My mantra for 2012 is: “One is plenty.” The bath salts and soaks in the cabinet, vitamins, and shoes are all getting used up before I buy another. If items of clothing are not worn for a season, they are given away at the end of that season, with just a few exceptions.

In spite of this, my closet is a mess again. How does it keep happening?  I didn’t purchase a lot of clothing in 2011; a pair of jeans and a couple of sweaters. Yes, one was grey.

Part of the problem is that I am 45 years old, and still have no idea what my style is. If it’s not yoga clothes, I am pretty much, at a loss.

My fashion sense has improved over the last fifteen years. I used to go on dates in a man’s extra large flannel shirt and black leggings.  The flannels have gone, but I am far from a fashion diva.  Many have tried to help and I attempted to absorb the lessons, but I am a slow learner.

I met my husband, Michael, ten years ago. He made me nervous.  He was older than me, never married, and traveled around the world many times.  He spoke obscure African languages, wore cool hats, and sported a beard.

I was in a show, in New York when Michael and I were first dating.  He would come into the city in between his travels and take me out. We were slowly getting to know each other.

Every Wednesday lunch, between shows, was spent with my friend and fellow actor, Adam. He was my trusted confidant. “I wonder if he’s a player”. I confessed over a shared salad.

“Listen sweetie,” Adam said and put his arm around me.  “Just go for it.  See what it’s all about.  If he hurts you, he hurts you, at least you followed your heart.”  “Besides,” He flexed his exposed bicep.  “If he hurts you, call me. I will have an army of gays, up there tomorrow.”

I spent the summer with Adam’s advice. It seemed to be working well. One fall afternoon, Michael and I drove to Maine.  We spent a weekend wandering in and out of shops, eating ice cream and enjoying a pre-child weekend; which you have no idea how much you should be grateful for because once you have a kid you spend all your weekends talking about your child.

“Try this on”.  Michael said and handed me a wool, navy blue, Greek, fisherman’s cap.  I scrunched up my nose shook my head.

“Just try it.” He faced me toward the mirror. I reluctantly pulled the cap over my ponytail. 

“You look adorable.” He said.

“Really? I am not sure.” 

“It looks great. Let me get it for you.” 

The more he used words like adorable and love, the more I believed that I was a hat person.

I yankeded the price tag off and sported my navy fishing cap through the streets of Camden, Maine.  I was sure this new worldly fashion sense was going to work for me.

Tuesday afternoon I returned to New York City. “Nice lid” the stage manager winked and held the door for me. “Thanks!” I breezed down the hallway.

I loved my new hat.

Adam was sitting in my dressing room. “Well?” he raised his eyebrows and grinned. “How was the weekend?”

I sat in front of my mirror and arranged my show make up.  “Fun” I said coyly.

“Oh.” Adam said. His mood darkened. He frowned and moved from the couch to my chair.  I felt panic rise in my throat.  “What?”

He put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me gently. I swallowed my panic  “He knows something bad about this guy.” I thought to my self.

 “Sweetie.” He removed my fishing cap and placed in on the table. “Not in New York.”

I loathed my new hat.

My husband turned out not to be a player. We have a son, who fills up both our lives. But, the problem in my closet still exists. 

My Greek fishing cap sits on a shelf next to my box of stage, false eyelashes.  My fashion sense lays somewhere in between.

Where is that army of gays when you really need them?

Days 6-11: I am working out my confused closet, cleaning out the cabinets in the bathroom and letting go of some stuff that’s just not me.  I will keep the Greek hat though.  It was one of the first gifts my husband gave me and even if it doesn’t work in New York I am sure we will travel somewhere where I’ll fit right in.

Don’t forget Day 12 is your Mid-Toss Ahimsa.  Take a moment, check in with your Sankalpa, and realign. 

Happy tossing.

Are you joining THe 24 Things Challenge? See what it's all about. 

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.

We walk up the base of the Sambinyo Volcano to track Gukubita and his family of mountain gorillas.

Rwanda’s volcano region is called the Virunga Mountains and is the place Dian Fossey founded the Karasoke Research Center in 1967 to study and protect the gorillas.

Karasoke protects one third of all mountain gorillas in the Virungas, and because of their efforts the critically endangered population has increased by almost seven hundred.

Eugene’s machete rings out a high Cschringgg, as it strikes the bamboo thicket. The lush, emerald-colored terrain is difficult to navigate. There are no trails, so we walk on top of the vegetation.

I silently wish I remembered my gaiters and gloves, as my limbs scrape against the stinging nettles. Each unsteady step produces a new welt.

We pass three men who live on the volcano by day. They are armed, quiet, and greet us with nods. These men protect the gorillas from hired poachers, who kill the majestic animals for souvenir heads and hands, then sell them as bushmeat. The baby gorillas are taken from their families and sold to exotic animal owners, who focus only on their status in society and not their proper place on the planet.

"Poaching is a big problem in the Republic of Congo,” our guide explains. "But here in Rwanda our animals are protected. We have not had an infant stolen or mother killed in ten years."

I balance on the undergrowth and take in the views. Coffee, potatoes, and bananas grow on terraced hillsides and cows graze in a field below.

Our group halts suddenly. Eugene presses his gloved finger to his lips.

There is movement in the thicket next to me. I startle.

Nestled in the lush green leaves is a black, wrinkled face. A female gorilla sits, five feet from me. She is quiet and calm. Her eyes are the color of burnt umber, wizened by thousands of long, star-lit nights on the volcano. She holds my gaze and I well up.

Desikashar said, “Yoga exists in the world because everything is linked.”
The gorilla climbs a few inches up the hillside to an open space. She faces us and reveals her baby. The three-month old clings to his mother’s belly and she cradles him with one arm. I imagine that she is proud to introduce us. She turns and disappears into the vines.

I feel allied to this Mother. I think of the first time I heard my son’s heartbeat in the doctor’s office. That moment flicked a switch inside my heart. I thought, “This is God.”

I cannot fathom how any person could harm her and take that baby away.

Eugene clears his throat and growls. "I am telling Gukubita, the king, that we mean no harm."

Gukubita echoes the call. "We can enter now," Eugene tells us. "Remember do not run if you are frightened. If he beats his chest, slowly crouch down on your knees to show respect."

We enter a cave of bamboo. I hear throaty grunts above us. Another mother and baby lounge in a hammock-like nest. When they move a shower of dried leaves and twigs lands on our heads.

Gukubita lays on the ground chewing. His onyx coat shimmers in the sunlight. He surveys our group and seems comfortable, even tolerant, in spite of our intrusion.

I snap photographs and inch closer. He yawns, his tongue and teeth stained black. I stand ten feet away with my friend Laura, a filmmaker who stares over her viewfinder, mesmerized. Gukubita’s imposing size contradicts his mild spirit.

Eugene grunts again and Gukubita answers.

He yawns one last time and then begins his show. He reaches for a bamboo shoot and pulls himself upward. He measures six feet tall and 350 pounds. His dark hands curl into fists as he inhales. Then he roars, pounds his chest, and rushes toward us.

I lower my camera, drop to my knees, and avert my eyes to ensure the king knows I have no intention of challenging him. I recoil at the high-pitched sound of bamboo snapping. My fingers tremble as I reach out and hold Laura's hand. Then silence.

"You can look at him," Eugene whispers.

Gukubita poses on all fours at arms length from me. I resist a foolish urge to reach out and touch his silver shoulder. His breath mists from his nose. He waits as I attempt to take a photo with shaky hands. He repeats the grunt and sigh that means he accepts us and wanders off into the thicket.

Yoga teaches us that true personal strength is neither passive nor oppressive. We can only know authentic power when we find the balance between these two. This king is a yogi.
He earns our respect in a calm, direct manner. He demonstrates that his duty is to protect his family and that he will only wield his power if necessary.

I can no longer feel the stinging on my ankles and wrists. I stand in silent awe. Laura peels my fingers from her hand and laughs, “You can let go now."

The animals allow us to view their world. We witness babies in their mothers' arms, playful youths swing from branches in the distance, and our king sits high in the trees surveying it all. He effortlessly demolishes bamboo trees as he lowers the food toward his throne.

I wonder what the poachers are feeling as they approach such a beast. They must be terrified that he will pummel them.

Suddenly, I understand their desperation. They have no options. The power in their lives is unbalanced, so aggression is a means to feed their families.

Desikashar is right. We are linked. I have as much to learn from the poachers as from the King. We cannot choose to what we are inexorably connected, but each connection can lead us to empathy and understanding. This is God.

Gukubita assesses his family and their surroundings, then satisfied, he lays back in a bed of green, closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

I send a silent thank you from my heart, and wonder if the gorillas feel a relationship to us-- hairless, trembling creatures, who seek to capture the moment with black lenses in front of our eyes.

My guide whispers, “God roams the world but comes to rest in these mountains.”

I don’t like being upside down and backwards.  This makes handstand a challenge for me.  I don’t trust that my fellow students can hold me steady, while I substitute my hands for feet. It’s a reflection of my own limited thinking, not an accurate assessment of their competence.

Still, I try. I go to class and take it step by step. First, I achieved headstand, which I couldn’t do a year ago. It’s a stepping-stone to the goal of handstand.

I have found that the key to achieving any difficult pose is to give up hope.

A fellow 24 participant, named Christianne, sent me an email.  She wrote; “On day one I accidentally gave up hope, but I got it back again.” Her Mom, whom she calls Nana, was ill and she was scared.

I wrote her and told her that she needed to toss hope back in the give away pile.

Hope is disempowering.  It implies that all our eggs in someone else's basket and that our input is minimal. But, faith is different. Fostering faith cultivates the small things that nourish and strengthen us.

Both values stem from desire, but desire without self-knowledge, strength, and balance can hurt us.

Years ago, when I was new to yoga, I watched students pop themselves up, into headstands. I joined in, hoping I could do it too.  I plopped my head down and force kicked my legs up. I fell and damaged my neck.

It is important to be grounded and centered before reaching for our desire or we will be knocked off balance.

Hope looks to the goodness of something outside of ourselves to come and help us. It coaxes the mind into the future. Faith thrives in truth and understanding. It comes from within and roots us in the present.

Anusara Yoga teaches us that the first step to achieving your desire is to “open to grace”. If you open your heart, and put faith the alignment principles of yoga, anything is possible. I can achieve my headstand with a forced kick or I can find my center and hug the heart open. I can come to the midline, and engage the belly; which is Manipura, the third Chakra and root of all desires. This level of connection and awareness allows the core lift the legs, almost effortlessly.

Christianne sent out a Facebook post, asking her friends to send cards to her Mom. “She adores cards.” She opened to grace with the faith that those who care for her would extend themselves and that small kindness, would fill her mother with happiness.

Faith aligns us with a higher consciousness. It shows us that we have the power to create change.

Christianne’s mom passed away last week. Her bedside table covered with cards; many of them, from people she didn’t even know. She passed away with the faith that her daughter had a loving support system to help her through a difficult time.

I believe that when someone dies, a spark of their energy jumps onto everyone they loved. This enables them to know us better now than they did when they were alive because that fragment of them, now sees the world through our eyes and feels through our spirit.

That spark continues to glow, expressing itself through each of us. What we learned from them and loved about them-- can be expressed in the way we move through the world in honor of that person.

This faith eases those upside-down moments in life.  It helps us achieve a balance between grief and the joy of loving someone dearly. It gives us the knowledge that our friends can steady us in difficult times.

Desire requires a leap of faith not hope. Hope is the façade of fatalism. Faith is the core of self-determination.

So, on our 24^th day, in honor of Nana, lets give up hope and make space for faith.

If weíre willing to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be 
exterminated, then we can have  the courage to relax with the 
groundlessness of our situation.  This is the first step on the path.

~Pema Chodron

Thanks to all of you who joined in, let go, and shared your experiences with us. See you January 1st!

The Challenge:
Every day, let go of one thing in your home and give it to charity, a friend or the trash can. You can start anywhere you like. You can tend to things in need or repair, clean out one drawer, or en entire basement. Wherever you decide to start, you will be amazed what you uncover about yourself in the process.

How to begin:
Day one: focus on what you want to call into your life, write it down in a journal or post it to a dream wall.
Try to keep it positive. Instead of writing “I want to lose 20 pounds” you might say, “I want a healthier, lighter body that allows me to live with more freedom.
The 24 Things experience allows us to call in what serves our highest potential as the clutter in our lives, hearts and minds falls away.

The Rules:
1: No purchases for the next 24 days. You can only buy necessities. If you see something you want, start a list. If, at the end of the 24 days, you still desire it, then go on and splurge. Chances are you wont even remember what it was you wanted.
2: ONE THING each day. Focus on letting go of one item or group of items each day. A daily practice retrains the mind, redirects the your subtle energy, and establishes a new way of thinking.
Resist the urge to pick 24 items and dump them in the first week.
3: Every day you will either nourish something that serves your highest good or let go of something that hinders it.
3: Share. Log onto The 24 Things and share your thoughts. I look forward to hearing from you.
4: Namaste~

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 called my husband in to look at my newly organized, closet and he said "I came in here the other day and was shocked at the mess.  I wanted to have a word with you about it".

I laughed, "You probably saw it mid-toss. I had everything on the floor in a big pile."

"Well" He said. "It sure says something when I can’t tell the difference between how it usually looks and you’re clean out"

Don’t misunderstand.  I really don’t have a lot of “stuff”.  I am not an excessive shopper and have cleaned out and given away my things for years. Still, I discovered so much that was unused and wasted.

There were a few things I found difficult to part with, but I felt somehow, they deserved better than to be stuffed in a musty box, in the dark.

I understood that it wasn’t the item I loved; it was the time in my life that it represented. The girl that twirled in the shoes, shared in her journal, or smiled into the camera.

Things got pretty chaotic before they got better. About Day 11, the clutter and disorganization weighed on me. I felt overwhelmed with the growing list of things to accomplish.

My office was besieged with boxes, trash bags and piles needing organization. My son said “Mama, it’s like some alien came down and turned you into a bad mood monster”.

So, I decided to approach, this 24 Things Challenge, the way I would a yoga class.  Sometimes, we get frustrated with our bodies and where we are in relation to the full expression of a pose.  But if we accept our limitations, explore the space we are in, and are open to growth we move deeper and discover new abilities.

I kept in mind that the state of my office was temporary and I needed that yogic balance between effort and ease. I stopped pushing myself to get the work done. I sorted and donated and my mood lifted. I felt unencumbered, lighter, and free. 

I promised myself, with each box that went out the door that I would not fill up the space.

Victor Lebow was a retail analyst during Eisenhower’s presidency.

He 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."

Americans have been manipulated by planned and perceived obsolescence since the early 1950’s. Commercials insist that if we don’t own it, wear it, or eat it, we aren’t worthy.

We don’t need to empty our homes and live with nothing, but we should respect the earth, take only what we need, and teach our children that we are not defined by our things.

I look forward to repeating the process on July 1st. I know it will be more difficult with each 24-day cycle and I hope you will join me again.

Being satisfied with little, you can gain much. Seeking much, you will go astray. The wise heed this precept. If it could only be so with all people. – The Tao Te Ching

Feng Shui says, what we amass reveals something about our inner health; old letters and photographs prove that we are loved and befriended.  Heaps of things that might “come in handy” signal a lack faith in the future. 

Equally important is where we accumulate our clutter. If our basement is brimming, we may cling to the past and the subconscious mind weighs us down. An overcrowded attic restricts high aspirations. Jam-packed junk rooms represent the experiences we haul, and constrains choices for our future.

I unearthed achievements from old newspapers and unopened gifts that I kept out of guilt. I exhumed the exalted size four jeans, with a hole in one knee. I stumbled over my college textbooks; their bindings as pristine as the day I purchased them.

“Mom!” my son calls. “Pretend you are the bad guy and I am a superhero destroying your icy lair.”  He stands atop a six-food drift that the plow left behind.

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.

READ MORE AT THE ELEPHANT JOURNAL

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.

"What do you mean you hate it?  It’s a perfectly nice shirt.  I just bought it for school. Please put it on and don't say hate."

"I don't want to wear it."

"Just put it on. We're late."

"I don't like it!"

"Put it on!"

My husband hears this and enters the room. "Hey Bud, let's go check out your shirts." he says and leads our boy up to his bedroom. He supports my position. He lays out some clothes and they feel the textures. They talk about the change of season and joke about frozen knees in January. Then, he allows our boy a choice between three appropriate shirts.  Meanwhile, I'm in the kitchen putting a stray plate into the dishwasher, wrapping a freshly baked blueberry muffin for the ride, wiping smudges off the countertop, and fighting back tears. 

This is my Monday morning after I invested fifteen sweaty, awareness-enhancing hours doing yoga. I took a weekend workshop with Johnny Gillespie who, with the use of straps, blocks and a 95-degree room, encouraged us to slow our practice and uncover bad habits.

"A slower practice brings a deeper level of awareness." Johnny says and tightens the straps on our forearms and calves. My muscles fight back with twitches and cramps, but our leader assures us that we are "unwinding dysfunction". "You will continue to strengthen the very thing that causes you pain unless you retrain the body and mind." I think, the five-minute forward bend with a cork block wedged in-between my thighs is the very thing causing me pain.

"Okay guys, find a partner because we’re going to work on handstands. No walls!" Johnny announces.  I hate handstands. I haven’t done one since I was a teenager and here I am, in a room with forty people, doing handstands.

My mind lists the things I need to do, check email, call home, eat something. My terrified ego whispers, "Pretend to use the bathroom". But it’s too late.

My cousin Kim, a strong, admirable yogini and teacher occupies the mat next to mine. She grabs my hands and exclaims "Yeah! I love these".  I consider slapping her with my sweaty towel.

The teacher uses Kim for the demonstration. She balances on her hands, in the center of the room. Her core holds her steady. Johnny presses his fingers on the soles of her feet highlighting the components of a beautiful handstand. My cousin puts herself upright with grace and purpose and beams at me, "Your turn".

We reveal who we are in life on our yoga mat. Habits and attitudes limit us. We move quickly and find comfort in patterns, even if they do not serve us. It appears in the yoga studio, the grocery store and when we rush to dress a five year old for school.

I attempt excuses, but Kim is adamant.  “I'll be your wall.  I won't let you fall backwards."

I remain on my hands for a half a minute, but in that inverted moment I glimpse new capability. Yoga uncovers hidden parts of yourself, then shifts your life. It summons the lessons needed for transformation.  We can resist, but the longer we take to see the harder the lessons get.  Until at last, we see the very thing we resist, reflected back at us, by our child.

I left the workshop understanding new things about my shoulders, hips and handstands, but Monday morning I failed to bring them off my mat. I took care of the dog, laundry, dishes, and food and packed up with routine precision.  

Asanas reveal our fears, strength and inner resolve. You can fall into patterns and feel pain or you can master each moment with courage and allow inversions in your life; where hands become feet, the child becomes the teacher, and loved ones help you discover balance.

I loaded the car on schedule turned to my son and told him, "I'm sorry we had a fight." He responded, "What fight?" Daddy's patience counterbalanced me. I laughed and handed him the warm muffin. "Here eat this and fill up your tummy for school." My son opened the napkin, groaned, and said, " I hate blueberry muffins."

It’s been a difficult couple of days. First, we lost the family dog to illness. Then, the next day, my little boy started school.

We drove though a storm.  The sky flashed then shook with thunder. We yelled "car wash" when puddles splash onto the windows. 

A friendly teacher, clutching a green polka dot umbrella met us in the drop off line and helped my boy out of the car. She walked him away from me and into his new classroom. He looked back, hesitated and gave a little wave. I faked an open-mouthed, beauty pageant smile and waved back. "Have the best day ever!" I yelled out the window.  Then I burst into tears.

Now, I am standing in forward bend, stretching the crown of my head toward my feet.  I wriggle my toes in the tears that have accumulated. I rise into Tadasana and finally my tongue can do its job.  I keep my eyes shut because I worry someone is watching me weep. I hope two year olds have it right; if you keep your eyes closed no one can see you.  Unfortunately, I think they can still hear me. 

It feels good to be back in a yoga class.  I anticipated this time to myself all summer.  These four hours each morning while my boy is in pre-kindergarten, to workout and write or go for a walk. Now it is here and I have cried through the first two hours of it.

I focus on the breath and utilize the mantra I give my students when their minds chatter. "I am breathing in. I am breathing out" This helps. The tears subside and I settle into the Vinyasa.

I find my strength flowing and balancing. I am at peace, until the teacher sings "Okay, let's do some heart openers".

This will not be pretty. My sternum and ribcage expand and a lump grows in my throat. I raise myself into Wheel but can’t hold it.

I release onto my back and hug my knees to my chest. The tears come again and this time the droplets collect in my ears. I think of the family dog, her soft brown head in my hands as she passed.  This thought leads me to every dog and person I have lost. My ears are full.  “Breathe in. Breathe out”.

The sun shows itself then disappears behind a grey cloud, like moments. Some are a welcome relief on a hot day. Others bring loud storms that shake us.  All of them are necessary. 

Yoga invites us to be open to life. It asks you to embrace each situation with acceptance then grace. The practice is not always easy and coming to it during stressful times is doubly hard, but not as hard as crying upside down.

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I lift my head off the black leather headrest and open my eyes.  He is talking about the Tobin Bridge in the distance.  We are in the carpool lane headed to South Station.

“Oh, I see. You’re right; it does look like a roller coaster, but it’s a bridge and it’s not moving with us.  Eyes play tricks sometimes."

He laughs. “I thought there was a carnival over there.” My five-year-old son explores the cavernous back seat of the sedan, which he named “the fancy car”.

We are on an improvised adventure to New York City. We have a hotel near Times Square, tickets to Mary Poppins, and no place else to be for two days. 

We get on the train, settle in and the conductor makes an announcement: “We are approaching 150 miles per hour. This is what is feels like folks.”

My boy watches the trees change to a green blur. 

“Mom, can Lightening McQueen go this fast?”

I smile, “Lightening is a cartoon. He isn’t a real car.”

He lays his head in my lap and breathes. I stroke his hair until he falls asleep.

He is quiet when we arrive and I wonder if he is in groggy from the trip or in awe of the city. We lunch under the golden statue in Rockefeller Center. He tosses pennies in and makes wishes. We immerse ourselves into FAO Schwartz and ride back to our hotel on a bicycle taxi to take a rest before we go to the theater.  We bounce on the bed and sing Chim Chimney. 

It is 8 PM. The lights dim. We share a rush of anticipation. The orchestra swells into its first song. He climbs onto my lap to see more.

The hotel is two blocks away so we walk back. Blinking lights surround us and people swirl past. We hold hands and look up through the skyscrapers into the dark sky.

I pushed passed by the gawking tourists with a huff when I lived in New York; they slowed my frantic pace. Now, I held his small hand, watched him mesmerized by the chaos.  I felt I saw it for the first time. 

“Mom” He says, “We don’t have carnivals like this at home”. 

We stood on the corner of 42^nd and Broadway and no one could budge us.

Finally, tucked into bed we call Daddy.  He is stuck an extra day in Haiti and wishes he were with us.  We say good night, turn out the lights and he snuggles under my arm. I remind him that his dad is trying to make the world better.

 “Which direction is Daddy in?” he whispers.

I point, “He is that way.”

He kisses his hand and blows. “You think that will reach him?”

“I believe it will.”

“Mom, this is the greatest adventure ever.”

In the morning, we watch the singers do a sound check in Bryant Park, and I recall the day I sang in their Broadway Summer Series.  I had just met my husband and invited him to watch. I could not have imagined then, that one-day our son would chase pigeons there. 

Now I imagine his kiss travels through walls, across the night sky to another country, and finds his father’s cheek and just as Mary Poppins said "Anything can happen...If you let it."

Back on the train, I stare at his open, beautiful face and picture the man he will grow up to be.  I wonder how and where he will uncover this memory-- of the summer he turned five, holding his mom’s hand under the big city light and seeing Mary Poppins fly? 

My son sees carnivals everywhere, and believes that roller coasters can run. He points to the houses in the distance. “Hey mom. Look. I see Bert the Chimney Sweep.”

I squeeze his hand. “I see him, too, dancing across the roofs.”