HOW TO MEDITATE.

At nearly every retreat I lead and meditation class I teach someone(s) will ask me "How do I meditate?" or comment that "meditation is really hard" and, you know, "just not working" for them.

"I tried it this one time...." they continue, "and my mind just wouldn't stop....is that normal?....maybe it's not for me....I'd like to try but I don't know how....is there an easy way?....what's your trick?...."

Sound familiar?

I've been there. Trust me. I'm there a good chunk of the time still.

I've begged my teachers for the formula. For the answer. For something! I was convinced they knew the secret that would take meditation from rip my hair out to, well, effortless. Let me rephrase. In asking for the easy way out I was asking them to help me hop, skip, jump over the rock-bottom work of meditation and deliver me queen-like in a struggle-proof carriage directly into the hands of enlightenment.

Essentially I was told dream on. And knock it off.

They wisely told me and remind me still - quoting from the Bhagavad Gita - that I am what I seek. Or Tvam Tat Asi - "Thou That Art".

It's taken me years, a lot of frustration, and what feels like many, many, many failed attempts to experience the wisdom in this statement. I am what I seek. I am what I seek. I am what I seek. And here's where I pause. Sorry. You have to do the work and sit with this one. Obligatory "leave you hangin" here as sometimes words simply fall short. Consider this incentive.

My oh-so-wise teachers also shared, with I swear a twinkle of mischievous enjoyment in their eyes, that it's all - the entire experience - meditation. And when they said all, they meant all. The batshit crazy voices blasting themselves into the walls of my mind. The mysterious pains that I never feel elsewhere but somehow become life and death on my cushion. The fact that my left foot passes out and then hammers itself with needles in its listless stupor when I shift position. The dreaded "who cares? does this matter? what am I doing? this is crap." that plays on repeat in the least opportune moments. The sliding from bed to floor, mala in hand, wondering what makes this more important than sleep. The falling asleep, hereto with mala in hand and the best of intentions of course. I've had every known disease and a few I discovered. I've come up with solutions to every world problem, with humility of course. I've committed numerous crimes, climbed many mountains, fixed my kids and husband and everyone else I know, and single-handedly secured world peace. All this without leaving my seat. All while the players of my mind charade - critic, scientist, creative, dreamer, victim, parent, teacher, good girl, bad girl, shamed girl, acclaimed girl, hurt girl, strong girl, little girl, grown girl - consistently show up uninvited and demand immediate attention.  Apparently they're all welcome. All of this really. All teachers. All part of the gig.

That being said, I'm only coming around to such wisdom because I stuck, and am sticking, with it - meditation that is. It takes sitting nearly every day. Every. Single. Day. Turns out there's a massive amount of trust and faith involved, a fair share of doubt (you know, just to keep it interesting), and absolutely no shortcut. None. Nada. Zilch. I've looked.

So here's the truth with no artificial sweetness: Meditation can be hard (really, really hard), especially at first. In fact, I'm more and more convinced difficulty has been hardwired in. You can thank the cosmic jokester(s?) for said insanity and (sense my grudging hesitation) - brilliance.

This brilliance in a nutshell? The challenge makes us want it.

What "it" is may be ambiguous for a long, long time. But that "it" keeps us going. More or less pulls  us forward, toward, into.

It's pretty sweet (albeit sometimes in a sour sort of way).

And difficulty is what actually delivers some of the gifts meditation has to offer.

Small things like discipline, desire, surrender, compassion, grace, connection, endurance, focus, selflessness, self-reflection, and peace. 

I love the way Elizabeth Gilbert's friend Richard puts it:

"You can't get to the castle if you don't swim the moat."

Yup. It's like that.

All that to say (thanks for humoring my chatter), I've distilled the process of meditation down to this:

Stop.

Sit.

Stay.

That's it. That's my recipe for meditative success, if there is such thing, void of goal, ending, and public affirmation.  Oh and no promise of enlightenment though I can promise your efforts will not be wasted. It's like saving a million dollars one penny at a time. They only add up.

Of course there's a bit of shameless bait and switch happening here. Said recipe sounds simple (geez there she goes with another "s" word!) but, as you can and should expect, is far more deep than a surface glance reveals. Each of the three - Stop. Sit. Stay. - have layers to be peeled (blame quantum physics). So here we go. We begin to peel.

STOP.

Meditation demands the first thing we do is stop. Stop the busyness of life - the tasks, the lists, the emails, the calls, the scrolling, the liking, the chatter, the doing, the outward interacting. It may mean stopping the alarm and stopping the sleep. We have to drop it all. It's in this moment that we make the choice: stop so we can sit or...not. To stop means turning things off, shutting things down, closing conversations and doors and saying no so we can say yes to this one thing. In the stop lies the gate. This is where we choose to enter through the smallest of doors into the secret garden of soul. For some it's the most difficult step. For some it may never happen. The pull of life is so strong. But for others who choose to enter through the stop, this - this - is where it all begins.

SIT.

There's no trick here. I mean what I say - sit down. Sit on a chair, a cushion, a blanket, a ledge. Sit on the grass, the sand, a bench, or the floor. Sit in a closet, a class, or a park. Sit. Sit. Sit. Make yourself as comfortable as possible (no sense in fighting what can be adjusted) and then sit. Some may find it easier to come with a plan. Maybe a specific mantra or pranayama (breath) practice. Maybe it's a visualization or guided meditation. This can be really helpful at first as mental activity may be stuck in hyper mode for awhile. Essentially, dog meet bone. Give your mind something to play with. Then ask it to sit.

PS - You may find it helpful to set a timer. Olympians rarely wake up at the Olympics. Meditation is similar. Start small. Like a minute (you laugh now...). Build each day. I find it more helpful to build on my (perceived) success rather than resent my (perceived) failure. Set a timer then forget about time. Be in it for as long as you're in it.

Which leads me to...

STAY.

Through it all - the discomfort, restlessness, loss of desire, immediacy of thoughts and feelings, tiredness, schedule change, anxiety, fear, lack of "progress", frustration - through it all, stay. Stay in your stopping and your sitting. Stay with your practice. Stay in it. Listen. Feel. Soften. Look in. Bring your mind back time and time again to the point of your focus (or the emptiness if that's what you're doing) and stay. Sense the millions of other people who are meditating around the world and stay. Sense those you love fiercely and stay. Sense the wiser you pulling you forward and stay. Sense the tradition, the teachers, the purpose, the depth and stay. Let the difficulty roll through you and over you and stay. Let the practice be whatever it is, whatever comes up, whatever does or doesn't happen and stay. Stay for you. Stay for us. Stay for the world. Stay because your practice does make a difference. I've come to believe that faith is the combination of discipline, resolve, and hope. Meditation takes tremendous faith. When you doubt, stay with it. When you believe, stay with it. When you don't care, stay with it. When you're bursting with love and connection, stay with it. When you're empty, stay. When you're full, stay. When you're the fullest kind of empty, stay. Stay with it and without fail it will stay with you.

So here it is my friends. My not-so-simple simplified recipe for meditation. Know that I cheer you on, I'm here if you have questions, and I have the deepest gratitude for the beautiful force you bring to the world through your meditation.

To the light within.

Namaste.

End Note: As always, please do not consider this a one-size-fits-all prescription. Each of us are different and
carry a variety of experiences within us. Some of those may be traumatic and painful. If this is you,
I urge you to talk with a qualified professional as you begin your meditation rhythm. This is especially
necessary if you find meditation draws forth experiences that create excessive fear, stress, and anxiety.
You’re not “doing it wrong.” Ask for help. Seek what you need so you find what you search for.

WHAT IS IT YOU CHASE?

Image from reddotblog.com

Last week I was shocked by a podcast. Not because of a story or anecdote or person but more because it held the answer to something I've been wrestling with for a while. I sat there stunned and then cried. I wrote and re-read and at some point just stared.

As this season's weather has haphazardly ping-ponged back and forth I've felt a similar experience happening within. Of course the climate and transition can affect us, and does, however this was a bit more than that. I felt rushed and overwhelmed, as if I was chasing something but couldn't exactly put my finger on what "it" was and had a sinking sense that I'd never actually catch it. A feeling that has plagued me a good chunk of my life. Most things had become a task to be completed, a list that didn't really end. I would get to the end of the day not really feeling like I'd finished what I had set out to do, leaving me with a sense of disappointment and regret. 

And then the podcast pummeled me. Or maybe scooped me up and rocked me. Probably both.

Ambition.

Ambition is every bit temptress and hero, equal parts effective and debilitating. For me, ambition had disguised itself as productive, achievement, and good. Although, I couldn't explain what "making it" looked like, I knew that if I didn't I'd be left behind. And behind was a place I didn't want to be.

It had lured me into the chase, never offering the goal. Instead of experiencing all that was promised, ambition had left me exhausted, empty and confused. I was pushing myself and I had no idea why. Why am I rushing my shower and folding the clothes so quickly? Why can't these dishes get done faster or this drive time be less? Why am I multi-tasking brushing my teeth? How can I shave a little time off here so I have more time there? Body tense, jaw locked, nerves alert - full 'bout it mode.

Last month in teacher training [500 hour!] we were asked to write our teaching mantra - the thing that keeps us coming back to our mat and back to our classes. The thing that guides us in sequencing, words and practice. I had this really nice mantra prepared. Something about challenging and nourishing and growth. All true but not quite the core of why I teach.

After a guided meditation our instructor asked us to write down our mantra and what came up for me was both unexpected and, to be honest, a bit of a let down.

The root of why I teach isn't because I want to offer something great to the world. It isn't because I have this grandiose plan or insight and want to share it. It isn't even because I want to be successful.

Nope.

I teach because I love yoga.

That's it.

I teach because I feel alive and whole on my mat. Because I can't think of anything else I would rather put my life towards.

I was so blinded by ambition, I couldn't even see the depth of beauty in this.

It took me a lot of writing and sifting to realize that ambition got scared. Ambition was let down that deep inside, where I'm striped of all the layers I've put on, something was preserved. A truth that remains untainted and pure. The knowledge that there's no greater gift we can offer the world than ourselves fully alive and whole, loving what we do. 

And so, more often than I care to count in one day, I remind myself that ambition isn't in charge anymore. That it's okay to have goals and dreams and to name each one. And then to remember that striving isn't why we're here. Chasing and achieving isn't what we're meant to do. I bring myself back to my center, over and over again, knowing from experience that some day living from this place will be my normal.

With practice and attention I'm getting better at recognizing the rising panic within that screams "I have to get this done quickly because I have so much else to do!" I relax my body and heart and mind. I soften my breath and feel - feel whatever it is that I'm doing. When the anxiety starts to brew I ask myself, "What is it you chase?" Most of the time I can't come up with an answer.

This morning as I sat by the fire and did my morning pages [more on this another day], I watched and listened to my kids. I was filled with gratitude and overwhelmed with joy simply because I get to be a part of their world. I watched them, fully present, play and act and create. I listened to their words and felt their presence. No worries or thought about past or future. My teachers in tiny form.

Moments like these await us when we set down our striving and chasing and ambition. The work is part reclaiming the beauty of the present we once knew and part learning how to live from this place in the reality we now have. It takes time, practice and compassion. It requires trading the sweet taste of completion, achieving, striving and the chase for a pace that's sustainable, a deep sense of worth and a life that feels that much more whole.

Today, ask yourself this: what is it you chase? Can you name it? Is it fulfilling or sapping you of energy and life? Ask yourself why you do what you do [work, parenting, hobbies, etc.]? What keeps you coming back? Keep asking that question until you get to the core. The place that first brings a knowing smile to your face if only for a second. Or maybe the place where you know it's time to give that thing up or reconfigure.

Peace to you, friends.

PS - If your curiosity is eating you alive, here's the podcast. 

WHAT IS YOGA?

The first time I practiced yoga I was scared. 

Not that I wouldn’t be able to do the poses, although the thought did enter my mind. Not that I wouldn’t understand the teacher or the rather certain possibility I’d collapse embarrassingly mid-class, although these concerns hovered nearby. 

None of these held up to my spiritual fear. I was scared because the religious system in which I was raised had conditioned me to be afraid of most things outside of the system. 

Hippies, hell, emotions and desires, punishment, failure, perfection, imperfection, wrath, “pagan” religions and people, strong women, questions, doubts, tardiness, sin, being too happy, being too sad. 

The list was long. 

Some of it was subtle, some quite blatant, none of it directly intentional I don’t think. Even still, fear was the foundation of my faith. 

[Note: I speak of fear here as it applies to a common held posture towards yoga but want to be sure it is understood that I received many beautiful gifts from this religious tradition as well. One of them being the notion of resurrection. The understanding that no matter how difficult life may seem, light will emerge. Transformation patiently waits.] 

So there I was, on my mat, afraid of eternal damnation. Convinced more likely than not I’d be struck down on the spot. 

But for some reason I didn’t run, although I did send out desperate internal prayers. I remained anchored in place, certain that beyond the fear something was waiting. 

What blossomed from that point was the beginning of a journey. One swollen with hope, faith, beauty, gratitude, challenge, forgiveness, grief, peace and the embrace of infinite love. 

Over time something began to unfold. A picture emerged, one that seamlessly brought together the person I claimed to follow with the practices and philosophies that cultivated understanding and revelation. I quickly realized I had to give up nothing in order to embrace yoga. I simply had to extend my arms wide. 

Slowly I recaptured an innocent belief I carried within me, planted in childhood - that Holy is everywhere, Divine in all things. 

With this came an immense freedom to fully experience life. All of it. The beauty, the pain, the different and uncomfortable. I was given permission to dive headfirst into curiosity while provided boundaries to keep me connected to this place of unalterable grace and peace. I call it soul peace. 

It’s through this experience, and all the ones leading to this point, that I offer this:  a holistic picture of yoga. 

If you’re curious about yoga but hesitant, wonder if you’ve been misinformed, or find yourself in a similar place as I was - fearful but drawn - my hope is that the information found here offers you a foundation from which to move forward. Know that fear does not necessarily mean something is bad or wrong. We all have our biases whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. Part of our work is to recognize those biases or fears accumulated through experience or passed on to us in childhood and ask: “Does what I’m fearful of have the possibility of making me a more loving, kind, compassionate human being?” / “Can I see that change in those around me?” / “Is this my fear or one I’ve been given to carry?” / “Whose voice is this?” / “Am I afraid because it’s different?” / “Have I been allowed to be curious?”

In Sanskrit, the ancient language of India, there is this word “Namaste”. Namaste has a number of similar translation variations all essentially meaning “The Light in me sees and honors the Light in you.” It’s a beautiful way of acknowledging the sacred, beauty, goodness and Divine in each of us. At its most basic it is a way of acknowledging a universal equality and peace. 

Namaste, friends.

[WHAT IS YOGA?]

Yoga, from the root word “yuj” [pronounced “yug”], means to yoke, to bind, or be in union with the sacred [or God if that is familiar to you]. Similarly, the Hebrew scriptures use the word “yada” which is translated as “to be intimately joined to the sacred”. 

Yoga is a system or philosophy, not of beliefs, but of disciplines and guidance for enriched living that began in India an estimated 5,000 years ago. It offers a universal framework for spiritual growth and techniques for quieting cravings of the body and chatter of the mind. 

Yoga is best understood as a compliment to any religion rather than a religion itself as the practice of yogic living aids in deepening whatever healthy religious beliefs may already be held and encourages the release of those that are not. I liken it to a hand extended - one that connects the practices, rituals and beliefs you hold dear - and draws you further into a depth of understanding. For example, the Eight Limbs of Yoga, created from the Yoga Sutras [see next paragraph for explanation], can aid in a further understanding of both the Ten Commandments and Beatitudes as these essential disciplines or codes of ethics include non-violence [ahimsa], truthfulness [satya], contentment [santosha], and self-study [swadhyaya]. While the commandments provide concrete boundaries the Eight Limbs of Yoga and Yoga Sutras offer insight into the why and how. In this way, the goal of yoga is not conversion to any one religion but expanded awareness and vibrant wellbeing, ultimately connecting us to the common goodness [Divine or God] that resides within. 

The Yoga Sutras, considered the classical text of yoga, were written around 200 BC by Patajanli who was revered as a great prophet in the yogic tradition. The Sutras are thought to hold the essence of yoga compiled into written form. The Eight Limbs of Yoga are based on the second chapter of the Yoga Sutras and offer tools to build character through discipline in order to gain an expanded awareness and ultimately cultivate wisdom both personally as well as communally.

Asana, the physical practice of posture or position, is a facet [or limb] of yoga. There is great emphasis on connecting the mind, body, breath and spirit [soul or heart]. The practice of yoga asana has been embraced in the West as a form of exercise but was originally intended to open, release or prepare the body and mind for meditation as well as build discipline and commitment in one's life. 

Meditation [also a facet or limb of yoga] is “single-pointed focus” and occurs when the mind sustains extended attention on whatever single-point it is focusing on. That being said, you can’t “do” meditation rather it is a state of being that happens to you. Meditation takes discipline, persistence and great patience. The meditator’s role is to set up the conditions necessary for meditation and then surrender to whatever state of being may arise. Meditation is such a state of focus on one point, idea, thing or presence that the barriers between the point of focus and meditator dissolve and there remains no difference between the two. In other words, the meditator merges completely with the point of focus. The Bible talks about this when it speaks of meditating without ceasing. Ultimately, the aim is to become one with God and then live out of this union. 

Meditation and mindfulness are often used interchangeably even though there are distinct differences. Mindfulness is the practice of living in the present moment with awareness, attuned to all of the physical sensations that arise. It cultivates a “be here now” mentality. I like to think of mindfulness as a stepping stone towards meditation. 

Frequently, Pranayama or breath control, is used to aid or invite a meditative state. “Prana” is life force energy and “Ayama” means extension or expansion. Thus pranayama is to extend or expand our life force energy. The life force energy that resides within us is directly related to our breath. Because there is such a strong relationship between the two we can effect the movement of this life force energy by regulating our breath in specific ways. A very basic example of this is by drawing the breath into your middle back and allowing the oxygen to expand there, you multiply the life energy within your lungs. Gentle repetition of this action can increase the oxygen in your body which affects alertness and clarity of mind. There are a variety of pranayama techniques, each designed to have a specific effect and ranging from basic to very advanced. That being said, pranayama is powerful and shouldn’t be practiced in ignorance and without an experienced guide. 

[WHY THE FEAR THEN?]

There is a common-held belief in some religious systems that in practicing yoga you engage in worship of Buddha or Hindu gods. I think this misunderstanding arises for a few reasons. 

First, there is the assumption that Yoga is synonymous with Hinduism or Buddhism. The earliest yogi-like pictograph is thought to date around 3000 BC and is linked to the Indus Valley civilization. Hinduism is thought to have been formally recognized around 2000 BC and Buddhism much later, 563 BC. The Hindu scriptures [or Vedas] include the word “yoga” but refrain from expanding on a particular practice. As is true of history, era builds upon era and beliefs and systems either evolve or are left behind. All religions and spiritual practices are a product [whether reactionary or growth] of this movement in time and all are connected by history. The people of India have protected the tradition of yoga within their heritage but do not hold it with tight-fisted ownership. They have guarded it as sacred thru the generations and generously gift it to us all. 

Secondly, us Westerners can be quick to package up all things Eastern in one big box. Many of us are familiar with the Moses-Aaron-Golden Calf story [we’ve seen the movie] and shudder at any mention of idol. So the many gods of Hinduism [and the various sized statues of said gods] make us, to put it mildly, nervous. Here’s the thing - Hinduism fairly quickly evolved from a belief in many gods to an understanding of one God. One creative force or energy behind all we experience as reality. The multiple gods are various representations or imagery of the limitless characteristics of this one God. For example, Ganesha [the representation of wisdom, strength, and the remover of obstacles] is a symbolic image of the aspect of God that makes way for expansion and growth. It's easy to agree that the infinite nature of God is hard to grasp with a human mind and every culture, tradition and religion has created ways to better understand the complex mystery of the Divine. It's important to note that our misunderstanding of yoga may be directly connected to our misunderstanding of the Hindu faith, Buddhist tradition, and Eastern culture as a whole. Eastern thought is much less literal and far more metaphorical than Western thought. Thus, it is easy for misinterpretation to arise and take root. 

Third is quite basic. Fear keeps us in. I’m not talking about bear-chasing-you-run-for-your-life-fear. I’m talking about the sort of fear that keeps us from growing, discovering, and curiosity. The fear that keeps us tamed - fenced and controllable. Fear is powerful, especially when used on people already frightened. Often we don’t even know what we’re scared of, we’re just told to be afraid. I’ve found yoga to be wonderfully inclusive and when something is built on exclusivity, inclusive is a threat. So fear is quickly employed. With fear comes manipulation [even if unintended], bias and the stretching of fact to fit and further the fear. It’s not a far leap to say we are a relatively anxious culture. Fear finds solace in sameness and is aggravated by different. When threatened, we tend to long for “home” - for something we understand. And so, as our culture tries to navigate this place of fear, many of us are desperately fleeing different and unknown for same and comfortable. 

One of the invitations of yoga is the shedding of fear. When we lose the baggage, the voices, the weight we’re able to see with clarity, wisdom, and openness. But it takes courage. It takes a step away from same and towards different. This was demanded of every saint and every historical figure we admire. Each had a choice - build a wall or step into. Step toward. 

[WHAT’S WITH THE CHANTING?]

Sanskrit is thought to be the oldest known language, linked to roughly 4000 BC but some argue it dates much older. The Sanskrit language was created to systematically follow the natural progression of sound in the human mouth and, from a spiritual perspective, each sound represents a different aspect of creation. 

Mantras were then created from these sounds. Just as a certain musical cord or song can illicit an emotional response, mantras were specifically designed to cultivate a state of being [ex. peace of mind or harmony]. As with every sound, there is a specific vibratory rhythm connected. If you hum “mmmmm”, for example, you’ll be able to sense these vibrations. Therefore, mantras provide a vibratory rhythm for the mind to become absorbed in - allowing for a stilling or calming of the mental chatter we so often endure. Ultimately, mantra is hearing with your whole body. 

Chanting is the repetition of these mantras, although not restricted to the Sanskrit mantras. The point of chanting is to use the energy the vibrations of sound awaken in the body to generate a meditative mind. My experience with chanting is this: I quickly found comfort and ease on my yoga mat but chanting was something that continued to plague me with nervousness well into my yoga teacher training. One of the most beautiful gifts my teachers gave me was permission to go at my own pace and refrain as needed. It was a true testament to the heart of yoga - a tradition devoid of pressure and full of compassion. A tradition that urges the practitioner to find and listen to their voice within, acknowledge the fear and discomfort, and proceed when ready. As I began to understand the history of Sanskrit and reasons for chanting, I tiptoed forward working hard to keep an open heart and mind. Starting with OM I tested the waters. For awhile I was content to listen rather than participate. Over time, in the same way communal singing brings a sense of harmony, chanting cultivated in me a sense of community and peace. Whether it’s Sanskrit mantras, biblical scripture, sutras, quotes, poems or prayers - the continual repetition of meaningful, intentional, powerful words and sounds now envelope me like a Divine embrace. 

“OM” [pronounced “Aauumm”] is the sound thought to hold and represent the universe - past, present, future and all that is beyond the constraints of time. It is considered the most sacred syllable in yoga and is universal in nature. When in deep meditation, some have said to hear the word “OM” reverberate within their being. In yoga, OM is sometimes used as a way of bringing together our communal voice of peace. Participation is always optional. 

I've found yoga to be a tradition full of beautiful paradox. It’s relaxed, yet disciplined. Demands effort, invites ease. Encases the serious within a playful cloak. It breaks down walls and barriers, all-the-while building an infinite house. Yoga encourages us to show up with our whole selves - the goofy, weird, sad, angry, happy, hurt that lies within us all. It invites us to embrace what’s there and then sift. Like sand moving through a fine mesh strainer, the work of our yoga mat, meditation cushion, and the disciplines we uphold are there to clear out what causes us to stumble through life. We’re asked to release what keeps us imprisoned and entrenched, fully surrender to the process of refinement, and urged toward a place of greater understanding, humility and compassion. 

Yoga encourages us in a life of curiosity. It illumines our perceived edges and dissolves theses boundaries so we can experience more - more of the physical posture or pose, more of meditation, more of our self, more of life, more of God. The other day I entered into a standing forward fold just prior to a class. It's the posture where you stand with your feet together or with a little space between the two and extend your chest forward as you fold down towards the floor. So often the backs of my legs begin to scream about midway down. I breathe into the discomfort but succumb to the belief that this must be my edge - the point at which I stop and hold. Through the discipline of practicing yoga, I've learned that if I release the first boundary I come to [usually mental disguised as physical], I incrementally go deeper into the pose. What awaits is this overwhelming combination of fear and peace. If I surrender my fear and trust peace to wash away the debris I can actually find my edge - the point at which my body wisdom asks me to stop. Yoga does this - it clears the clatter of the mind so we hear the voice of the soul.   

Of course there is much left unsaid here as it takes years, a lifetime really, to grasp this deep tradition. That’s the beauty of yoga. There is no end point. No goal. Only the desire for greater connection to and love for ourselves, our planet, our fellow inhabitants, and the beautiful Infinite within it all [you may know this as God]. 

It’s the journey that’s important. The journey that’s the gift. Settle in, release the goal. Release the expectations and destinations. That’s the essence of yoga and of resurrection really. You have to die many times over to your goals, expectations, desires, pride, fears and with humility accept the grace that has always been. In the surrender, peace awaits. 

May you release fear and embrace understanding. 

May you step towards what is different. 

May you have courage to be curious. 

May you ask, seek, knock. 

Grace and beauty.

Hope and love.

Peace.

Peace. 

SOURCES:

My experience with yoga and the information presented here continues to be influenced by the teachings, writings and work of Lori Gaspar, Viki Distin, Tias Little, Nicolai Bachman, Ellen McKenzie, Ali Modell, Paramahansa Yogananda, John Philip Newell, Thomas Merton, and Danna Faulds along with a host of others not mentioned here.

Photo Credit: earlbrown.info

WEEDS IN OUR INNER GARDEN

Yesterday I spent some time out in the garden. Over the years the garden has taught me lessons about myself, about humanity, about the world. Lessons that, honestly, I'd rather not learn. These lessons can be difficult to take and generally require action, movement, and growth; diligence and discipline.

There's a certain plant in said garden that reminds me a bit of a porcupine. At first glance it seems harmless, docile even, but go to touch and bam! hand full of quills, or in this case small punctures, wounds from a spine of thorns. It's flowers are deceptively beautiful, each birthing pods of hundreds of rebel seeds ready to reek havoc on any bit of dirt they touch.

This is horse nettle friends. And it's a real...well you know.

The thing about this particular plant is the act of pulling it out of the ground actually aids its spreading. Horse nettle seems to come up easily, compliantly letting me draw it from the ground and walk away naively thinking I was victorious. Then boom! a few days later it's back, stronger in number. Farmer's in the area have found pesticides are no match and tilling is like giving frisky teenagers a car and directions to the nearest park.  

It seems that forcing it out actually makes it grow. 

The only way to rid our land of this annoying, painful plant is to cut it down in infancy, just below the dirt. And then repeat over and over and over and over throughout the summer. 

It demands I surrender to it's strength, respect it's place in the garden, and then do the careful, gentle, monotonous work of watching and culling, watching and culling, watching and culling. 

You do this enough and a pattern emerges. In fact, garden long enough and you reap both physical fruit and find lessons of life abound. 

Here's what I learned: taking care of horse nettle is no different than taking care of the places in me that are in opposition to my True, authentic self. No amount of ripping, grinding, or muscle will remove the hostile places I keep hidden deep within. The places I cover over with shame and anger and guilt. It seems this is like compost, providing nutritious food for these toxic habits.

In the same way I deal with horse nettle, watch and cut in infancy, I now care for these addictive tendencies in myself. With mindful awareness, self-compassion, and surrender, we can gently work to improve the land of our soul, the garden that lies within. When I enter the flow of what is rather than aggressively try to beat it down, I find the freedom I've been seeking, the peace I so desire. Oh, and the garden teaches on thing without fail, over and over again - it's never too late.

It's never to late to begin. That's called grace.

Namaste* friends.

*Namaste means the Light in me sees and honors the Light in you.

PEACE IS A COURAGEOUS ACT

There's a place in our house that I return to over and over again when life seems overwhelming. When the events of the world or the space within the walls in which we live are just too much for me to bear. This particular room is small, dark unless intentionally illuminated, and quiet. I generally find myself curled up on the floor, forehead pressed firmly into the carpet beneath. This is the place where I cry out to the benevolent God I so often can't understand. My prayers come out as cascading sobs, angry release, and desperate pleas which all seem to culminate in a stillness so still it seems irreverent to breathe.

More and more of the world is being lit with holy places for me. The more I seek, the more I'm able to find thin spaces. Places where heaven and earth settle into this divine dance so subtle it's easy to miss yet so immeasurably powerful it's life changing. In these holy expanses or momentary pauses in time, the beauty is almost too forceful for my body to hold. I begin to understand what it means to collapse in the presence of God.

So there's these moments.

And then there's moments that send me to my closet, stunned with fear and grief and pain.

The recent news has been riddled with a story of hate and violence and prejudice and death. It's too much to hold. Too much to carry. Too much.

And so I collapse at the feet of The Magnificent and I plead for courage and love and forgiveness. I beg for hope and for peace - for me, for you, for all. I allow the pain in - the fear, the grief. I let it do its work in me. I cry for us all but I also cry for all of those places tucked within my body and soul that harbor prejudice and hate, fear and grief unexpressed.

I let it out.

Because if I don't let out these malevolent thoughts and feelings, they grow. Subtly over time they expand and push and begin to take over. They begin to color the way in which I see the world and people. And then one day a small, seemingly insignificant thing flips the switch and unleashes a furious storm.

But I let it out. I say all the vicious, cruel things I hold inside. I admit my fears and angers and observed injustice. I yell and scream and rant and cry. I release it all. Every last thing within me and then I collapse into the arms of Grace. Into the protective lap of The One who created me and calls me tov, good.

I let peace wash over me, compassion fill me. And then I get up, wipe my nose and eyes, drink some water and open the door.

I let the light in and then I go out.

This is my act of peace. This is my response to that which I can't control and understand.

Grace. Hope. Peace. Love. Compassion. Courage. Forgiveness. Surrender.

These are the weapons I choose.

Rather than responding to fear and violence with fear and violence, I work to accept them as teachers. As instruments that can tear me open, refine and remold me, and stitch me back up again - stronger, deeper, more whole. And then I turn all this energy towards healing and peace-making, using the unique gifts I've been given.

I paint. I meditate and practice yoga. I teach. I write. I raise my kids to bring sunshine and beauty to the world with determination and endurance. I cook. I look into the eyes of the people I meet and I smile. I get my hands dirty with the goodness of earth. I paddle board and swim and play games. I laugh and cry and celebrate this breath right now. I show up in the lives of those I care for most in the ways I'm able. I walk in the grass and water and sand. I snuggle and read to my girls. I enjoy time with my husband. I eat outside and dance in the rain. I swing and watch the clouds.

I do whatever I can to cultivate peace in me, hoping it flows out to those around. And then I surrender to The One, the ultimate provider of peace.

May you find a space to call holy. A space where you find yourself face down, confronting the depths of your being. And may you have the courage to go in. To go in, get messy, do the uncomfortable and painful work necessary to release and to grow.

And may you emerge alight with the power of peace.

Namaste*, friends.

*Namaste means the Light in me sees and honors the Light in you.

BOTTLES AND BUSHES

Today I walked out the door and headed down the driveway. Down the hill, around the corner, past the barn, up the hill, down the hill, to the fence. Pause. Take out the plug, open the gate, secure the gate, walk along the fence out to the pasture.

This, or something very similar, has been my routine for a little while now. Bottle in hand, I head into the tall grasses, a hungry orphan lamb waiting for its sunrise meal.

Something caught my eye this morning. As I pulled on my boots and meandered out the garage, I found the fields aflame with glory, weighted down with splendor. Yesterday had been a particularly fall-like spring day. You know the type - cool, windy with a certain kind of cloud. The type that could release a down pour on a whim but generally chooses not to. With that as my backdrop, this morning was a bit shocking in contrast - clear blue sky, gentle breeze, bright sun, heavy dew.

Dew.

There is something magical about dew. Poems and essays and books are devoted to revelations and meditations found within these tiny droplets of water.

As I stood out there frozen in wonder, no revelations came. It was if my mind could think only this: "Stop! Watch! Feel! Enjoy!" The more I leaned in close, observed water resting so tenderly on grass, the more my being swelled with joy, connection, purpose, peace - a rootedness that anchored me here, in this moment, to myself and to all.

This morning I went to church.  

I walked away carefully, not wanting to disturb this communion of saints. Every few steps I paused, desperate not to leave the grace of it all.

As I slowly made my way back up the hill, down the hill, past the barn, around the corner, and back up the hill I couldn't help but look over my shoulder. Here's the thing - there had been heavy dew and bright sunny mornings a number of times over the last few weeks. These same fields had been aflame with glory and I walked right by. Holy had been right there all along, yet I did not see it.

And then today I did.

That's the mystery of this life - we go about our days in a normal sort of way and then one day we see that the bush we'd passed countless of times had been burning. On fire with majesty all along, begging "Stop! Watch! Feel! Enjoy!"

And so we do and we are changed.

Grace. Beauty. Peace.

WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

This morning I went paddle boarding. Carrying my board along the path from our house to the water, carefully setting it down to float, stepping onto it's wide body, and pushing off away from the land has become a very spiritual practice for me. When I'm on my board life slows way, way down. The sound of the paddle dipping into the water is a lullaby for my soul. May awareness shifts from anxious thoughts and plans and lists to a place of right here, right now - being in this space of explosive life and meditative stillness.

Today, for whatever reason, I was shaken with the many creatures that call this small body of water home. As I watched the fish swim about, dashing from surprisingly shallow waters and into the deep, I was overcome by this sense of wanting to know their names. All of a sudden it was really, really important to acknowledge who they are.

The other day my daughters were dancing around in princess dresses singing about how beautiful they look. I watched on with expectation. I knew within moments my husband would come around the corner, lift them onto his lap, and ask them what their names mean.

"Sunshine." my eldest replied with a smile. "FLOWER!" yelled out my youngest. My husband nodded in agreement and then told each of them that they were created to bring warmth and kindness and beauty and compassion and color and light to this world. That there is far more to beauty than a dress or sparkles or shoes, although those are fun to explore. That what makes them beautiful is how they respond to injustice and hurt and fear. That their beauty goes far deeper than their skin. It begins in their hearts.

Naming things is an ancient art, one that has grown up with civilization. From our earliest roots, there's been something within us aching to know our name. Needing to understand our place and figure out where we fit in this great expanse of life.

As I paddled around the pond, guiding my board gently along side the reeds, I was aware that everything around me had a name, and with it's name came a place in this world.

I'm learning the more I observe, the deeper I walk into a place where it all matters. Everything has meaning. Watching fish has led me to acknowledge they have a name and existence as important as my own. Watching people has led me to believe we are not all that different. That we each have a name and a light within us and, at the very core, we all want to be seen, to matter, to find our place in the world.

As the wind picked up and rippled away my view, I looked off to the side and found a nest hovering precariously over the water. In it were 4 tiny eggs, white with brown spots. The mama bird hovered nearby, anxiously waiting my decision. Would I watch on quietly or choose to imprint on her life in an unkind way? Would I see first our commonality or respond with carelessness and apathy? Would I live into the meaning of my own name? River. Flowing water, bringing life.

I took one last glance, lifted my paddle, and thought to myself "You are important and good and kind and have a name.You have a place in this life and mine and it's my honor to see you."

MEDITATING AMONG BUGS

A few weeks ago I found myself at a 4-day anatomy training, away from my kids and traveling solo for the first time in just under nine years. I was all at once anxious and excited, terrified and electrified, wanting to jump all in and drive home as fast I could. It was a very visceral tension of opposites.

I cried when I got there, setting these emotions free and then promised myself to be as present as I could in every moment. There had been days prior to my trip when I fantasied about this time to myself. Time without dishes and laundry and whining and cleaning and the demands that come with having a family. I knew that if I longed for what I'd left at home I would miss my opportunity at what this space could offer and abuse such a beautiful gift.

So I sunk in, allowing my entire being to expand and grow and learn and be challenged.

A couple days in I wandered outside during lunch, found a grassy patch, and planted myself for an hour or so to enjoy the sun and food and quiet. I opened the book I'd been reading and a few paragraphs in realized something was walking across the page. The closer I looked, I noticed many somethings. Somehow I'd been reading the words but completely missed what was actually happening on the page.

I looked on as a tiny round bug made its way across the top of the binding while a yellow one walked up the side and a small ant zigzagged over the words. The more I watched, the more I got this sense that everywhere I looked there was life and wonder. These tiny little micro-balls of atoms were making a life for themselves in the same way that every other living, breathing, pulsing thing does. How did these things, no bigger than a grain of sand, survive? And yet here they were. They do. We do.

At once I was overcome with a sense that I could no longer separate these tiny creatures from myself. That somehow we were related and our survival depended on each other.

Awareness does this. Seeing changes things.

Sometimes I wonder if holy and worship, for me, are found less within a set of walls and more in my choices and responses and actions and the quiet spaces within the world. In the past my tendency would have been to smash these little bugs and move on.

But I really saw them.

For a few brief moments in the space of my life I watch them create their own. They worked and tended and searched and took in air.

For a few brief moments much of our lives looked the same.

These tiny insects were created, like me. To fulfill a purpose and have a place, like me. Were their lives any less precious or unique than my own? To irrevocably take this from something because it was on my book and in my way now seemed like a direct insult to the One who created us both.

Smashing was no longer an option.

That's the thing about life and relationship. This humble ecosystem of plants and bugs and bacteria and dirt that I had sprawled out upon existed in faith. Faith in my ability to see us all as one through eyes of kindness and respect and honor.

I think that's how we all survive - faith in the goodness of our neighbor. Faith that love might actually be a better way. Faith that small acts of kindness matter. That respect actually makes a difference. That the tiniest things of this world may actually be important.

I was annoyed by and even feared the bugs. And then I sat and watched them. Somehow I found myself lonely when they left.

STARING AT A PLANT.

On my counter I have a cactus. It sits right in front of where I sit each morning for breakfast, six inches lower than plate level. This particular plant hasn't always held such a regal place in my kitchen. A couple days ago I uprooted it from a spot a bit tucked away, one I don't often have cause to pause at. Frequently I would forget to water it even the meager amount it requires. So here it sits, relocated and eager to be noticed.

There are actually two varieties of cactus in this pot. One that flowers at Christmas and one around Easter. The latter plant is covered in a ripple of buds that slowly open over the course of the day, revealing itself in fullness around noon. After a few hours of shameless display, it draws inward returning to bud and self.

This opening and closing is rhythmic. Cyclical.

A pattern I can expect to repeat each day until the flowers fall to the ground.

A couple days ago I posted this:

In the same way flowers are created to bloom only then revealing the full breadth of their beauty, we too are created to reveal our beauty to the world. The more I lean into the things that bring me life and joy and peace; the more I sink into being created fully enough; the more I open all of me to the world, trusting in it's goodness, the more I'm finding the world to be filled with a tangible pulse, a beat, a Spirit. There is fear. There is pain. Much of which I can't explain. But as I come back to beauty and peace, this is what the world consistently offers back to me.

As I continued to meditate, I began to see the pattern of the plant. What I find intriguing as I watch this plant each day, is how it so closely mirrors the natural patterns within my own being - this idea of outward and inward. In order for its flowers to continue to open, for it to continue to give its beauty to the world, this plant must draw in, close, seek rest and stillness. Carving out space for this rest, this inward movement towards the soul, has been the only way for me to seek with clarity the things that fill me up, bring me life and joy and peace. There is rest, there is stillness, there is silence and from this well we draw movement and creativity and life.

Sometimes it takes moving things around, clearing the dust, bringing things out of corners and into light for us to see.

I almost missed it.

I almost missed the insights this plant had to offer, offers still. I nearly rushed passed it's rhythmic movements and holy pulses.

But I didn't. The discipline of cleaning, of clearing the literal dust, caused me to notice and change. And that's what this inward journey takes. It takes discipline, courage, and faith. It requires saying no to many things and yes to a few. It demands I put away the to-do list, silence the phone, turn off the computer and be present.

It asks me to stare at a plant. To do nothing but watch.

May you shuffle and move and poke around the things that need it. May you draw inward in the same way you give outward. May you seek the pulse that binds everything together as one and immerse yourself in this work of creativity and peace - for you. For all.

CARDAMOM LATTE with ginger, vanilla bean, and reishi

There are times when I'm called to the kitchen less for the creativity of it but more out of a primal desire for something my body desperately needs in that moment. Not in a surface "I'm craving sugar but that's probably covering up a deeper need" sort of way.

This desire is deep and earthy - flowing from a bodily wisdom I have yet to fully understand.

Over time I've learned to pay close attention to this call and surrender to the part of me governed by ancient wisdom. It's been interesting within the context of recipe creation. There's an undeniable inner intuition that drives what I take from the cupboard and add to the pot. In these moments, brain follows visceral.

I call it meditation.

It's less about the recipe and more about the sacred within the daily. It's not unlike waking on a cool summer morning to the sparkle of sunrise wrapped in a dance with mist on the calm of the water outside my window. The world is alive with enchantment and possibility within the dew and earth and air.

It's tangible, physical, earthy magic.

Sometimes I have the wherewithal to write down what my hands are doing. This is one such time and I'm so excited to share it with you. Move slow, feel what your body is doing while you create. Lean over the pot and take in the changing aroma. Feel the steam on your face. Notice what this does in your body. If you have the sudden urge to add something, do it! Follow this beautiful intelligence we each have within the muscle and bone and blood and organs of our body.

Sip mindfully, with loving intention, and smile. Invite a little magic.

Medicinal Note: If you're familiar with Ayurvedic medicine, this tea is excellent for balancing vata and kapha dosha types. It's grounding and gently warming; acts on the spleen, lung, stomach, and large intestine; improves the circulation of chi [life force]; and works to dispel mucus, cold, dampness, and phelgm. The recipe came to me on a very windy, cool spring [vata aggravating] day. Cardamom is such a wonderful whole-body tonic. In addition, reishi mushroom is fantastic for boosting the immune system.


[THE RECIPE]
Serves 3

Note: all herbs dried and cut or whole.

6 c. water
4 T. whole cardamom pods
2 T. fennel seed [optional]
2 tsp. cut ginger
1 whole vanilla bean, cut in half [reserve other half for use at another time]
1 slice reishi mushroom
3 c. tigernut milk or milk of choice
2 - 3 T. pure, raw honey [to taste, orange blossom honey is wonderful]

In a medium size saucepan combine water, cardamom, fennel, ginger, half the vanilla bean, and reishi mushroom. Bring to boil over high heat. Once boiling, reduce heat to to simmer and cook for 30 minutes or until liquid is reduced to half [approximately 3 cups].

Meanwhile, place milk and honey in a small saucepan. Heat on low until milk is very warm but not boiling, stirring occasionally.

Pour reduced tea through fine mesh strainer into three large mugs [approximately 1 cup of tea in each mug]. Divide the warmed milk between the mugs [approximately 1 cup of milk in each mug].

Serve immediately or store in refrigerator for 24 - 48 hours to serve at a later time.

These herbs aren't necessarily inexpensive so you can reserve the cooked herbs to use a second time. Tea will be less intense so either reduce water or add a few more herbs.

RELEASING ROUTINE

Prior to let's say January 1, my days were defined by routine. I had my morning routines, my afternoon routines, and my evening routines. I had my food routines and bedtime routines and exercise routines. It seemed to be working really well until I began to see [and feel] the cracks. I started noticing if one of those little pieces [like not making the bed first thing in the morning] was off, I struggled with balance the rest of the day. I was living under the illusion I could somehow create perfect and then maintain it day in and day out. My life was organized and predictable and comfortable and safe and, to be honest, for the most part I really liked it that way. But those cracks in my plans began to widen and show. My body started screaming at me in ways I couldn't understand or fix on my own. My anxiety level was at an all time high and emotions on the proverbial roller coaster. I'm certain the people closest to me shouldered a good chunk of this burden, feeling the pressure to live up to my imaginary standards. What I thought was complete control was anything but and it was bleeding into every bit of my world. I started asking if maybe there was a more whole way to live - a way not racked with as many self-inflicted demands and rules.

So, of course, I hopped on my pendulum and swung in the opposite direction.

Around the coming of the new year I decided maybe it was time to try on a new look for the season. I allowed myself to sink into winter with reckless abandon [or what felt reckless to me]. What I mean is I threw out many of my routines, slept in and stayed up late, spent a lot of time cuddling in the morning with my kids, and sometimes stayed in jammies until late into the afternoon. I half-heartedly meal planned, mostly relying on last minute forages through the refrigerator, and served my kids chips with hummus and guacamole sided by some raw veggies for a good number of lunches. Sometimes we ate popcorn with dinner or watched a movie. I went to bed with the house a mess, left dishes on the counter until morning, permitted much to much screen time, and allowed the laundry to pile up to enormous proportions.

Here's what this stint in the carefree life taught me:

It's as amazing and as horrifying as it sounds. 

What I found is I wasn't truly me in either scenario. Being driven by routine robbed me of the opportunity to feel spontaneous and placed a burden on me to live up to my own contrived expectations. And that way of life was making by body, mind and soul sick.

On the other hand, a life without routine seemed horribly imbalanced to me. Without any sort of expectation it was much to easy to fall into mediocrity, sort of fumbling through the day. I felt scattered, untethered, and unprepared which zapped me of energy in a way I hadn't expected. I relished the guilt-free space to do nothing, to take naps when I was tired, to plan less and live in spontaneity a bit more. But I also found that to be the best me I needed both and I had to find a way to walk the line between rigidity and carelessness.

The problem [blessing?] is, there isn't a map on how to walk this path of balance. It's fraught with mistakes and pain and over-extending. Anxiety and fear and exhaustion and complete confusion. At the same time this road is lined with so much grace and humility, forgiveness and freedom and I've found it to be truly the only way to compassion and wisdom.

But that's the work of life isn't it? To enter into the core of who we are, set dynamite to what needs to go, dig through the rubble, rebuild where necessary, and let that self shine.

And so these days I'm re-establishing my morning routine of a little yoga and energy work to shake me from my sleep and encourage me into my day. Sometimes I make the bed and other days I don't. My kids dress themselves as part of their own creative expression and I celebrate that creativity. If we're up late I sleep in and look forward to being woken by two little bodies crawling into my bed for some morning snuggles. Other days I set my alarm and embrace the quiet hours of the early morning. I meal plan but hold it loosely, understanding that at any moment the day may interrupt these plans. We still have popcorn with dinner from time to time and I can't seem to take back the hummus + guacamole + chips for lunch, although it's enjoyed far less often. I make some lists but not as many. I try to meditate daily as my soul is so full when I do. I'm slowly learning to release perfect in an effort to be fully present [as my friend Jen will say]. My body is healing and my soul finding peace. The laundry still piles up and sits for days and I continue to struggle with when to trump work with play. But I'm fumbling through, learning as I go.

And now, on most days, life feels balanced and it's an amazing thing to sit in the freedom and strength of facing and letting go of the things I held onto most desperately.

May you be empowered to create routines where you need them and release rigidity where is necessary. May you find joy in the simple, power in the struggle, and have the courage to walk a road that may be foreign but trust the journey anyway. May you travel deeply inward in order to shine outward. 

And may you leave the bed unmade from time to time.

FINDING A HOLY PLACE AND THE ONLY TWO GLUTEN-FREE BREADS I EVER MAKE

The other day it was warmer than it has been in months. It was 40 degrees and sunny and beautiful. If you live in the Northern hemisphere you may know of a specific phenomenon that happens on the first warm day of the year - on the day that follows months of cold and winter and quiet and burrowing in.

Everyone around you comes out of hibernation and the sense of communal happiness and relief and energy is palpable. We wear t-shirts and shorts, roll down our windows, and can't help but smile at everyone we see.

It was on this day I drove out to the lake, to my Holy Place, to celebrate the coming of spring and the gratitude that comes with it.

Here's what I mean by Holy Place:

It's the first spot that comes to mind when I'm overjoyed or devastated with grief or consumed with anger and confusion. It's where I go to work through emotions, think through my deeper thoughts, meditate, or simply sit and watch. I take my kids sometimes but most often go alone or while my youngest naps in the car. Sometimes I bring things to do and on other occasions I play the music really loud. Sometimes I just sit and soak up the silence.

This spot beckons in a more powerful way when the days are short and temperatures keep me cocooned indoors. I drive out to my Holy Place when it's almost blindingly sunny yet the air has an icy chill and the wind is biting. There, in my spot, the world seems so large and luminous while at the same time filled with peace and balance.

It's my Holy Place because it's the space where I most strongly sense the presence of God and the Spirit within myself. It connects me to something larger than me yet grounds me to the present moment happening immediately around me. 

It's the space that embraces me as me - no projections, no demands, no expectations.

No matter what baggage or praise I bring to this place, it accepts me. And it reminds me that life is larger than most of the chatter in my head yet is as small and intricate as the tiniest grain of sand.

Here's the thing - I didn't always have a Holy Place. In a way it sort of found me. One day, a normal kind of day, I had this intense feeling I needed to drive out to the lake. I didn't know why but followed it's call. Ever since, this place keeps pulling me back to remind me that we live in a holy, beautiful, unbelievably large, and unbelievably small, world. And to help me remember to live in the present moment as if it is the most precious gift. I have been changed by this space - this very regular spot I call holy and claim as my own.

And that's the gift isn't it?

Any place can be holy if you have eyes to see and a heart ready to experience it's wonder.

May you find and notice and answer the call of your Holy Place and may it connect you to this deep well of love and acceptance and grace that is yours for the taking.  


[THE RECIPES]

Here's why I love these recipes. First, both are unbelievably simple with a short ingredients list. Clean up is a cinch which is important to me. I'm not particularly in love with baking. To take on the task and have major clean up after is mostly more than I can handle and will quickly talk me out of the recipe before I begin. These recipes take a bowl or mixer bowl, blender [opt.],  one teaspoon, one tablespoon, a measuring cup, and maybe a spoon. Baking bliss.

CHEWY OAT BAGUETTE BREAD

This bread is great for sandwhiches, French toast, croutons, breadcrumbs, and really is a great multi-purpose bread.


Notes: 

I find that putting the water, milk, and vinegar in a blender or mixer, and then slowly adding the psyllium husk powder while it's running on low - medium makes a better [less chunky] gel. 

For a molasses or dark style bread, I replace the honey with molasses. 

Once I've mixed the dough, I let it sit for a few minutes while I clean up the very minimal dishes [seriously, less than 5 minute clean up]. I find this firms even dough that is a little on the wetter side and gives me a better gauge for adding additional flour. 

I almost always double the recipe. After the loaves have cooled, I thinly slice and freeze one of them.

 LIFE-CHANGING SEED BREAD

This bread makes awesome whole-grain style toast, especially with seed butter and raw honey or a favorite jam.

Notes:

I use pumpkin seeds in place of hazelnuts [for a nut-free option] and like to really grind / finely chop the pumpkin and sunflower seeds to a chunky flour. 

I like to use quinoa flakes in place of oats. I find this makes a bread that sticks together better than with the oats but really both work great.

I almost always double the recipe. After the loaves have cooled, I thinly slice and freeze one of them.

I've found that making a double batch can be useful in another way. This recipes asks you to really press the dough down into the bread pans. I use the extra loaf pan to press on top of the dough [place a piece of parchment on top of loaf being pressed]. It seems to give me more leverage and force. 

When the recipe calls to remove the bread from the pan and continue to bake, I place them loaves on a cookie rack rather than directly on the oven rack. It makes for an easier removal of the loaves from the oven.