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Stop Swimming, Swami

by

Stop Swimming, Swami

Are there words?  

What are the words?

Things continue to unravel.

Each day brings a new layer of complexities.

I have been practicing leaning toward simple,

Keeping it as simple as I can.

I have not been terribly successful.

As things seem to constrict around me, 

I speed up.

I go faster.

Speeding up seems to give me the 

Illusion of control.

Today I got stopped by a West Stockbridge policeman.

It appears I was driving 55-mph in a 25-mph zone.

As soon as he pulled me over, I started to cry.

I’m not a crier, particularly.

By the time he got to my car, I was sobbing.

Authentically sobbing,

Without any attempt

To dodge my civic responsibility.

He stopped next to my window.

I blurted out some of the details of my moment:

“Wife with cancer—lost my job…”

He stood there, somewhat puzzled, quiet.

He took my license and registration and walked back to his car.

I sobbed some more, 

Feeling good and sorry

For myself.

When he returned, he handed me my license

And 

Gave me a “verbal warning,”

Which beat the $250

Potential fine.

And then he offered me the kindest,

The most generous talk

About self-care,

Telling me that if I didn’t 

Slow down and take care of myself,

I couldn’t be there for my spouse.

Like, what I might tell you guys.

He was so generous

And so right-on

In his kind attentiveness,

His advice was so

Precisely

What I needed,

Hand-picked by the universe,

Was

This 

Cop

For 

My healing.

It was

A

God-Thing.

We blessed each other.

I drove away,

Slowly,

In tears.

Very slowly,

I drove

Very slowly,

With 

Tears.

~~~

It is a time of great upheaval.

Or so it feels.

I think of Swami Kripalu.

Although I never met him, he had passed before I became part of Kripalu,

Clearly, he lives in my psyche.

I remember this wonderous tale from his days

As a young swami, wandering through the Indian countryside.

Here is the story, recounted by Shobhan Richard Faulds, from his fantastic book, Dharma Then Moksha, The Untold Story of Swami Kripalu:

“One day in 1954, engaged in his practices, Swami Kripalu wandered away from his residence, lost in the world of rapturous state.  He ended up naked in the neighboring village, where devotees took him to a temple on the banks of the Narmada.  A few hours passed when Swami Kripalu, who had been sitting quietly in meditation wrapped in a blanket, suddenly stood up and without any warning, dove into the river.

The Narmada is one of India’s largest rivers and it was monsoon season.  The waters were surging with strong currents and Swami Kripalu was instantly carried away.  The villagers formed a search party, running along the riverbank, their lanterns darting through the night like fireflies.

Meanwhile Swami Kripalu was being swept downstream, tossed about by a raging current and frequently pulled under water.  For some time, he struggled with all his might to stay afloat and to keep from drowning.  Having eaten and slept little for days, exhaustion began to overtake him.  His hands and feet grew numb.  

Certain he was facing death, Swami Kripalu cried out in desperation to his guru, ‘I am drowning.  Please save me.”  Miraculously this plea brought an immediate response, a voice from the darkness that Swami Kripalu could somehow hear over the roar of the river.

SWAMI.  STOP SWIMMING.

Convinced his mind was failing he kept right on struggling, but he heard the message repeated a second time:

SWAMI.  STOP SWIMMING.  SURRENDER.

Recognizing his guru’s voice, Swami Kripalu experienced a moment of relief.  Gathering his courage, he relinquished any efforts to stay above the water.  As soon as he relinquished control, his body assumed fish pose and began breathing in a way that swelled his abdomen with air.  Now buoyant, he floated atop the raging torrent.  When the river broadened, he drifted with the slowing current, reveling in a state of bliss and chanting a mantra that spontaneously came to him.*

In the morning he was found by the search party—they were unable to believe their eyes that they saw him alive and unscathed.  Swami Kripalu took this harrowing experience as a direct message from his guru that it was safe to surrender to the flood of energy cursing through his system.

*This is mantra that Swami Kripalu repeated for the rest of his life:

Om Namah Gurave, Satchitananda Murtaye, Namastasmai, Namastasmai, Namastasmai, Namo Namah.  

It translates as:

Oh, Lord Shiva, I bow to you in the form of the guru, embodiment of being, consciousness and bliss, to Thee I bow, to Thee I bow, to Thee I bow, respectfully.  

To me, it is a mantra of surrender.  

To me, It means, as best I can, I will stop.  Slow down.  And be right here.  With life.  As You Give Me.

And here is our very own Bhavani Lorraine Nelson chanting Swami Kripalu’s lifelong chant.  Relax, breath, and enjoy:

Going faster doesn’t help

Trying to keep above the fray

Is not skillful

Or successful.

Softening,

Relaxing into what is,

Surrendering into the current

Of the moment,

That is the freedom,

That is the possibility,

That is my choice.

That is my practice.

And I am so imperfectly 

Perfect—

Perfectly imperfect

At

It—

All.

~~

Dear Friends,

What would surrender look like for you?  It doesn’t have to be throwing yourself into the torrential river and thrusting yourself forward into a demonstration.  

What can you do to soften around what is, to relax into what is, to just stop rushing hither and tither?

For me, I am committed, COMMITTED to attending to the speed limits, to drive the speed it is directed that I drive.  

I am surrendering into the speed limits of Berkshire County.  I can do that.  I can practice that.

What will you practice?  Keep it simple and easy and, just like on the yoga mat, practice and relax around the sensations of your asana of surrender.

With love,
And gratitude—
Aruni
~~

Announcements

Our Share Circles are evolving into Sharing and Teaching Circles.  Through the art of mindful communication, we are sharing our world views and looking to core teachings for practice, to get us through, to offer us support in living.  Please consider joining us.  No registration is needed; donation is appreciated.  https://www.paypal.me/CoachAruni

This week our circles will be:

Raise You Like a Champion

by

Raise You Like a Champion

Said Rumi

Pandemic Day # 9,763.  

But who is counting?

In my world, these pandemic days are incredibly and fascinatingly diverse.  

For me, each is its own individual oddity.

Some days I find myself weepy and soppy, throughout, without any obvious trigger but, well, every single thing.     

The next day I find myself engaged, maybe almost leaning toward the positive.  

Some days are thoroughly heartbreakingly emptied.

Some fill with easy possibility.

Some nights I sleep wrapped in an almost settled relaxation.

Other nights, like Wednesday, my total cumulative sleep was 12 minutes, five seconds.

It was a fevered, busy, aggravated series of hours in which to spend with myself.

Suffice to say, I did NOT enjoy my own company.

Some days I find myself having a quiet kind of fun, amusing self-contained fun, having a vacation at the CVS drive-through window, loving and blessing the masked man behind the thick glass window, keeping me safe and supplying me with my every CVS need.

Some days I cannot find an inch of comfort for myself in which to rest.

Extremes.

Waves.

Shifts.

All true.

All inevitable.

All part of the package

Of me.

In reading Frank Ostaseski’s book, The Five Invitations—Discovering What Death Can Teach Us about Living Fully, I am fully taken and touched and surprised, paragraph after paragraph.

His Zen perspective defines hope as an “orientation of the heart.”

My heart has felt broken.

Hope has been elusive, vague, a function of my fear, a grasping toward a conclusion I determine.

A way out of the moment.

An exit.

Frank reframes it.  He talks about “mature hope” as “an energizing quality that helps us to remain open to the possibility that while life may not turn out the way we first thought, opportunities we never imagined might also arise.”

Hope as a way into the moment, as it is!

Hope as a doorway back to the flow state.

Hope as a release of my picture of reality.

Hope as humility, as surrender,

As right-sized relaxation.

Like on the yoga mat.

The yoga mat 

Of life.

Frank Ostaseski continues to remind me

To practice.

I want to practice what I know to be true,

That there is nowhere to be but here,

Right here.

That whatever is happening here 

In the fluidity of my moment,

Is coming

And

Is going.

~~~

I have found solace this week, too, with Rumi, the ecstatic poet.  Here he is:

Never lose hope
When life
Sends you away.
If you’re abandoned
If you’re left hopeless
Tomorrow for sure
You’ll be called again.
If the door is shut
Right in your face
Keep waiting with patience.
Don’t leave right away.
Seeing your patience,
Your love will soon
Summon you with Grace,
Raise you like a champion.

~~~
Raise you like a champion.

I love that.

I need that.

I have been feeling so

Un-championed.

Can I allow life as it is to lift me up?

Can I allow the circumstances exactly as they are to be the doorway back to ease?

Can I allow myself to let go of what I think should be happening?

A pandemic?

It’s happening.

Hideous and ignorant Incompetency?

It’s real.

Terrifying economic upheaval?

Yep.

Racial and social inequality?

You betcha.

Profound heartbreaking loss?

Absolutely.

Can I just let it be as it is?

As I do,

It is just

Simply

Easier. 

When I can,

I practice

So imperfectly.

When I can’t,

I choose

To come back.

To 

Gentle

Kindness.

My practice?

To create

The circumstances

In which

I 

Might

Be

Raised up

Like a champion.

~~~

It’s a good moment for gentle kindness.  Here’s our own Berkshire Guy, J.T., with his particular brand of a gentle, kind reminder.  Breathe, relax, and enjoy.

~~~
Friends, oh, dear friends,

Remember hope?

What would mature hope look like in your world?  

Not the hope of the movie of your life with your crafted ending, but your cooperating, your being with what is?  

What can you trust?  

Who can you love?

What has become your teacher?  

Who might you become?  

What are you noticing in yourself?

What are you noticing around you?

What are you practicing?

Let’s practice orientating our hearts back to the moment.  Let’s practice being with what is, depending on each other more deeply, acknowledging how profoundly we actually do need our neighbors.

Let’s practice gentle kindness with our selves.

Let’s practice gentle kindness with one another.

Dear friends, dear friends…….

All blessings, 
Aruni

~~~
Announcements
Our Share Circles are evolving into Teaching Circles.  Through the art of mindful communication, we are sharing our world views and looking to core teachings for practice, to get us through, to offer us support in living.  Please consider joining us.  No registration is needed; donation is appreciated.  https://www.paypal.me/CoachAruni
This week our circles will be:

For Yoga and Health

by

For Yoga and Health

I’m not sure, but I think, the first time I saw the building, there was a cross on the roof.

I kept going.

I recognized that it was the ugliest building in America.

I kept going.

There were a thousand cars in the parking lot.

I kept going.

I wasn’t sure what door to use—and I wanted to Do It right.

I kept going.

It made me super-anxious to walk in.

I kept going.

I cried and cried

Walking toward that door.

I kept going.

Things were

Ragingly

Heterosexual.

I kept going.

And for 31 years, no matter the blessing, the bitching, the upset, the downturn, the scandal, the possibility, the acknowledgment, the firing, the hopelessness, the hope, the corporate ridiculousness, the change of policy, the policy of change, the loss of energy, the loss of job:

I kept going.

And for 31 years, 

I have been blessed 

By 

The heart

Of

Kripalu 

Center

For

Yoga

And 

Health.

How I found my way,

I’ll never know.

How I allowed 

Myself

To learn,

I have no idea.

How I recovered 

My voice

No—

How I created

My voice—

No—

How my voice

Was Created.

I don’t know.

I just—

Kept going.

I 

Do

NOT

REGRET 

A

NANOSECOND

Of 

my 

Kripalu 

Career.

I have been 

Blessed

And

Triply 

Blessed

With 

The

Lineage

Teachings.

And 

It has been

My blessing

To offer them 

To you.

And I will

Continue

To do

Exactly that,

Just not there,

Not in that

Odd

And

Wonderous

Building.

~~~

I am old now

And that is

A good

Thing.

I celebrate

CELEBRATE

Every 

Single

One

Of 

You.

Our guests.

You 

Have been

So easy

To love.

Perhaps,

Unlike family members,

Because

You were leaving

In a few days?

Whatever the

Cosmic/karmic/reasons…..

You taught

Me

How 

To 

Love.

And 

For that

And for

A thousand

Other

Kindnesses,

I will be

Forever 

Grateful

To you.

OH,

How I will miss you

There.

I will miss you

There

In the Forest Room,

In the Dining Hall, 

In the endless,

Snaking

Hallways.

Good news!

I got you here!

And I will learn

How to

Be

More 

Here,

How 

To be

With 

You more

Here, 

Right here,

Now,

Right 

Now.

My heart is 

So heavy,

So much loss

So much letting go,

So much unknown—

And

Everything 

I need

Everything

We need

To get through

This time

Of uncertainty—

We have within us.

At the same time,

At

The same time,

My heart

Is so light!

Good news.

Kripalu will

Find its way.

It always does.

Kripalu will

Rebuild.

It always has.

What I am

Honoring,

Releasing,

Surrendering,

Acknowledging,

Is the end

Of the era.

The post-ashram,

Brilliant creation

That we

Legacy 

Holders

Have 

Woven 

With  

Our

Hearts.

The Path

Of Love,

Swami Kripalu 

Called it.

Thanks

For walking 

That path

With us.

Thanks

For walking

That path

With  

Me.

~~~

I celebrate the lineage holders of Kripalu, those of us old now, those of us who have committed decades, those of us who have woven the work together, post-guru-pre-corporate.

Those of us who stayed.

Those of us who just kept going.

I celebrate our age, our wrinkles of wisdom, our brave, brave hearts:

https://m.facebook.com/519133409/posts/10158379479263410/?d=n

If interested, here is the link from the Berkshire Eagle, about Kripalu’s closing:

https://www.berkshireeagle.com/stories/kripalu-to-lay-off-450-shut-down-until-2021,605205?newsletter=605210

~~~

Dear Friends,

Endings, beginnings, fluidity, flow—what a time it is, what a time.  

Please consider: did you have a glorious Kripalu moment, an experience, an opportunity for growth?  Do you remember an image, a feeling, a learning?  Consider.  Write it out. 

Claim it.

Own it.

Feel free to send it on to me, or not.  

But remember—

It is yours.

Kripalu is yours.

All blessings,
Aruni

~~~

Announcements

Our Share Circles are evolving into Teaching Circles.  Through the art of mindful communication, we are sharing our world views and looking to core teachings for practice, to get us through, to offer us support in living.  Please consider joining us.  No registration is needed; donation is appreciated.  https://www.paypal.me/CoachAruni

This week our circles will be:

 

Tightrope

by

I do not love height.

For years, I felt compelled to push upward and onward on hikes, up mountains, terrifying myself on the ridges and edges of vistas.

Being counter-phobic, of course I would push.

I am a pusher.

The terror was so real, so unlike anything else I had experienced.

Body-centered-terror.

Physiological/biologic reactions.

Ponding heart and racing blood and severe almost-dizziness.

When hiking upward on trails,

I would

Weep with fear.

When I was blessed enough to visit Machu Pichu a thousand years ago,

I remember sheer terror surging through me, as I had to step over a ravine, to get to the other side of ridge.

That memory lives in my body.

Of course, my spouse was a hiker who feasted upon, adored, and physically craved vistas,

Just to up the ante of my emotional journey.

My insides shook with vistas.

Driving down from Mount Washington, I had to lay in the back seat with my sweatshirt wrapped around my entire head, inadequately shielding myself from my own terror.

It did not work.

Eventually I figured out I have a touch of acrophobia.

Homeopathy helped.

Eventually.

Then everything changed.

She got injured,

To my silent relief.

I got old.

Hikes changed.

Then

The big change—

We got pandemic-ized.

As an offshoot,

Yet another gift

Of this pandemic,

And I find myself

Balancing heights

Again,

New and alive

with

Current

Electricity.

Here is the flow

Of a typical

Aruni-Pandemic-Day:

~~~

I am doing fine.

I am showing up.

I am part of the solution.

I feel level.

All is well.

I am kind and present enough.

I talk to clients.

I write and breathe.

I can almost imagine relaxing,

Almost finding a sliver of trust.

And then—for no reason,

Something

Silently

Interrupts,

Like

A hush,

A whisper,

A murmur of self-centered fear,

A beneath-the-surface soundless voice

Beckons me

Hisses at me:

I need that.

What if I don’t get That?
That was promised to me…..
The fear

Instantly

Catapults me,

Rockets me

Into

Another dimension,

Physically alive with terror.

Not unlike Mt. Washington,

Not unlike hike after hike,

That intensity

Of physical terror

Paralyzes me.

~~~

These days

I find myself

Living

On

A

Tightrope,

Shakily

Balancing

Between

Okay

And

Not.

Between

Breath

And

Sheer

Breathlessness.

Between

A molecule

Of trust

And

An

Abyss

Of emptiness.

~~~

I am physically

Paralyzed

On the tightrope,

Again

Hovering over

The abyss.

Again.

Climbing

A mountain

Waiting

For the

Worst

Thing

To Happen.

Every day

Trying to

Hide

From,

Every day

Trying

To swallow

My

Own

Terror.

~~~

What do I know to be true?

The fear

Does not

Have to

Last

Long!

I am able

To return,

To keep coming back,

To breath,

To tree-buds,

To birdsong,

To sunshine,

To toes and fingers and breath and belly.

I am able to return.

Keep coming back.

We get it all:

Faith

And

Fear.

Hope

And

Impossibility.

Trust

And

The

Pit

Of

Nothingness.

Oh, my extremes

Deplete,

Oh,

So exhaust me.

Rumi says, “Meet it at the door, laughing.”

Pema says, “Befriend.”

I say,

In a 2:15 a.m. plea,

Whispering back

To the whisper,

Thank you for sharing.

You are right.

This is scary.

But please,

Not now.

Come back

When the sun is out

When the birds can sing

Louder

Then your whisper,

When the light of

Day

Can comfort me.

Please

Come

Back

Then.

~~~

Dear Friends,

Bill Wilson, the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, wrote about practicing spiritual principles; “At first because we must, then because we ought to, and ultimately because we love the kind of life such practice brings.  Great suffering and great love are disciplinarians—we need no other.”

I am experiencing great love and great suffering.

I choose to return to love.

This video brings me love.  I adore these kids, this PS 22 Choir from Staten Island.  This is an oldie but a goodie, which I have listened to a trillion times.

Their voices give me strength.

Their eyes touch mine with bravery.

~~~

How can you practice returning back to love today?  What might that look like?  What will your practice look like?

Consider.

Be specific.

Bless yourself

With comfort,

As I bless you,

As we

Are

So

Blessed—

Aruni

~~~

Announcements

Share Circles for the Week 

Our chance to come together, practicing mindful communication, to remember we are not alone.  Please join if you can by just coming on Zoom, utilizing the below links—no registration is needed.  The link will take you into the Zoom meeting.

Please note: You’ll need the password share2020 to enter the meeting.

Donation is appreciated, and no registration needed.

https://www.paypal.me/CoachAruni

Reluctant, Yet Blooming Nevertheless

by

Reluctant, Yet Blooming Nevertheless

Forsythia blow my heart open.

It’s not the trim and neat little bushes standing at attention in the posture their humanoids have manifested.

No, it’s the wild, giant stands, the pulsating yellow energy that manifests in flowering madness, yellow eruptions of life force.

This spring’s forsythia, like the rest of us, had some hesitancy.  

Is it safe to come forward?  

Today is warm now—but—what might tomorrow bring?  

This sun is tenderly warm.  Wait—snow in the forecast?

Along with the banishing of assumptions and pre-conceptions we all are being asked to renounce, it appears even Ms. Forsythia took her time this year, trusting her journey, oh, so slowly.

We had a forsythia bush my childhood yard.  

At least, I think we did.  

So much for memory.

Can it be trusted?

What was real?

What is real?

What might be real, 

In this world 

That demands 

Our bravery yet unimagined?

In one thought,
In one breath,

I together

Remember

My mother and forsythia.

My mom, 

Tillie, stretched thinner than thin, 

Cared for my chronically ill/always dying/didn’t die until 84 years/dear dad, 

Worked in our grocery store, 

Managed the house, 

Attended to my sister and me………

Nevertheless,

My mom 

Tillie 

Was a 

Serious

Plant Lady.

As was her mom, 

My blessed gram, 

Sonia.

I come from 

A long line of 

Serious

Plant Ladies.

Me?

The tomboy thing

Got in the way.

We had

A forsythia bush 

In our yard.

Or at least, 

I think we did.

~~~

Tillie.

My mom.

Resilient, silent, 

Beyond-competent.

Plants 

All over the house

Exploding with beauty.

One-pointed, 

Momma Bear love,

Not a cuddly and fuzzy,

She was herself,

Quiet determination.

For these past odd months, 

I have been bothered with hand pain…

Initially, I thought it was from stretching 

My sleepy-not-participating-in-creating-the-music pinky finger, while learning classical guitar.

I stopped playing.

It got worse.

Then it got—

Worse yet.

First my baby finger taunted me.

Then my ring finger fully jumped on board,

With clicking, snapping, swollen discomfort.

Ouch.

The pandemic prevented 

Forward action

Or so

It seemed.

Finally, this week 

I landed at the hand surgeon, 

Diagnosis and treatment offered:

I 

have 

A

Trigger finger.

The treatment,

One cortisol shot,

Easily offered.

And now live on.

But it was the doctor’s message 

That fascinated me.

MOST BLESSEDLY,

He told me,

Trigger fingers are “genetic”.

Ah, yes, 

My mom

Tillie 

Had a trigger finger!

Left hand

Like mine.

Her

Surgery

I remember. 

With terror,

My frightened dad

Sitting in the waiting room

Lips moving in plaintive, silent prayer.

I FEEL BLESSED BY MY MOTHER’S LEGACY.

Mom,

I take your pain,

It brings me closer 

To you.

Mom,

I claim my finger pain

As a link,

As a breath,

As a connection

To you.

Your hand.

Your pain.

Your resilience.

Your heart.

This morning

A friend told me that she 

Is becoming 

Her German grandmother, 

Ignoring expiration dates, 

Diving in the arms of meat and potatoes and butter.

I 

Am

Becoming

My 

Mother.

I 

Chose 

Her strong heart.

I ask for her strength.

I request from her 

The ability

To get through.

This 

Even this.

~~~

I sit on the porch 

Of this house

This house 

I have known 

And lived within 

For several decades.

This house I walked away from 

Eighteen months ago.

This house that 

Welcomes me back today.

Over there,

Under the angel statue 

Now tarnished

With rust

Buzzie the Bird is buried.

Over there

The bush we planted 

When Tillie died.

That apple tree 

Where Lucy the Bossy -Big-Sister-Dog 

Chased Poor Young Zac 

Like wildfire,

Round and round

Again.

The holes, 

Each hole, 

Dug by each dog, 

Out of 

A frenzied claiming.

~~~

I claim this space as mine.

I claim this trigger finger

This manifestation 

Of limitation and pain

As my inheritance.

I choose to become 

My mother,

The best of her,

My dad,

The best of him.

The people before them

My people

I choose to draw

Energy,

Sustenance,

Light.

I choose to draw 

From the roots of my being,

From the people 

Who came before me,

From the roots of the land 

Upon which

I have walked,

Upon which,

I have lived.

I choose 

To draw 

Solace

And 

Support.

Solace and support.

Solace and support.

~~~

I receive solace and support from listening and participating in chanting.  Here is one of my favorites, The Devi prayer (from 108 sacred names Divine Mother) by Craig Pruess & Ananda.  Please do enjoy:

~~~

Dear Friends,

And you, dear friends, what can you draw up?  Your energetic inheritance?  The best of?  People?  Places?  Things?  Let’s become more of who we are by affirming our roots.  What might that look like for you?

With gratitude,
With hope
(Occasionally),
With commitment
To practice—

Aruni

“`
Announcements

Share Circles for the Week 

Our chance to come together, practicing mindful communication, to remember we are not alone.  Please join if you can by just coming on Zoom, utilizing the below links—no registration is needed.  The link will take you into the Zoom meeting.

Please note: You’ll need the password share2020 to enter the meeting.

Donation is appreciated, 5% will be given to the Berkshire County Food Bank.
(No registration needed)

https://www.paypal.me/CoachAruni

Chanting
Bhavani Lorraine Nelson, the quintessential Kripalu chanter and meditation leader, is offering weekly chanting on Wednesday nights @ 7:00 EST.  Come and join her.  What a gift to be in sansanga, in the company of truth, chanting and learning together.

Here is her link:
bhavanilorrainenelson.com
bhavani@bhavanilorrainenelson.com

The Yoga, Meditation, Addiction Recovery Conference-live stream via Zoom

For many, if not all, the depth of this moment has shaken our inner and outer worlds in ways we’ve never ever imagined. Everything seems intensified. And… for those of us who deal with addictive behaviors, the heightened sense of fear, uncertainty and doubt can begin to unravel our recovery.

To support those in a recovery program or those who may be curious about recovery from any addiction in this unprecedented time, please join us for The Yoga, Meditation, Addiction Recovery Online Conference (YMARC), live stream via Zoom, May 24-29.

Click here for Additional Information and Registration. 

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