Yoga Morning

This morning when I rise, I can't wait to get to the yoga mat.  It isn't always like this, but I love it when the practice calls me.  I put on some Debussy and sit cross-legged on the mat, in front of my wide living room window.  The light is still low, the sun not yet up.  And it's perfectly quiet, except for Claire de Lune coming from the iPad.

As I start to move, my mind clears.  The cares of the day had begun to press into me, taking over my awareness.  But the joy of movement quiets these thoughts, over powers them; it isn't time yet to attend to these things, and there is nothing I can do about them right now anyway.

I move into cat-cow and do some rhythmic breathing, synchronizing with the movement.  From there, to the pigeon pose, and up to forward fold.  A slight smile spreads across my face, from the pure joy of movement.  I wind down into a bridge and finally, Savasana, for a few minutes until I stand, face the sun and clasp hands toward my heart.  The light is full now, the sun shining in my face.  I feel so grateful to have health, movement and positive outlook on the new day.

Bully

When my case manager comes into my office and tells me Mrs M is on the phone, my stomach sinks.  Mrs. M is legendary for being difficult to deal with.  I don't want the case manager to deal with her alone, so I've asked her to come get me when she calls.

Sure enough, when we pick up the phone, Mrs M. starts right in.  She's huffing and sighing at everything we say, as if we are so stupid it's just exasperating to deal with us.  Her words are a string of false accusation and hateful, personal insults.  I've dealt with bullies enough in my life to know that each accusation and every insult is bait.  The temptation to engage is almost overwhelming, but I know if I give her that, she wins.  Because she doesn't want to make a point or fix anything.  She wants to fight, and most of all, she wants to hate.  So I answer every hateful accusation and insult with further clarification about what we can and can't do, and what her responsibilities are and how she must meet them.

This is, as the Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron says, the place that scares me.  I suppose we all have our worst fears.  For me, it is being hated and falsely accused.  I also suppose that this is a fear that many people share with me.  As Mrs. M pours the hatred onto me through the phone, a small part of my personality stands back and watches as the fear runs rampaging through me, breaking all the china in the house that is my ego.  When Mrs. M doesn't get anywhere, she runs down and concludes the phone call with "is there anything else, Bob?"  Her voice is drenched with sarcasm.

When I tell people I am a social worker, often they put on a patronizing voice and they say "you must be so patient."  How do I tell them that the real theme of social work is not patience but courage?  Courage, because when you try to do something good, the first reaction many people have is to hate you for it.  And to be hated is a terrifying thing and a demoralizing thing.  That's why social work is hard.

And yet, oddly, being hated also opens the door to the state of Flow or mindfulness that I write about in these pages that is so very valuable to me, and to the human condition.  There is liberation in facing your worst fear squarely and merely watching it as it unfolds.  In the words of the great Pema Chodron in her book "The Places that Scare You,"

“A further sign of health is that we don't become undone by fear and trembling, but we take it as a message that it's time to stop struggling and look directly at what's threatening us.”

So this morning I'm raw and exhausted and I haven't slept.  I've spent the night looking the boogie man right in the eye.  And today I'm going to do some more social work.

De-Clutter

Today I have the day off from work.  The first moment of waking is so clear, so revealing, it's too bad we miss it on work days, what with jumping out of bed and getting ready to go.  Today, as I gradually come awake, my eyes roam around my little home.  It's a cozy, small place, just right for me.  There are windows on three sides; east, south and west.  In the morning, I can watch the sun rise from my futon.  I can also see the sun make it's annual journey from due east, to the north in summer, and way, way down south in winter.  My pots of herbs sit on the window sill in the morning sun: Oregano, Rosemary, Basil and Sage.  This is such a sweet little place.

This morning as I lay on my futon, scanning the room, something feels "not quite right."  Not bad, but not right.  In an instant, it comes to me.  There is clutter.  On the shelf by the west window, in the little wooden bowl on the butcher block table, on the nightstand, the kitchen counters and in the bathroom, where I cannot see right now, but I know it's there.  And it's bugging me.

It's a fine line for me, this neatness thing.  I like a casual place, and I enjoy having my things at hand. But there seems to be a threshold too.  Maybe it reflects my inner process.  Today, I want my little place to be tidy, welcoming and kind.

Oddly enough, I am attracted to the yoga mat first.  On reflection, I suppose that is not odd.  I want to tidy up in this body before I tidy up the house.  I prefer quiet this morning as I take my Vinyasa, flowing from Cat/Cow to Forward Fold, Plank, Down Dog, Peaceful Warrior.  The moves are like home now.  And when I'm done, I feel tidy in my physical self.

Now it's time for the sweet little studio.  All the odd bits of stuff have a place.  Do I use this every day?  Leave it on the counter.  My French knife, my little cooking pot, toothbrush, drinking cup.  Everything else has a place.  And I find those places while Dizzy Gillespie and his background singers fill the air.

I make some food, eat.  And lay down and sleep for an hour.  Spring sunshine floods my studio when I wake.  And I'm off, to walk in the woods, have a beer, listen to some music.

Cloud Towers

This time of year, the weather in my little valley in Oregon is schizophrenic.  There can be rain and cold, biting winds.  And fifteen minutes later the sun is shining so hard you can feel the warmth on your skin. Today when I get to the river path, the sun is shining and there is a warm, welcoming breeze, a breeze scented with blossoms.

The river is huge today, rushing through town as if on a desperate errand.  The rapids are standing waves, a long curl against the current, dark green with white foam on top, turning and turning.  As I walk, the breeze turns suddenly, and fat, cold drops of Oregon rain fall down on the green water, leaving pock-marks and ripples in the water as it speeds past me.

The rain is cold and hard on top of my head.  And as soon as it started, it's gone and the sun is heavy on me again.

Walking in to the pub, I feel fresh and full of possibilities.  There's a man there with a guitar, tuning up.  And Ivy and Faliesha are there, and they are full of possibilities too, reflecting hope and purpose back to me.

The singer has started now.  Sunlight frames him from behind, through the glass walls of the pub behind him.  Outside, it has started to rain again.  The clouds are vast, white towers, and the sun glances off of them.

New view

From my living room window I can just barely see Spencer's Butte in the distance, where I hike all through our mild winters here in Oregon valley.  This morning, standing at the window while I drink coffee, I realize it is not visible.  There is huge maple tree in the way.  It is a big round blob of soft green, because it's beginning to leaf out.

For a moment it seems odd, because I've been looking at my little mountain in the misty distance all winter.  I know I can see it from here.  And then I do see it, through the green haze of the budding maple leaves.  It's right there behind the maple tree.  It's just that through the winter, there were no leaves on the tree to get in the way of the view.

I don't mind, I guess.  The maple tree is good to look at too.  And I look forward now to a new process, a new view; as the leaves on the maple tree mature, the hill behind it will gradually disappear.  It will be back though.  In the fall.