That's Karma Baby

Whatever happens to us in the present moment is what is karmically most needed for growth and eventual freedom. Everything that comes up in life is specifically what we most need to come into harmony with in the present moment. This cannot be repeated often enough. It is absolutely essential that we come to understand this. Otherwise we fail to see and appreciate the game of life for what it is. - D.R. Butler

"Karma is a bitch!" That is what we hear when someone seems to get what is coming to them, but karma, as I understand it from my own experience, isn't like that at all. Karma is not punishment. Karma is a gift. Karma helps us to see the parts of ourselves that need healing, and though the realizations are often painful, if we open our hearts to loving ourselves unconditionally, we grow exponentially from the experience.

My first understanding of karma came when I was a young mother of three boys. My oldest son started playing soccer at the age of six and was on a team with a boy who exhibited extremes in behavior, angry outbursts, crying fits and sulking. He dominated the volunteer coach's attention, and many of the mothers, including me, talked about how we wished he would just quit the team. The coach would patiently try to reason with the child, moving him from position to position trying to appease him. Sometimes this worked, and I was in awe of the man's patience.

One Saturday at a game, I saw this young boy's father. He was a physically imposing figure, very large in stature and quite intimidating in his mannerisms. He walked furiously up and down the field yelling at his son, telling him how stupid and lazy he was. At the time, I remember saying to myself, "Now I understand this boy," but that thought would be lost the next time our paths crossed.

A few years later I had just finished earning my master's degree in education and was hired to teach third grade at a local elementary school. One day in the teachers' lounge, a group of teachers was discussing the behavior of a particularly unruly boy. I recognized his name, and I quickly jumped in and added to the story by telling the other teachers about his behavior on my son's soccer team. Being the new kid on the block, I had a sense of being part of the group as I added in my two cents. In my time at the school, the teachers had an increasingly difficult time with the child, and I remember feeling resentful of him because of his deviant behavior.

Fast forward two years, my youngest son had joined a soccer team.  During one of his games, he was taunted and teased by the boys on the opposing team. When the game was over and both teams were to pass each other and give friendly high fives, he systematically punched each of the opposing team members in the stomach.  Within minutes we were surrounded by angry parents. Luckily, his coach was able to calm them down, and we left the field.  Soon parents were talking to other parents, and my son got the reputation of being a bully. That news spread back to our neighborhood, and the alternate bullying, as I call it now, began.  My son was shunned by parents and prevented from playing with their children. Confused and angry, he lashed out by fighting with kids who taunted him. Once when a little girl of three fell off her bike, the other kids told her parents that my son had pushed her down. Even the children knew that the parents would believe them because of my son's reputation.
I knew that my son was not being treated fairly, and that his reputation as a bully was created more by gossip and rumor than by his actions. However, as the hostility in the neighborhood towards him grew, he grew more angry and frustrated, thereby leading him to become more hostile. One Saturday afternoon, when he was riding his bike around the block, he stopped to play with two little boys, brothers. They were a few years younger than he was, but the parents let him play. Then, according to the father, my son, without provocation, hit one of the boys on the back with a toy gun.

While the phone with my friend, I heard the front door slam. I went to investigate, but before I could reach the door, there was a massive pounding as if someone was going to break it down. Once there, I found my son breathing hard, standing behind the door as if holding it closed. The pounding increased, so I moved him out of the way to find out who was on the other side. As I opened the door, I saw a 250 pound man who looked like a body builder, whose face was beet red, sweating and full of fury. I only half-opened the door because he scared even me. Through the half-opened door he proceeded to tell me what had happened.

I talked to my son and found out that after he hit the boy, the man had picked him up by the shirt and carried him across the neighborhood to the house until he managed to wiggle free. Terrified, he ran into the house and slammed the door. It was a living nightmare. After putting my children to bed that night, I went out into the yard and looked up at the stars. With my arms outstretched and tears flowing down my cheeks, I asked God, "Why me?"

Well, when you ask a question, especially to the divine maker, you  are going to get an answer. Into my head popped the image of the boy I had spoken of to the other teachers that day a few years earlier in the teacher's lounge. Though some people might believe that I got a dose of my own medicine and was being punished for my past actions, that is not how I experienced it. I had now been given the privilege of seeing life from another person's point of view. I knew my son was not a bad child. His reputation had grown so viral that people had changed the way they approached him. It then grew into a larger problem because he felt excluded from other children.  He had acted out, but there was no understanding, only judgement, just like I had judged the boy on my oldest son's soccer team.

What I learned from experiencing my karma was even greater than to not gossip about people. Since I am a teacher, my students come to me from other teachers. There is a file kept on every student with comments from their teachers since elementary school.  I refuse to let myself judge a child based on other people's perception of him or her. This has served me well, and students who seemed to be heading down a dark path have found success in my classroom, simply because I did not label them as their other teacher's had labeled them.

Most of all, karma helps me grow in love. Instead of standing out under the stars asking God, "Why me?" I now know the answer to that question. When I stop judging, the judging stops. Everything in my life is being reflected back to me, as if I am looking into a mirror. Karma is teaching me unconditional love, and that starts with me. When I am judging others, I am judging myself.

I see karma is a beautiful gift, and I welcome it. What am I going to learn next that will help me experience more love? That is how I understand karma, and I am grateful for what it teaches me.

photo credit:

Kaloudis, Jasmine. "Yoga-for-beginners-synergy-by-jasmine." Flickr. Yahoo!, 07 June 2012. Web. 07 Feb. 2015.

Forever Young

Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been. ~Mark Twain, Following the Equator

 

So much focus today is on making sure we, especially women, keep our youthful appearance. More and more we look into the mirror and mourn the dew-kissed cheeks and fresh young smile of yesteryear. We fear growing old. My mother told me in her last days, “Don’t ever let your hair go gray. People will treat you like you are old.” That says a lot about how we view age in our culture.

Just the other day, I came upon a Keeping Up With the Kardashian’s show, where the matriarch, Kris Jenner, said the older she gets the more matronly she feels. I watched as she visited a famous plastic surgeon, who critiqued her face and body, and then promised to make her look younger. What will eventually happen is that even with the changes, age eventually wins the race.

I remember seeing my grandmother’s face the year before she died at the age of 85. It was porcelain and soft, with gentle wrinkles. They were wrinkles of age, but she was beautiful. She had always cared for her skin, and I asked for her secret. She smiled and laughed, flattered, and said, “I’ve always used Oil of Olay.” Behind that smile and laugh, I knew it was more.  My grandmother radiated goodness. She was a deeply religious woman who believed in walking her talk.  In fact, she talked little about it, and lived it out loud. She helped others, taking them meals and offering companionship. She believed in being a good neighbor, giving away vegetables from her garden and spending time catching up on everyone’s news. She didn’t have any fancy degrees and had never lived a life of luxury. She wouldn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, though. She had everything she needed and more. People were the center of her life.

When I stand in line at the grocery store today, I see the “How they really look!” headlines, where photographers have caught the once beautiful with their hair down, so to speak. What I notice is not the soft aged skin like my grandmother’s, but skin that looks like its owner has been a burn victim. It has been peeled and scraped in the attempt to unearth yesterday’s beauty.  Without makeup its owner looks unnatural and even frightening. So in the attempt to hang on to youth and beauty, the ticking clock becomes the enemy, and the newest way to “stay young” becomes the Holy Grail.  

The question becomes, why was my grandmother so beautiful when she never had a chemical peel or Botox? The answer lies within. As Coco Chanel is famous for saying, “Nature gives you the face you have at twenty. Life shapes the face you have at thirty. But at fifty you get the face you deserve.” The beauty that women, and some men, are reaching for these days is never lasting. The body cannot stand up to time.  The soul, on the other hand, never ages. As the body begins to fade, the spirit within begins to come through.  Fear is ugly, and the fear of aging is no exception.  Love is beautiful, and no matter how wrinkled and crooked the exterior, love shines through. My grandmother’s faith never included fearing aging or death.  Sure, she put on face cream, wore makeup to church, and bought a new dress from time to time.  Her beauty, however, was a light that came from her soul.

My new beauty regimen now begins with inner work.  Every time I see an ad for a new cosmetic procedure that promises the fountain of youth, I will remember that not only is my essence eternal, it never ages.  I’ll still put cream on my face before I go to bed, and wear makeup, and even buy something pretty to wear, but compassion, kindness and love will by my daily three step beauty routine.

photo credit:

Bester, Francois. "Woman." Flickr. Yahoo!, 14 Aug. 2007. Web. 07 Feb. 2015.

Here to Learn

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
    translation by Coleman Barks

I discovered this poem by Rumi in Gary Zukav's book Heart of the Soul. I am starting to fully realize that it is all an inside job. What goes on outside in the world is just a reflection of what I need to grow within. There are so many levels of understanding, of insight. I think I know, and then I keep looking deeper and more unravels before me. What I have found is that it all has to do with love. Sometimes I might be afraid of looking at myself because of what I might see, but then I realize that fear has nothing to do with truth. Malik used to repeat, FEAR, False Evidence Appearing Real. So very true. What we think we will see is something ugly and disgusting, but those are just the thoughts we have about ourselves. The thoughts are not the reality.

Thich Nhat Hanh talks about embracing our anger like a mother embraces her child. Zukav is saying the same thing. What is happening on the outside, the people, the circumstances, are not the cause of our emotions. They are the ones bringing those emotions to our attention. So Hanh is right. When we are angry at someone, the other person is not the cause or the one who needs to receive our wrath. We need to look inward to see what that emotion is trying to tell us. It is either that we are coming from  love and trust or fear and doubt. I am just beginning to look deeply at this, but I am excited about the lessons I will learn.

Cleaning out the Cobwebs of Memory

Memory is no better than fiction because of the nature of our mind. We remember selectively. Like the song says, "...things too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget." Memory becomes better or worse than the events we are recalling actually were.

I was stuck in the past. I romanticized it, fictionalized it, and dreamed about it. The truth is, no matter how good the past was, it is gone. It actually does not exist. I cannot go there. I cannot be there. The only place I can be is here, now.

People often look back a certain times of life and swoon over the simplicity of the good old days. College is a good example. Yes, there were some times that are quite memorable, but there are times that I don't want to remember. Like the time all I had to eat was a can of Veg-all because I had blown my food money at the mall. Or the time I saw my handsome boyfriend kissing his equally lovely blond ex-girlfriend outside of the cafe where I was eating lunch. The good old days, right.

I remember moments on the swing in the backyard at night, talking to my mother, as we both swung back and forth, when all the world seemed perfect. I could spend my whole life dredging up those times. The problem is doing so creates sadness. It is a time gone by. My mother is no longer here with me. I am not a child. Most importantly, when I am there, I am not here.

Oh, some will say that is a good thing, but it is not. Even back then there were troubled times, sad times, times when I cried so hard I could hardly catch my breath. Thinking about the good old days, will not stop life from coming at us full throttle. Being present makes life beautiful and because we are not lost in the past or fixated on the future, all of our attention is on what is happening right now. We can handle life if we just accept it as it is. Wishing it were different, hoping all the "bad stuff" would go away, just causes us to suffer. Why? Because no matter how hard we pray or try to stop life, it happens anyway.  All of it.

If I know that being here in this moment is the best possible place I can be to experience the fullness of life, then I have no need to look back. That is a story. This is reality. Reality only bites when we deny it. So that is where my sights are going to be set. On this moment.

If I ever do travel back in time, it will be a short trip. I don't want to miss a moment of what is in store for me right now.

Taking Life as It Comes

My worrying days started pretty early in life, yet I do remember moments as a child when only the present was visible to me. I remember one night, after a long day at the beach, swimming, playing in the sand, running, shouting over the sound of the surf and wind, heartily devouring my supper, I lay in bed, in the dark, with the window open, listening to the crashing waves, looking up and watching the white linen curtain blow softly as the breeze entered the room, tucked between the cool white cotton sheets, and feeling completely in love with the moment. Though I was young and in the dark, I felt no fear. I listened to the tide until my eyes got too heavy to open and fell into a serene sleep.

In those moments, all is well with the world, and, in the past, I wished I could hold onto them, but ultimately they slipped away, and I was back to worrying about the next moment. I didn't know then, or in the dozens of other times when I felt that everything was perfect, that those moments are available to me all the time. Every single moment has the potential for that dimension of bliss. It is simply presence.

So what about the time when I was riding my bicycle, no hands, enjoying a warm autumn afternoon after school, and my eyes transfixed upon the neighbor's maple tree in its full spender of fall colors, reds, oranges, and yellows, and suddenly found myself crashed upon the ground, elbows, knees and hands skinned and bloody from the fall? Perfection, too. That tree was so incredibly beautiful that I was lost for a moment in its colors, in its beauty. Yes, my wounds hurt, but I was more stunned and surprised about how it all happened so quickly, and to this day, I remember the moment just before the fall when I was just completely wrapped up in the beauty of that tree, the wounds long since healed.

It is hard to think of certain times in life, or to imagine events that might happen, when they involve pain and loss, as times of perfection. I would never have considered my mother's death as one of those times, and I, secretly, hoped she would live forever, or, at least, outlive me. There was the pain of the loss of her presence in my life because I talked to her on the phone almost every day. I shared my life with her. She was more than my mother, she was my friend. She always had my back, as they say. It felt good to have someone like that in my life, someone who was there through it all. But she did die. I was there when she took her last breath. Amazingly, I accepted her death, knowing that she was moving on without me. For months after that, I felt open and raw, not broken or defeated, but vulnerable like a tiny bird who has just flown out of its nest for the first time. The beauty that came out of her death was that I became immersed in paying attention to everything and everyone in my life. I appreciated life so much more. I felt my heart open and healing at the same time. My heart had broken open, and, as a result, it was bigger and capable of embracing more love.

The bottom line is not that "Shit happens" as the bumper sticker reads; it is that life is all encompassing. When we watch nature, we witness birth, pain and death, and we accept them, but when it comes to us, we try to fend off anything we perceive as painful, but we cannot. We might have pain, but we don't have to have suffering. We suffer when we don't accept the truth that life is. Natural disasters will always occur. People will make mistakes driving and hurt or kill someone. Others will be so wrapped up in their own pain, drowning themselves in alcohol and drugs, that they don't care who they hurt. But that is not all. The waves will still come to shore. The trees will turn to brilliant colors in the fall. Baby's will smile. It all happens. Wishing away the so-called "bad stuff" doesn't change this reality.

So we can embrace it all, feeling deep in our being that there is order in the universe, and we are a part of it, and in our acceptance of "what is" we live right now, which is the only time we truly have. No longer will we wish for this moment to be different than it is. We will take life as it comes, one moment at a time. That is where we will find peace.

Cleaning My Closet

I was searching for a name for a blog on the practice of yoga. When I say yoga, I mean the eight limbs of yoga passed down by Pantajali. Although I first started yoga as a means of staying fit while in college, I soon discovered many additional benefits such as calmness and relief from the chronic asthma I had suffered from since early childhood.



At the same time, the title for this blog comes from a dear guru, Swami Satchidananda. In the film Living Yoga about the life and work of this man, Felix Cavaliere, from the 60's group the Rascals, asked Swami Satchidananda about the ills of the world and how can we just practice yoga and forget those problems. The wise Gurudev, as he was affectionately called, answered with his characteristic chuckle, "I gave you a broom and told you to clean your closet, and you want to clean the whole house! Finish your closet and then come back and talk to me."



Similarly, the great yoga master, B.K.S. Iyengar, told his student Patricia Walden when she came to him seeking enlightenment, said to her and his other students, "You want enlightenment, but you don't even know your big toe."



So this blog is the beginning of me "cleaning my closet" and "getting to know my big toe" through the teachings of yoga. If any of this helps anyone in their journey to clean their closet, then I am pleased. If it doesn't, well it won't hurt anyone. :)

Peace,
Deby

Pulling Weeds

Yesterday I pulled weeds. I made my mind up to tackle the weeds before they took over the lawn. I learned something that now, of course, seems obvious: pull weeds early and they are a cinch to get rid of. Let them take root and a battle is in store. The weeds/Life metaphor kept going through my mind as I wiped away the sweat that was rolling down my forehead into my eyes. I thought of how James Allen, in his little book, As a Man Thinketh, compared the mind to a garden.

"A man's mind may be likened to a garden, which may be intellectually cultivated or allowed to run wild; but whether cultivated or neglected, it must, it will, bring forth. If no useful seeds are put into it, then an abundance of weed seeds will fall therein and will continue to produce their kind."

The tiny beginnings of a weed pulled out easily, root and all. Those large ones I hacked and hacked on from every angle with the garden hoe then I twisted and pulled, sometimes with my whole body. At times I thought, these weeds might just win.

My own habitual thoughts came to mind. I had become so very negative at one time. Being positive almost seemed to be a mountain I couldn't climb, much like the embedded weeds I couldn't pull loose from their stronghold. As I pulled, dug, twisted, ripped, and hacked at the weeds, I decided I would not give up. I would win, not the weeds! Then I made the same pact with myself in weeding out the negative thoughts and attitudes, vowing to replace them with positive ones.

Uprooting negative thoughts that have entrenched themselves in the mind may take work, but it is time and effort well spent. Like most people, I prefer flowers over weeds, and positive thoughts are the flowers of the mind; they are perennial, spread joy and inner peace, and the more they grow the more they multiply, leaving no room for the weeds to take root.