Sankalpa

The empty boxes are on the curb for recycling.  The vacuum cylinder is coated with sparkles and stray pine needles are strewed about the house. The holiday commotion has settled and it’s the perfect time to appreciate all we have, let go of what weighs us down, and make space for new dreams.

Toss your New Year’s Resolution for 2012.  Instead, try a Sankalpa.  A Sankalpa is a simple but specific intention; a spiritual resolve. Kalpana means, idea, imagination of the mind, creation. 

A Sankalpa, is like a blank canvas and it is a powerful way to start any endeavor.

The difference between it and a New Years Resolution is the direction of the energy, behind the determination.

New Years Resolutions often require that we give something up; sweets or alcohol. The focus is on what we have been doing wrong and implies that we are not enough.   

But, a Salkalpa is centered on what we want to call into our life, the focus shifts to receiving and abundance. It allows your deepest aspiration and doesn’t require that you change who you are. 

Align with your Dharma

Dharma is the desire to be what your soul was meant to be.

When the individual aligns with the universal it is powerful. You know when your life is moving in the right direction; your energy carries and sustains you.

Sometimes our resolutions don’t serve our Dharma. When we force situations to be as we wish, rather than accepting what is, we exhaust our prana and it is likely that you are not in alignment.

A Sankalpa is a connection with this highest truth. Ask yourself; How can I serve my highest potential? Then listen. It takes courage to quiet your mind, tune into your heart and to do what is needed to answer your calling. 

I am, not I want.

Our thoughts create our reality. When we say that we want something we are reinforcing that idea that we don’t have it. We subconsciously remind ourselves that we are lacking, every time we repeat the wish. This makes it impossible to achieve any goal. 

A Sankalpa operates on the premise that we already have all we need to fulfill our Dharma.  If we accept that we are complete, powerful and open, the ego is put aside and we are free to call in our soul’s desire. 

Focus on a positive result. Word your Sankalpa with care, in the affirmative and present- tense; I AM rather than I WANT.

A Sankalpa is not “ I want to make new friends in my community.” Or “I want to be more patience with my child.” It is “I have many new friends in my community.” And “I am a patient, loving, compassionate Mother.”

This slight adjustment makes an immense difference. Imagine your best life, be clear, and remember that where your energy is directed, your future goes.

You are what your deep driving desire is,

As is your desire so is your intention.

As is your intention so is your will.

As is your will so is your deed.

As is your deed so is your destiny.”

Brihadaranyaka Upanishad

An Internal Vow

New Year’s resolutions are often shared and discussed. However, telling a goal makes it less likely to happen. It actually extinguishes our drive.

When others acknowledge our ambitions, the mind tricked into feeling satisfaction and we are less likely to do the work required. The mind mistakes the talking for the doing.

When you keep your promise to yourself, it’s sacred.

Let go

We cannot receive anything until we let go of expectations and actions.  That doesn’t mean that we don’t have desires and goals.  Rather, it means we have a clear view of what the spirit is calling for and faith in the abundance of the Universe.

A Sankalpa is not about achieving a specific thing within a certain time frame. It is broader and far more encompassing than that. It is a steady, internal, energetic shift.

Once you have come to your Sankalpa, every action either supports or undermines your intention. Each choice is an opportunity to strengthen your path.  When you are faced with a decision, don’t act on impulse, and determine if the action will serve your highest truth.

Be clear about what you desire, keep an open mind about outcomes, and sustain effort and faith.

“Once you make a decision the whole world conspires to make it happen.” –Emerson

Now go 24

Today we start our first 24 Things cycle for the year 2012. Let go of one thing each day for the next 24 days. Let go and create freedom, in the home, mind or body, and create a sacred space. Inside this sacred space you can develop the faith that you will be provided for and cherished without the aid of material things.

We are more powerful than we know and can call in the wonderful, when we learn to let go.

Make space in your life for your Sankalpa to enter.

Blog

We have a growing list of bloggers that join in on 24 Things and share their experiences.  If you are blogging let me know. I love hearing about the experiences of others and will link you up to the 24 Things website.

Make a magical New Year.

I wait in the school pick up line with the A/C running. I rest my head and close my eyes and an image comes to mind.  It’s been haunting me, accompanying me wherever I go. It’s a bird, oil covered and struggling in the surf.  The waves crash over him, his tar soaked wings are powerless. He suffocates.  I open my eyes and shake the image away.

The Yoga Sutras say the most difficult task is training the mind. Yoga teaches us to observe thoughts, note if they serve us, and release them. But as much as I try, I can’t release this haunting imagery.

My son jumps into the back seat and tells me about his day on our drive to the grocery store. I search the trunk for my re-useable bags, wipe down my shopping cart until it is 99.9% germ free, and roll into the produce section.

There was a time when I took pride in shopping with my little boy. He flirted with the female employees and snacked on pretzels blissfully unaware that SpongeBob and Tony the Tiger existed. But recently, he started watching television and has been transformed by the all-powerful Commercial. "Hey, I saw that on TV!" is his new catchphrase and I cringe if anyone can overhear.

By the time we get to the cereal isle I’ve repeated "No honey, that’s junk" five times. I realize how confusing it is for him. The television advises that if he doesn’t eat it, own it or wear it, he isn’t worthy, yet his Mama, who loves him, says no.  Again, I repeat the junk mantra as we pass the monster trucks at the end of the aisle.

Finally, I agree to ice cream. A voice in my head prompts me to buy the organic, locally made from grass fed cows, low sugar ice cream. Abruptly, an image of a dolphin, stranded, on oil-smudged sand, enters my mind. His eyes bleeding and his mouth agape. My son drops the pint of chocolate ice cream into the cart and the clatter awakens me from the spell.

Conveniently located at children’s eye level is a tempting display of sparkly, plastic, ice cream scoopers. "Mom, can I please have that?  It's not a toy and its not junk food". I relent. I can’t say no again.  “Yeah” he cheers and tosses it on the top of the groceries, like a cherry on a Sundae. 

This time, my unwelcome traveler shows up, in the checkout line. I imagine a pelican mired in a pool of oil, his eyes glazed. I feel anxious and struggle for a deep breath. I pick up the scooper, glittering on the top of my grocery pile. “Sweetie, we are not going to get this. We can scoop with a spoon. Let's be grateful for the ice cream and let that be our special treat. The more I think about it, the more I know we need to put this back."

"Well” he responds, "I know what to do Mom. Just stop thinking".  

Stop thinking, this is what we do. If we don’t like the news we change the channel or close the window on the desktop. We stop thinking because the alternative is to take responsibility for our choices and see our role in last year’s gulf disaster. 

We are overwhelmed with labels to read, precautions to take and problems in the world. We stop thinking and convince ourselves that the government wouldn't put it on the shelves if it were unsafe. This assumption that someone else’s choices are good for us requires less effort. We don’t care where or how things are made and disposed of. We only look to our immediate gratification and this lack of awareness has created a cheap, disposable society.

Annie Leonard of The Story of Stuff project explains how this attitude was deliberately designed for us.   During the Depression era, President Eisenhower enacted a strategy called “planned obsolesce” to stimulate the economy.

Things were purposefully manufactured to last only long enough for us not to loose faith in the company.  This combined with perceived obsolescence, rapidly changing trends in appearance, fashion and electronics, created a wasteful attitude, furthered by the media and advertisements.

Leonard brilliantly points out, “After 9/11, when the country was in shock, our president didn't advise us to grieve, pray or hope but instead told us to shop.”

Victor Lebow a retail analyst during Eisenhower’s presidency said; "Our enormously productive economy demands that we make consumption our way of life, that we convert the buying and use of goods into rituals, that we seek our spiritual satisfaction, our ego satisfaction, in consumption...We need things consumed, burned up, replaced and discarded at an ever accelerating rate."

Little more than a year has passed since the Deepwater Horizon spill.  Scientists are still studying the effects of the toxic dispersants that were injected and the troubling photographs are no longer splashed across our televisions and Internet screens.

We don’t know what is happening below the surface and how our ocean has been altered.  The question is: Has it altered you?

The devastation in the Gulf can serve as our wake up call. Let the images serve us and teach us that every choice has a consequence. If we develop a consciousness about our choices and our consumption, we honor the finite resources of our planet and all the living things.  

Memphis Barbree has a beautiful series on the Gulf Coast.

Check it out at  http://www.memphisbarbree.com/

I smell the fire my husband built in the kitchen hearth. My face feels cold. “Lets take our picture, head in, and eat cupcakes,” I tell him. The lure of sprinkled covered, vanilla icing trumps his superhero game.

His Dad comes out carrying a camera and our 12-week-old puppy, Tom. We endeavor to get our son and dogs to pose in front of our newly built snowman. Little Tom sinks into the drift. His black fur is coated with ice. I scoop him up, hold him and smile into the camera.

My boy and I build a snowman after every snowstorm. Then we eat cupcakes. It’s our little tradition that I offer up to my father.

He was a funny, complex, generous man, who put his family first. Next month marks the tenth year of his passing.  This post is for him. It is a powerful example of Chakra Five and the way moments from the heart have a far reaching effect on our lives.

A grandson of Mr. Carrot Nose with my son and dog Natick

The letter read:

“Dear Boo,

Your father called me last night and told me there was a problem.  He mentioned that you have a snowman friend that was melting away in warm weather and asked if I could help. I owe your Dad a favor or two so I sent some of my elves down to rescue Mr. Carrot Nose.  We invited him here to the North Pole where it never gets too warm for snowmen.  Here they live forever.  I am sure he and Frosty will be good friends.

Keep being good!

Santa”

I don’t know what I remember for sure. It seems memories are pieced together with photographs and other people’s stories.  We cling to what we need to be true and not necessarily what is true. But I have my letter and with it I can imagine my father sitting at the green, formica, kitchen table writing. I see him out on the front lawn in the middle of the night leveling that snowman.  He ran his company all day, waited for his children to fall asleep then disassembled Mr. Carrot Nose so that his little girl would stop crying. He dug out a circle where my snowman’s round bottom sat.  I like to remember that there were tiny elf footprints and a trail that led to the magic sled, and that somewhere in my dreams that night I heard sleigh bells.

Late March is not a time when you get storms but we woke up that morning to find inches upon inches of snow in the yard. It was the biggest blizzard I had ever experienced.  I was five.  My two older brothers and I sat by the radio listening to the alphabetized school cancellation list.  Waiting. Waiting to get to the “M’s”. Malden, Medford, MELROSE.  We cheered.

We sat on the ledge of the bay window and watched our neighbors dig themselves out of their homes. My Dad climbed out of the living room window so he could shovel a path from the porch door. For three days the world slowed down. The only transportation was by sled or if you were lucky, a snowmobile. My family was home for those three days and we did lots of things we usually couldn’t.  We ate cupcakes for breakfast and slept on mattresses that Dad carried down from the bedrooms and positioned in front of the fireplace.  Even the dog slept there with us instead of on his shag rug remnant in the kitchen corner.

That day the five of us built a snowman, not just any snowman but Mr. Carrot Nose. I was in charge of the name. I wasn’t great with names. He was a sturdy and tightly packed white giant. He stood six feet high and was the clean, white color that only new snow can be; the kind of white that is blue. Mom attached a broom to his arm, gave him a hat and scarf and placed three black felt buttons on his chest. I waited for him to move.

One by one my father hoisted us upon the icy shoulders.  My oldest brother posed to be a good sport. My middle brother held both his arms out as if he were flying.  I wonder what the two of them think when they look at their photos of that single moment.  I have few pictures where I look into my eyes and remember what I thought.

My father held out his hands to hoist me up, I backed up and my eyes filled with tears. I felt my blood pulse and for one split second I could not move. Everything froze except my hands, which raced toward my face to cover my eyes. I was afraid of heights and didn’t want to sit up there alone. It was the same dread I felt when I would fall asleep on the couch and my father would carry me up to bed. I would clamp my eyes shut as he walked up the staircase.  It was a long, narrow stairwell and I was panicked with the thought of falling backwards. Over and over in my mind I would see him lose his footing and the two of us would tumble. So I would bury my face on my father’s shoulder and know that, if it were to happen, he would break the fall.

Mr. Carrot’s shoulders held no such promise.

My father knelt in front of me and tapped his fingers on the pink mittens that covered my face. I made a small window to see him. “What do we always say?” He asked with a smile and a wink. My fear dissolved. I took a deep breath, returned the wink, and reached up to let him lift me high onto the giant’s shoulders. I was proud and brave and smiled into the camera.  The picture captured a rare moment for me.

My mother climbed up next and as my father snapped the photo, she fell.  The snowy head broke free from those icy shoulders and started to tumble to the ground along with my mother. I don’t know exactly what happened because I could only see pink fuzz but I heard my father voice saying what he always said.  “Its ok, I’ve got you.”

My favorite hour is between five and six in the morning.  It’s my time to sit and chat with my Dad and have him to myself. I always wanted to share this time of day with him; the hour he would wake up for work. I recall the few times I awakened to keep him company but he would send me back to bed so I would curl up under my covers smelling the perking coffee and his constant smoldering cigarettes. I knew the routine. The shower would start and stop with a squeak from the faucets. I listened for the tap tap tap of the razor hitting the sink while he shaved. The scent of Aramis wafted into my room while he dressed.  I deciphered the muffled whispers of his conversation with my mother until finally the heavy footsteps of his work boots led him out the kitchen door.

Now, many years later, we sit quietly. There is no hustle for work. I tell him my plans for the day and he smiles and nods. I look in his eyes and think I know what he feels.

I long for the smell of his cologne to replace the smells of the hospital room.

I startle when the nurse knocks at the door.  I look up surprised to find that it is time for her shift already. She is a tiny woman and she seems to sing when she speaks. “Good morning” she chirps.

My dad gives me a wink and a smile and I give his hand a squeeze.  It is warm, not like Mr. Carrot Nose.  I lean down to kiss his cheek and tell him I will be back later in the day.  His skin has turned yellow and his muscles are weak. His body is reduced to lumps under the white sheet.

I look back at the nurse performing her routines. Her pug nose wrinkles and her blue eyes laugh as she talks to my father. She flutters around the room and I notice how elfin she is.  I watch her unwrap gauze. I wish she were wrapping presents.

If only she had a magic sled and could take my father away, somewhere in the middle of the night, where sleigh bells ring and no one can melt away.

My five year old was disappointed. He sat on the small elf chair at the Christmas worktable. “Mine’s not good at all. See? All the colors are mixed up.”

“It’s beautiful, pal.” I held the clear, plastic baseball up and wondered if I could rearrange the sand. I twisted the cap, but it was hot-glued and tacky to touch.  "Your dad will love it!"

“No, it isn’t good, Mom. Look at Cal’s.”  He kicked his leg back and forth and picked at a glob of glittery glue on the tabletop.

Cal, my son’s cousin and best friend, sat at the workbench and poured a scoop of florescent green sand into a funnel. He chose a football instead of a baseball, and worked with elfish attention to detail.

He mapped out the design in his mind, picked his colors deliberately, and in long slow intervals added layer after layer of dyed sand.  He squished his cheek on the workbench, and fixed an apprentice’s eye on the shiny specs that drained into the hourglass.

He overheard our conversation, but continued his work.  He selected snowy white for the final layer and looked at us. His best buddy sat with his chin in his hand.

Cal completed his endeavor and handed the football to the silver-haired lady elf. Her apron had two red-striped pockets. She holstered candy canes in one and her hot glue gun in the other.  She adhered the top of Calvin's handiwork. “Nice job,” she chirped, “You would make a fine helper for Santa.”  Calvin smiled and joined his cousin at the sticky table. 

“Hi,” my son said.  “Yours came out perfect. Look at mine.” He plunked his baseball down.

“I like yours.” Cal put his arm around his friend’s shoulders.  “Do you want to trade?  You can have mine and I'll keep yours because I think it’s really good”

I looked at his mom and gasped.  She placed her hand over her heart.

“Really? OK, I’ll trade!  Hey Mom!"  My son jumped out of his seat holding the pink, blue, green, red, yellow and orange football high in the air. “Look what Cal gave me!”

“That is so nice of him.  I hope you thanked him”

My boy dashed back to the table, gave Cal a high five and the two friends ran off to explore the rest of Wonderland.

I watched them and my heart opened and ached with gratitude to witness such a moment of authentic generosity. “That,” I said to Cal's mom, “was true Christmas spirit.”  We laughed at our tears and wiped them away.  “I love him so much” she said, “I just want to kiss his face off.”  

This child’s inherent kindness was remarkable.   Empathy and generosity flow freely in him; it seemed natural to give away what he had worked so hard to perfect. He practiced what some refer to in Yoga as the unification of the heart, mind and hands.

Yoga translates to mean unite and one of the goals is to quiet the mind so that we may hear what lives in the heart and then express it to others.

The Heart Chakra (Anahata) houses empathy, compassion and forgiveness.  It is the seat of our loving relationships.

The Crown Chakra (Sahasrara) is our connection to a higher power. It provided the inspiration for Calvin's gift, but one needs a strong sense of self and peaceful heart to act on inspiration.

And the Throat Chakra (Vishuddha) is the expression of who we are. Its energy is contagious and reveals the way our actions have a ripple effect in the world.

Our day in Santa’s Village was filled with the pandemonium any adventure with three young children provides: glove losses, runny noses, jackets zipping, jungle gyms, head bumps, decorated cookies, sugar highs, gentle scoldings, kisses for any and all achievements, and ultimately the noiseless exhaustion that delights mothers.

We checked into our hotel and swung open the doors to our connecting rooms. The boys changed into super hero pajamas and jumped on the bed while Cal’s little sister, Sadie, whom we call Sassafras, snuggled in between her mom and I in the next room.  We read a book and listened to the boys demonstrate Karate moves.

“Hey Cal,” my son shouted, “’I’ll never forget this day for the rest of my life!”

Once again, Cal’s mom and I caught teary eyes and put our hands over our hearts. Then we laughed as hard as our two little super heroes.

The next afternoon, we packed our bags and prepared for a long drive home.  Cal came into our room and placed the baseball next to the football.  “I think I like mine. Can we switch back?” he asked.

"OK. I kind of like mine, too," my son said. "Hey, lets go play with flashlights.”

It didn’t matter which sandy globe he went home with because the gift was not the thing. The gift was the moment; that exchange of the Earth’s abundant sand that touched each us and burnished an extraordinary understanding of generosity in my boy.

The holiday season provides each of us the opportunity to cast an eye inward, welcome our highest inspiration, and be an apprentice in the moment.

Dianne was bullied in school.

It was the early 1970s so the tormenting lacked the mercilessness that today’s cyber-bullying provides, but she seemed unhappy and alone.

Today, I listen to the news, a continuous loop of bullying stories ending in arrests, controversy, and heart breaking suicides. I am frightened for the future of my young son.

Massachusetts is the 42^nd state to adopt an official anti-bullying law. It requires staff members to report bullying, principals to investigate, and law enforcement to become involved in extreme cases. But many say that it’s not tough enough.

Bullying comes in many forms ranging from the concrete hallways of school, to the uncivil anonymity of cyberspace. Kids are no longer singled out in the back of the parking lot. Bullies attack on social networks; no one witnesses the victim’s pain. Cruelty has morphed since I was young; it now disguises itself.

It was Valentines Day. The art projects were brightly colored, glittery mailboxes made from empty tissue containers. We taped them to the side of our desks. Popularity was determined by how many Valentines you received. As kids walked by Dianne’s box they knocked it to the ground and kicked it. I gave one Peanuts valentine to everyone in the class, including Dianne.

We watched the clock and willed the hands to hurry to 2:00 p.m., time to tally votes.  Dianne didn’t rush to undo the glittery flap and dump the contents with a flourish. She had no expectation.  I was counting; “Six, seven, eight, ooh! One from Mark.” Finally, Dianne lifted the lid and there he was, Snoopy. Her eyes filled with tears.  She turned and hugged me. Her uncombed hair went into my face and mouth.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

Bullies act out of fear and sadness.

They recreate their internal state in others, and find harmony with the turmoil. This eases their isolation by perpetrating the abuse they wish to avoid.

I am not suggesting that the bullies are the victims, but from a Yogic perspective we are co-creators of our existence. Repetitive thoughts shape our internal and even external worlds. We become the way we think. Perhaps, instead of relying on a “kids will be kids” attitude, or laws to curb this plight, parents need to teach each child to move through the world with higher consciousness and personal accountability.

We need to instill the foundation of compassion and empathy in children, and this begins at home.  If we assign this responsibility to schools or government, we lose our self-determination, invite paternalism, and relieve ourselves of blame.

Studies show that children who practice yoga cope with and control aggressive behavior. They demonstrate higher grades, more confidence, less headaches, less fidgeting, and an improved ability to manage stress.

One study, in Colorado, done after the Columbine killings showed a 4 ½ hour exposure to yoga over two weeks resulted in up to a 93% decrease in aggressive behavior in 4th and 5th grade children.

Perhaps, introducing the language of yoga at a young age can inspire permanent change. Instead of relying on vague threats of legal punishments, parents and schools can turn to yoga’s fundamental principles like Ahimsa, (do no harm in word, thought, or deed to any living thing) and a child will be guided by a conscience and the self confidence to do what is right.

Yoga translates to mean Unite.

It unifies breath and movement, mind and body, and each living being.  The largest and oldest living organism is the Aspen tree.  They are made up of a single root system, with up to one million shoots per acre, and have been in existence for 80,000 years. The root structure provides the tree an ability to heal itself after a wild fire, but if one tree falls prey to canker disease, it quickly spreads and wipes out the grove.

Human beings are entwined like Aspen roots and when we harm another we damage ourselves. Yoga’s highest goal is Samadhi, union with the Divinity in each of us. It shows us that we are all one —identity without differences. Our linkage can transmit empathy and healing, or provide fertile ground for a black, sooty wound to fester.

I hugged Dianne back, but not out of kindness. I kept her close to return a whisper.  “If you tell anyone I gave it to you, I will say you are a liar.” Later, I confessed my cruelty to my Mother. The words tumbled out of me before the kitchen door closed. She reminded me that the world is not only about our own experience, but also the experiences that we offer to others.

Thirty-seven years later, I still think of that moment and feel the callousness of my words. I am ashamed of my cruelty, my unwillingness to stand behind such a small kindness. I want to tell Dianne that I am sorry.

But Dianne, I owe you more than an apology. I owe you my gratitude. Since that day, I remind myself that I have the capacity to be unkind. Your sadness, on Valentine’s Day, instilled in me something that a State Bill cannot; it confirmed that every choice has significant consequences that travel further than we can imagine. And that has helped me, a little. I am a better person than I was, because I sat next to you.