In the Classroom of the Crone

05. July 2011 · 5 comments · Categories: blog · Tags: , , , , , ,

Neck muscles like ropes.

Red hair flowing down well past her shoulders.

Body tight, with the carriage of a dancer.

I mentioned that I didn’t feel comfortable doing a headstand since I was on my period.

“Oh, I’m so old, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she joked.

Old? I thought. She couldn’t have been past 55. Here she was, with her enviable body teaching a yoga class while believing she was old.

Obviously in jest. But I could tell by the way she emphasized “old” that she meant it. Felt it. As if menopause wiped out every remembrance of youth.

Her statement added one more to the plethora I’ve heard from women in their 50s on up. And since I am less than a decade from that decade, I pay attention.

What these women don’t realize is that I listen.

They are the matriarchy for me. More »

A Sense of Wonder

06. June 2011 · 2 comments · Categories: blog · Tags: , , , , , ,

I’ve stopped reading books on how to find God.

Everything I need to know about God/dess is revealed through Nature, if I’m willing to sit and listen.

The magical elixir? A sense of wonder. It’s impossible to experience la dolce vita without it.

Clients constantly ask me: how can I connect more to my soul? How do I find God? What’s my higher purpose?

Quite frankly, I don’t know. It’s not for me to answer. I wouldn’t even presume — but I do believe that those are some of the greatest questions one can ask.

Often I use the example of Siddhartha. After years of fruitlessly seeking enlightenment, he returns with a broken heart to his teacher Vasudeva, who encourages him to listen to the river. It is there, sitting on the bank, when he finally hears “Om”.

Me? I don’t exactly hear “Om” when I sit in my weathered Adirondack (more like cats crying for food), but I listen. I listen, even when my interior landscape rages from somewhat peaceful to outright chaotic. I listen to the frogs trill and the peepers peep. I listen to the whine of the mosquitoes around my ears. I listen to the birds gossip before bed and the wood thrush sing the last note. I hear cars approach and coyotes chattering — all to fall silent if I wait long enough.

I remember to ask: “What do you need, heart?” More »

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