Monthly Archives: August 2013

Aug25

Invisible Cleaning

Posted on August 25, 2013 by Grass Oil by Molly Field

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Traveling most of the summer has left the house in various states of disarray.

Magazines never read; stacks of untossed mail; cheese (ewwww) that needs to be… uch.

The refrigerator created small nations of strawberries that sprouted mushrooms, old queso, celery wine.

All of this which begs the question: AM I THE ONLY PERSON WITH THUMBS AROUND HERE?!

Apparently I am.

This paints a bad image of Mr. GrassOil. He’s a good guy, he worked to keep things orderly, but when you live in a house with three boys who like to return the empty milk jug BACK to the shelf from whence it came (and I don’t mean the dairy), there is only so much you can do.

So they were fixing to go on a nice long bike ride yesterday.

During their ride, I would reclaim my home.

A bike ride means CamelBaks.

CamelBaks mean water.

Water means mess.

It was inevitable.

Water pooled.

“Oh! God!”

Wet.

Everywhere.

They had to leave.

That meant I had to deal.

I pulled the ‘fridge from its cave.

Dust bunnies and candy wrappers and mess.

The refrigerator: its chassis hadn’t been vacuumed in months.

So while they were apedal in the woods, I was planning to steam-vac the carpets, vacuum the wood floors ~~and do some dusting~~.

I was planning to unload all the magazines. Forgive me unread issues of “The New Yorker” and “The Week,” I just can’t do it. I’ll read you on my iPad! Egads, did I just type that?!

That was to be the cleaning of the day. I’d spent a couple days regrouping from the trips, a couple days writing as I felt fit. This was going to be my intention. To do the unseen cleaning; much like that of “mission impossible: 50% junk drawer reduction” and “baseboard wipe down and cleaning” and “front hall shoe basket recon” and “bathroom delousing” — cleaning beneath, behind, around and upon the refrigerator is what no one notices but from which everyone benefits.

In a houseful of men, many don’t notice.

It went too fast. Maybe I was in a state of blissful domestication, for the hours flew by.

They returned from their sojourns: muddy, sweaty, pink-cheeked and happy. Thing 3 rode nine miles, almost non-stop, save for a few moments at the ice cream bar.

“Omigawd! It was three dollars a scoop! Highway robbery, Mom!” he squeals.

“Yes, but did you enjoy it?” I ask as I high-five him.

“Heck yeah, I did! I earned it too! Rode four-and-a-half miles each way pretty much without stopping. Saw a snake too.”

“Well then you did earn it. Enjoy it. Don’t worry about the money…” I said, wincing and smiling, (not really) as I thought about the snake.

“Oh, house looks different. You cleaned up the water spill. Nice,” he said as he took off his helmet and threw it on the cleared leather couch, between the freshly folded blankets and fluffed down pillows.

“Yes; I did some cleaning. I managed to get some things done.”

“Yeah. Maybe next time you can come with us on the bike ride; get some ice cream for yourself. You earned it too, after cleaning up the water!” he said, now throwing his crocs into the corner of the room and wiping his slick bangs into irreverent spikes from his sweaty, freckled forehead. He flopped himself down on the couch, and shoved his helmet on to the floor. I heard it clang, hollow plastic, loose fittings. Time to get a new helmet, I thought to myself.

His little chest slowed its breath. He grew quiet. He looked out the back window into our yard, twirling his spiky hair. He was on Jupiter. It’s where he goes when he drifts away, deep in thought.

I thought too.

I thought about the fact that I’d missed out on another moment with my sons and husband to take care of things that were bothering me but of which they had little awareness.

“They don’t remember the mess,” a friend of mine once said when we were talking about trying to keep a clean house in the midst of family busyness. “They just want you. Think about it. They won’t remember what you call a mess.”

So it got me thinking: If the cleaning is invisible, and we do it anyway, what are we tending to? The ghosts in our heads?

My childhood was vastly different from that of my sons’. It’s been a mission of mine to create that distinctive world for them.

I suppose however, that the mission could include myself now. That yes, mess is mess and clutter can be distracting, but need it be so distracting that it steals away an opportunity to ride bikes with my sons in the park and get some ice cream?

Would I rather be distracted by the ice cream or by the clutter?

I intended this piece, I wrote the headline first, to be humorous, about the work we parents and mostly mothers do to ‘keep house.’ To write about how so much of what we do is unheralded — but that’s not because our children / spouses / friends aren’t valuing us and our attention to these details, but because they’ve got bigger things on their minds.

They’ve got Life on their minds.

The clutter was not in my imagination, that onion in the bag is the mascot. But I realize now that it could’ve waited. The boys will all be back in school in nine days.

The invisible cleaning could’ve waited.

Life is what happens when we are making other plans.

Lesson learned.

Thank you.

Aug23

Missives from the Mat 7 — Mission Statements, Tuning In, #Intention, #Neutrality, #Business, #Management

Posted on August 23, 2013 by Grass Oil by Molly Field

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If you think this post is only about yoga, you’re wrong. This post is about life, intention, and something we all need some help with from time to time: staying focused.

When I was on the retreat (yes, I’m writing about the retreat again as a point of reference), we “tuned in” with a chant every time we did something new or began the day or the session.

The chant was usually “Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo.” If we’d already done that and took a break from a lesson but came back to the lesson, we’d do another chant, “Ad Guray Nameh” and that would be for the all-important purpose of: focusing, getting us all BACK on the same page, continuing the tone we set previously, and continuing the intention.

For the purposes of the yoga instruction, it’s not unlike the Pledge of Allegiance that is said in schools across the country. It’s not unlike the oath a witness takes with one hand on the Bible when in court. It’s not unlike “Amen” at church. It’s not unlike “to those about to die, we salute you” in the gladiator days. It’s not unlike singing the “Star-Spangled Banner” before a football, soccer, baseball, hockey game in stadiums and little league fields dotting America. Think: Henry V’s St. Crispin’s Day speech.

Y’dig?

Doing all those things Sets The Tone for what we’re all about to do. That’s all it does. It doesn’t change your religion, it doesn’t make a radical shift in your already unique personality, it doesn’t mean you’ve joined a cult. It means you’re simply On Board with what you said you’d be on board with… it’s basically committing: putting your money where your mouth is for the purposes of what you’re about to do. Y’know, “checking your ego at the door.”

So while I was on that retreat, I realized about halfway through it that I hadn’t seen a mission statement for the organization I’d just begun presiding: the high school rowing team’s Board of Directors.

This was a big deal to me because I’m big on communication and intention and orientation: not only knowing what the hell we’re doing, but also WHY we’re doing it, it’s part of my 3 thing (see yesterday’s post).

The lack of the mission statement (to me) highlighted many of the previous Boards’ struggles: dysfunctional behavior, personal agendas, bias, the lack of neutrality, and a host of other really random, toxic and odd behaviors befitting an entire season of “The Office.”

So for the two days I was home between the vegan yoga retreat I’d closed and the bacon beach bacchus I was about to experience, I’d decided to come up with a mission statement. I had based it on the PTA mission statement I used as my e-mail signature and posted on my bulletin board during my tenure.

Having that verbiage kept me impartial, it helped me to remember, at the time, that my clients were people who couldn’t open their own milk in the cafeteria, or who couldn’t yet tie their own shoes, or who needed to ask permission and then get a buddy to go to the bathroom with them. I’d often reminded the past principal of her clients during one of our many heated exchanges and I often got the sense that she didn’t like that reminder.

So for the rowing team, I needed to keep my eye on the prize here as well. Who are my clients as the president of the board of directors that oversees and manages the high school rowing team?

Are my clients the parents? No.

Are my clients the coaches? No.

Are my clients the other officers? No.

My clients are the at-times gangly, pimpled, awkward, loud, self-conscious, diamonds in the rough we call high school students.

So when I’d proposed my mission statement to the other officers on the Board, I began with a simple relative comment, “All of you were informed that I was on a yoga teacher training retreat for basically 20 days, in total. If you’re at all familiar with yoga, you might know that many classes begin with a chant, ‘om’ before the work begins.” I got a couple weird stares, and a couple self-conscious snorts from some of my fellow officers… that was about them, not me, so I ignored them.

I continued, “I’m not here to make you do that. I have no expectations that any meeting ever will begin with ‘om.’ The purpose of saying ‘om’ at the start of a yoga practice, group or solo, is to ‘tune in’ to get everyone / your spirit on the vibrational level of what you’re about to do. I won’t go into the energy and the vibrational effects of chanting because that’s not what this organization is about, but what I am here to do is to create a mission statement to do the very simple-sounding yet difficult act of creating neutrality and inspiring all of us to work in the best interest of the rowers, not our children who happen to be rowers, but all rowers. Capiche?”

The awkward glances and snorts were replaced with seating shifts, focused eyes, throat clearing and “great idea.”

So the mission statement I’d created for the rowing Board is open for discussion, editing, critique, and intention with the other officers. We will vote on it at the next meeting after everyone gets a chance to process it and think of how it might need any changes. I’m pumped. One of my goals all along, in all of my life actually (as it’s becoming stunningly clear to me every day) is to clear the lines of communication; to encourage people to be more aware of the words they say and more importantly, to hear the words other people say.

I’ll say it until I’m blue in the face: 95% of all communication is nonverbal. That means eye rolls (contempt), shoulder shrugs (frustration), pursed lips (conflict, fear of speaking), pursed lips with puffed cheeks (‘you’re full of it and here it comes…’) dead stares (anger), fast nods (agreement, but rushing, ‘get on with it’).

I was speaking to my husband about this mission statement stuff this morning and we agreed that we should create mission statements for ourselves, on a personal level, to make sure we are honoring our own personal growth which will naturally affect the growth of the organizations we serve: our children, our colleagues, our neighbors, our friends, people in traffic with us, people in the coffee shop with us, people on retreat with us, our families of origin and … our Selves. Maybe when we get all that done, we can come up with a mission statement for our little team here at the house.

So, do you (at business, at home, on the street, in the car, at the water cooler, on the couch with your kid, in the bed with your lover, in the mirror with yourSelf ) have a mission statement?

What is your mission in life? To be world-class selfish or to be world-class awesome?

Mine is to be world-class awesome. As soon as I finalize it, I’ll share it.

Thank you.

Aug22

Missives from the Mat 6 — Meh-tough-is-icks. Re-entry and Resuming #numerology #kundalini #yoga #chakras #nabhi #kriya #bacon #metaphysics

Posted on August 22, 2013 by Grass Oil by Molly Field

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Metaphysics. Argh.

So, coming back from the retreat, I’ve got lots of woo-woo on the brain. It’s normal and the week at the beach helped me to distill it with my logistical reality.

At the retreat I ate this:

caprese salads and vegetarian polenta lasagne. lots of amazing food like this for 16 days prepared by a professional chef. i was spoiled.

At the beach I ate this:

bacon. tons of it. prepared by another and wholly separate (former) professional chef who also spoiled us.

My re-entry has been relatively smooth. There are bumps here and there. I’m trying very hard to get back into the yoga practice I enjoyed while on the retreat. It’s hard. I did a couple days’ worth before the beach trip but then I had to put the brakes on that completely while there because I didn’t want to draw too much contrast to what I experienced in the mountains versus what I was experiencing at the beach. Plus, if I’m paying any attention at all to the lessons learned or at least taught on the retreat, it’s two things: 1) to live in the moment and enjoy where you are; and 2) that there is no difference, per se between the experiences and no judgement of either. We are all existing together, not separately. It’s just the venues and the players that have changed, but in the essence of life: we are all doing the best we can every day to do the best we can.

So this morning, I was ready. I set my alarm last night and I woke at 6:30 (got out of bed at 6:45) to go to my office with my books and resume the mediation and the kriya assignment I’ve been encouraged to continue (start) to address my “path” number, 3, which also represents the 3rd chakra, which as the fates would have it, has really been my lifelong challenge/opportunity. So, yoga being what it is, it’s all tied together: the meditation and kriya is called the “nabhi kriya” and it also addresses the 3rd chakra. The 3rd chakra is the Nike chakra, the “just do it” chakra. It is represented by the color yellow (which is often a significant part of my dreams). Threes are sort of the middle child of the numerology world (from http://www.numerology.com/numerology-numbers/3) …

The number 3 is like a gifted teenager who is still under the protection of its parents: a bit spoiled, certainly scattered and perpetually in need of guidance. However, the most obvious traits of the 3 are in the creative field. A powerful need to express feelings, ideas and visions of the imagination, coupled with an extroverted personality, makes it likely that a person with 3s in key points of their Numerology chart will seek a career in art, especially the verbal arts. His or her social skills are also excellent. Charm, wit and a sense of humor help a 3 individual along his or her path, and if that weren’t enough, good looks and compelling charisma make this “kid” particularly attractive.

Blah blah blah. Tell me something I didn’t ~~deny~~ know. Look! There’s Elvis!

I have known for years, nay, decades, that I’ve had a special on-off relationship with my 3rd chakra. I love the guts it gives me to do some things and I bemoan the guts it requires of me to do other things. I’m great as a first-responder: I’m there with a lasagna, a joke and a shoulder when someone needs it. But when it comes to me… erm… Elvis? Anyone?

No wonder so many are drawn to those with 3s in their charts. Followers are even willing to forgive less favorable traits exhibited by 3s, like a lack of focus and direction, a tendency to procrastinate, an inability to finish projects and an unwillingness to take responsibility. On the other hand, there is a superficial side to the 3 that can be harder to look past: a narcissistic streak, a vanity, a need to be the center of attention. It is easy for the optimistic 3 to enjoy day-to-day life as long as all is well, but when challenging issues arise, it can become quickly apparent that most of the 3’s focus has been on that sunny exterior, leaving its internal fortitude lacking. Without much moral strength or spiritual depth, a 3 can easily succumb to difficulties unless friends and family move in to support it.

‘Internal fortitude lacking.’ OUCH. It explains some of my stomach issues, some of my food “sensitivities” and the fact that my lower back hurts because I perceive my lower abdominals as weak (I refer to the zone affectionately as “Midge”) and I honestly can say that I feel it “talking” to me from time to time.

For the 3 to become a well-rounded, balanced and happy person, it must learn discipline. Some lucky 3s who exhibit talent early in life (such as gifted dancers or musical prodigies) are placed in an environment with just the sort of discipline that a 3 needs to protect these talents. Another unique quality of the 3 is its tendency to be “lucky,” or rather, to be in the right place at the right time. This may be connected to its innate sense of rhythm; timing can be measured in seconds or in years, by the beating of a heart or by the movement of the stars. It is all only a matter of scale, either way, the 3 seems to be in tune with the cyclical nature of our surroundings.

Yes, I am keenly aware of timing, both internally and externally. I can sometimes feel my heartbeat in my forearms and ears if am still. I can hear it when I sleep, which I reeeeeeally like to do, so yep: guilty as charged on that whole ‘discipline’ thing. I used to be really disciplined… that’s the bad side of a 3: we can be obSESSive… (as I sing the “sess!” part).

So, my 3 needs work. My spiritual and effective weakness in this area was made crystal clear to me during the retreat. We were on the deck one day and were going over the chakras as manifested in the physical sense. I volunteered to demonstrate my 3rd chakra’s ~~solidity and grounding~~ anemic condition for all my soul sisters to see. It was humbling. I knew I was “weak” in the Nike department, I put up a good front and I do lots of physical and personal growth things that other people don’t or won’t do, but the thing I really want to do, the thing I was bred, raised, educated and groomed (and apparently numerologically destined) to do: write a book and get it out there, is my kryptonite.

Yet despite all my “YOU CAN DO IT!” memes, I’m still hiding in the corner under a threadbare blankie, looking for Elvis.

The way this yogini went after my 3rd chakra intention was with loving and supportive compassion, but with the precision and aggressiveness of an excimer laser. She was amazing. Why did I subject myself to this? Because I paid almost $4,200 for the entire thing and by God, I was going to get all I could out of it.

I knew it then and I know it now: It’s no surprise to me that my 3rd chakra is out of balance. I even knew it was really out of balance. What blew my mind was that it was part of my numerology. But of course! Why wouldn’t it be part of my numerology? Fine… but my PATH? The very thing … the essence of what will bring me to myself?! Phuuuuuch.

So I’m in. I commit to at least 40 days of the nabhi kriya.

This morning I’m all alone; and that aloneness makes me very self-conscious. For the first time in a while, I understand what “strength in numbers” means (all references to numerology notwithstanding here).

What I learned this morning is that I’m rusty. I forgot to rub my hands together to create a connection between the left and right hemispheres of my brain. I forgot to put on some sort of music to keep me from wondering if anyone was walking outside the room.

Once I figured that out, I tuned in: I chanted “Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo” and totally forgot to breathe correctly. I ran out of breath. So I had to start again. I rolled my eyes at myself, which I can’t believe I did, so I immediately apologized to myself and said “Self, get over it, you’re rusty. It’s OK. You’re trying. Start again. Remember the hands this time.” So I did. I found the music, I rubbed my hands together, I inhaled deeply and I chanted.

Felt.

~~Like.~~

~~Dork.~~

So.

Vulnerable.

I immediately missed my friends from the retreat. I opened my eyes and looked around to see if anyone was laughing and pointing at me. Of course no one was, I was alone, desperately alone in fact, but I was still terribly self conscious.

But I realized I had an ally: my beautiful wool and silk light blue shawl that I bought at the retreat. I had a new blankie. A power blankie. No! A cape! My kundalini cape! I could not only hide under her, but she could bring me some focus too, and some strength, and identification with growth.

She would remind me of those days when I wore her on the deck in the chilly morning fogs. She kept me warm. She allowed me to feel a part of the tribe there, she also helped to feel safe doing what I am earnestly committed to doing: creating a solid 3rd chakra point in my body and my spirit to push me to get things done.

that’s me in the background. just seeing this picture transports me to that awesome deck and all those wonderful souls. the woman in the foreground was my roommate. aren’t the shawls gorge?

So I got her out and smelled her gentle woolen scent and I unfurled her and got started.

I warmed up. I closed my eyes again and mustered my courage. I did the sufi rolls and the “washing machine” torso twists (elbows up, hands on shoulders and twist from side to side inhaling on the left, exhaling on the right) and some other arm thingies and …

Then I determined it was time to do the kriya to address my 3 life path and my 3rd chakra.

Find the book that has the kriya. Find the book. Where is the book? Where is the freakin’ Kundalini Yoga book? Did I leave it at the retreat? No. I’ve had it since coming home.

Fine. Do the other kriya, the Adi Shakti.

No. I’m here to start the nabhi.

On and on it went. I consumed about 30 minutes looking for the book. Then I found it. Then I looked at the kriya.

Ooofda. Leg lifts. A freakin’ ton of leg lifts. Well, doing 40 or 90 or 180 or 1,000 days of this on a daily basis should definitely resolve any “Midge” issues…

It reminded me of the calisthenics we used to do at day camp. I still haven’t done any comparative analysis on the matter, but the timing of Yogi Bhajan’s arrival to the United States to share the technology of kundalini yoga dovetails suspiciously close to the fitness trend of calisthenics that I remember my mother doing three times.

Irony in the irony: today’s experience directly showed me how out of balance my 3 is: I was logistically unprepared. I started at 7:00am, but I didn’t have my stuff. I went online to find the kriya and meandered the yoga sites. I found it, several times, but I talked myself out of using the online ones because they weren’t >insert Veruca Salt< The One In The Book!

I wasted time, being self-indulgent. Trust me… I see it all now, I’m paying attention and I was paying some attention then too, but I told mySelf to shut up. By 10:30, I was finished, I was committed. It might’ve been the world’s longest nabhi kriya ever, but I did it.

I did almost all of it for the recommended times too. I am pleased to announce that my core is strong, but my low back needs some support, so I allowed the support, no judging. I can tell you this: when I’m done, my abs are going to be insane. I read online that someone said this kriya saved her life. I am just hopeful it will give me mine back.

I feel like all I’m doing is barking at you guys… please chime in and say hello. Ask me questions! I’ll be happy to answer them!

Thank you.

Aug21

Missives from the Mat 5 — Start and the Pressure Will Be Off #Yoga #Bhajan #Writing #Numerology

Posted on August 21, 2013 by Grass Oil by Molly Field

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It has been a long time since I’ve written.

I have actually wondered if I would be able to start up again; on the blog, I mean. I went from writing every day for 31 days about Carl Jung and how I interpreted him to stopping almost completely for almost a month. That’s a hard transition. I went from mindfulness on paper and sharing it to mindfulness in the ether and installing it.

Y’see, the yoga retreat was a profound personal experience. I remember driving away from my home, that Thursday afternoon almost three weeks ago when I began my journey looking in my rearview mirror at the three sons and husband I would be separated from for more than a fortnight. That rearview mirror moment was the last time I was the person I was before I changed.

That sounds weird. Let me rephrase: I am more the person I was meant to be now. I have less pretense, less interest in what other people think. I’ve always been pretty confident seeming, but that was because I wanted everyone to get along. Now, it’s not so much that I’m less interested in people getting along, it’s that I’m less interested in having to make people get along. They will figure out their way. I have my life to figure out and I have three boys to mother and a husband to partner. It’s just clearer now. There’s something to the power of being with complete strangers for 15 overnights (about 350 hours) for a yoga retreat. The moment some people say yoga, others envision pretzels or insane postures.

The yoga we practiced every morning at 6:00 am, one time at 4:30 am, is totally different. We would sit on a massive wraparound deck to watch the sun rise when we managed to peek out from under our shawls during a meditation. That 4:30 am practice is something that created a cosmic shift in my consciousness and it will forever be revered as one of The Most Inspired Moments of My Life. Each morning we were to be in a meditative state 10 minutes before the practice began. That meant for yours truly who loves her blankets and her bed that I had to be awake at least 40 minutes before the start. So on this 4:30 am day, I set the alarm for 3:50 am and I woke with little resistance; even with a sense of childlike glee. I’ll explain in a later post why this timing is so special. But it was as if my spirit knew I was going on a trip. And I did go on a trip even though my body never left the planet.

sun up. 6:01am due east.

The sun never rose the same way every day; it never does and it never will. But it was always majestic the way the earth bows to the sun.

still glorious, no? this was shot at 5:53am i’m pointing west.

We were treated to some of the most wonderful weather ever for those 16 days. I kept on saying to people who were not from this area of the world that the Heavens must be smiling upon us because it has almost never been 59˚ on any morning in July or August in the Virginia Blue Ridge.

The yoga I talk about now transcends the poses. It goes right to the spirit and it means Guts, Determination, Growth, Strength and Self.

Strength and Self

The poses come later. The work, it’s a pleasure, most of it. There were some kriyas (sets of yoga exercises) that set my shoulders on fire. I miss them. I miss that wonderful, bearded wiseman, Kartar Khalsa, who would state to us, “I can show you how to get there, I can show you, but you have to do the work, you have to get there.” He wasn’t talking about stronger deltoids or trapesius muscles. He was talking about stronger Selves, with a capital S.

Kartar Khalsa Singh. Yogi. Badass. Compassionate.

Kartar Khalsa. Yogi. Badass. Genius.

This Self ~~is part of the genius of kundalini yoga.~~ Rephrase: the pursuit of the Self is the heart of kundalini yoga. One of our yoginis at the retreat, the owner and author of the program, Shakta Khalsa (and Kartar’s wife) has a phrase, “Yoga is the science of the self, and kundalini is the awakening of the self. It is that simple.”

This retreat was more healing than it was learning. Ok, that sounds bad. That’s not what I meant. I did a ton of learning. I can tell you all about how babies have this life stuff all figured out and if we’d just do with our bodies what they do with their bodies from time to time then we’d be totally happy. I can tell you about the eight limbs of yoga (I just can’t find the sheet in my binder) and the 3rd chakra and the lymphatic system and why cold water on the thigh is a bad idea (because it leaches calcium from the femur). I can tell you about acidic foods and the energetic transfers and releases of certain chants and kundalini exercises. I can. And intermingled in all of those discussions and lectures and yoga sessions and kriyas and asanas were life-affirming, life-changing lessons. It’s metaphysically impossible to attend a training retreat of this caliber without changing on the inside. Impossible. The bottom line is that it’s impossible also, for me to explain it all to both of you in one post. So natch, I’m considering a book.

These women, the 13 of us and then 1 extra and 2 of our originals left and then that 1 extra did too and then 4 more came in… (it was a little revolvy-doory there for a bit) are in each others’ DNA. We just are now. I will never forget them and seeing the pictures they are posting as well as the ones I will share in a photoblog post about the retreat (to come soon) bring back all sorts of warm fuzzies.

I wonder about the numerological significance of choosing 16 days for the retreat. Numerologically, the 16 converts into a “7.” A 7 represents the seeker, the thinker, the searcher of Truth (notice the capital “T”). The 7 doesn’t take anything at face value — it is always trying to understand the underlying, hidden truths. The 7 knows that nothing is exactly as it seems and that reality is often hidden behind illusions (I got this from http://www.numerology.com/numerology-numbers/7). I have a seven in my soul position, which is sort of a big deal, and it explains a lot of things which I will go into in a later post on numerology and how learning about it and myself has ~~vexed~~ liberated me in a lot of ways. Go to www.3ho.org to learn about your numbers.

When the 7 is in balance, we are elevated, happy, curious, philosophical, sensitive, a “solitary spiritualist” and we lean a lot (or we should) on our inner voice, our inner knowing. When the 7 is out of balance, we can feel lonely, reclusive, aloof, hypersensitive (I AM NOT!), fear scarcity, confused, find fault and demonstrate a lack of boundaries both emotional and physical. The bottom line is that we need a lot of alone time. This was something I wasn’t sure I was allowed to express as a need for myself because I’m a fairly gregarious and social person, but man, when I saw that I was WAHOOO! All you suckas git lawst! I need some alone time! Holla!!

I’ve just recently taken out my books from training. I went to the beach for five days after I returned from the retreat and so I’m just getting back into “normal” here at the house. Just having this time alone to do some writing has been nice. I really haven’t had much alone time at all, actually.

Yogi Bhajan, who to me looks like a movie star in the photo below had five sutras (statements / aphorisms) for the Aquarian Age. One of them is applying right now: “When the time is on you, start and the pressure will be off.”

Omar Sharif, anyone? Sheesh this dude was intense. Never met him. He “died” in 2004; I say “died” in quotes because in the tantric yoga and metaphysical tradition, there is no death. I dig that.

So here I am, starting and deciding to write.

Ok, ok, here are the other four:

Recognize that the other person is you. (Reminds me of that phrase, “when you point the finger at someone else, you’ve got three other fingers (yours) pointing back at you.”)

There is a way through every block. (Notice he didn’t say around every block… yuk yuk a*hem.)

Understand through compassion or you will misunderstand the times. (I got nothing.)

Vibrate the Cosmos, Cosmos shall clear the path.

Woo-woo?

Heck yeah. Ask me about the Soul Retrieval. No, wait, don’t ask. Just ask me where $100 went in less than five minutes. I’ll tell you, it went on a ride on a train through the desert. (I told you not to ask… I’ll explain in a later post. I promise, Marn.)

So no, I haven’t changed in a cellular way; my yoga retreat sisters would likely agree that none of us has changed cellularly; but we have changed in an energetic way and my manner of thinking and old patterns of reactivity and blame and fear are almost things of the past. Now it seems it’s like logistics are the stepping stones.

But embracing the woo-woo isn’t new to me.

Y’see, I was already On That Bus before I left. I was someone who believed in the things that were unseen more than the things that are seen. I learned on the retreat that it’s likely because I’m left-handed that I’ve already got some of that thinking in the bag. We right-brainers tend to be more creative and as long as we’re not suppressing it, we can easily relate to other people on an energetic level. We can let things slide because we know: it’s not real. Whether it’s an intuitive realization or simply because we are geniuses, we left-handed people have a different sense of the world.

As I said earlier, there were 13 original students on the retreat. I’m not taking away from the four awesome peeps who joined us later because they are cool too, but the 13 of us altered each others’ menstrual cycles (someone foolishly suggested that it takes a month to do that, well we yoginis can get that shit done in two weeks, holla!), we shed tears with and for one another, we held hands, we held hugs for more than six seconds, we chanted, we punched the air, we pounded our fists, we asked a ton of questions, we disagreed, we snarled a little, and we grew a lot. We drank and showered in fart water — that has to count for something, right?! — and we really miss each other. I never belonged to a sorority in college. I commuted to college. So this is my first sorority and I can tell you this without a doubt: I’m glad I waited to join this one.

Some of us are having an easier time than others re-entering the Earth you inhabit. I can tell you that going to the beach for a week with my cousin and kids helped a lot. I miss the mountains though. I’ll post again soon, mostly pictures about the days there. I would go back in a heart beat… but only with those soul sisters. It wouldn’t be the same without them.

Thank you.