the sun rising out the window of this studio
I feel the good morning arriving...