Practice Makes Teacher

I woke to the sound of rain bathing all the layers of the jungle canopy and bouncing happily off of the metal roof of my rancho. A soothing lullaby through the night, I’m told the rain is necessary now to assure the upcoming dry season will have enough water and electricity.

The sun was just beginning to rise as I carefully navigated the small ladder leading to the ground from my loft bed. Every inch of space is precious in my little nest. As I made my coffee I put aside the urge to question what in the world I was doing up so early! I really love sleeping and can usually only be roused from my dreams by my lovers hand holding a steaming mug of coffee and almond milk under my nose.

It would’ve been easy to settle back in and listen to the jungles music, but my commitment to a daily yoga practice while here in Nosara was calling so I made my preparations, packing my backpack with rain gear, sarong, notebook, glasses, sunglasses and money, layered my yoga clothes over a bikini, put on my cowboy boots and started out on the long walk to Harmony Hotel.

Our instructor Gabby has been happily settled in Nosara for some time now. Originally from Costa Rica, Gabby lives life pura vida style, teaching yoga and Pilates, surfing and sharing her love of life with those fortunate enough to enter her orbit. As young as she is Gabby is such a natural and enthusiastic teacher, who incorporates simple lessons, humor and artful demonstrations in her 90 minute classes.

Lying on Emma’s yoga mat, my eyes full of tears, I was feeling emotional at the beginning of our practice , but soon fell into the rhythms of asana, breathe and laughter. Using English and Spanish Gabby showed us how our posture mirrored how we lived our life, hunched forward-in the future, leaning too far back-in the past, standing straight, spine and neck long-voila! Here and now.

She said a lot of funny things like “Friday Night!” when our tailbones were stretched to the sky in downward facing dog. I’m not really sure what that means but It made me smile. She said something else that sounded a bell as soon as I heard it. “Practice Makes Teacher.”

We all know the saying “Practice makes Perfect”, but does it really? How could we ever reach perfection? Isn’t there always room for some kind of improvement? Some kind of transcendence in anything we endeavor to do? When I think about perfection it seems so final to me.

I’ve been repeating the "practice makes perfect" phrase lately as I have been working on my guitar playing. It never ceases to surprise me that I actually do get better the more I play. Even so, I can’t imagine ever saying, “Wow, I’m perfect at this!”

Practice Makes Teacher resonates so much more with me because not only is what we practice and how we practice a teacher to us in so many ways, we can always share what we know, even if it is a brief insight or small detail, thus becoming a teacher ourselves.

Tomorrow night I will play a solo gig with only my guitar and voice at the Gilded Iguana in Guiones Beach. It will be the very first time that I perform solo in my adult life-ever. I’m nervous about entering a whole new dimension, but grateful for the opportunity to challenge myself and to continue spreading my wings.

 Friday Night!!

Snake Medicine

I am back in my beloved village of Nosara, Costa Rica where two years ago I began an exploration of my life,work and relationships with the hope that I could return home somehow transformed, and I did. The two years between then and now have been an amazing journey full of changes and growth, letting go of old “stuff” and gaining new. I never intended to be away from this home away from home for so long, but what can I say? Life happens.

In the very first few hours after my arrival I found myself tucked into Karma, a tiny golf cart, with my friend Jane at the wheel, headed to Ill’ Basilica for a much needed bite to eat. As we traveled in the dark down the muddy, potholed gravel road, I saw a very big snake crossing in front of our vehicle. At first speechless, I was able to eventually utter some kind of sound as my brain registered the length - longer than me, and width- as wide as my calf, of the serpentine creature. Not seeing the snake, Jane thought I was making ecstatic noises about finally being here. When I told her the reason for the goose bumps covering my entire body, she said, “Oh good. That’s a really powerful sign.”

Last week on the day I turned 50, I said goodbye to my 19 year old niece Emma, who died tragically in an accidental fall. She had just started college in Richmond, Virginia and was by all accounts on fire with her new environment, friends and all the new found possibilities of life before her. I knew Emma was special. Though we didn't get to see each other on a regular basis, I observed her and tried to get to know her when she visited on her summer vacations with her family on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where I live. She was so cool and laid- back; always reading, always smiling. The sort of person you wanted to have around. When she died the family gravitated homeward to be together to mourn and remember her and as the weekend unfolded I entered Emma’s world.

Emma amazed me. Lying on her bed in her small but vibrantly painted bedroom I began to see my niece for the very first time. Her walls were covered in murals painted in her own hand depicting angels, nature, symbols and words about living in the present and being the “master of your destiny.” All around me were signs of the remarkable life Emma lived in just 19 short years. She was an accomplished award winning artist, an amazing singer and actor who recently took up hand drumming and yoga. She was exploring her chakras and quoting Eckhart Tolle. She was a loving daughter, sister, friend, niece, cousin and grandchild who never said a bad thing about anyone and who never talked about herself.

Why didn't I get to know her better? It’s easy to look back and see that perhaps I wasn't curious enough, or that I did not act on my curiosity. She was young. I’d have plenty of time to get to know her. After a recent encounter I had with a friend that left me feeling like she did not really know me, I devised a formula to help me understand the situation. Our perceptions are equal to the quality of our questions.

Emma would not want me to look back. She would want me to learn from her passing and go forward with these lessons. Ask better questions. Live in the present moment and never assume that you fully know the person you are standing next to, even if you've shared time and space on this earth for 19 years or any number of years for that matter. So many mysteries are waiting to be discovered. So much beauty- layers and layers in one fragile soul.

Gathering with family there was a lot of talk about spirit animals because Emma was so drawn to deer, so when the snake slithered by me only hours into my journey here, I took it as a sign from her.

“When the snake spirit animal appears in your life, it likely means that healing opportunities, change, important transitions, and increased energy are manifesting.” “Her energy is the cosmic declaration of, ‘Yes, I will survive!’ and it is for this reason she is the symbol presiding over all the healing arts.”

Thank you Emma.

Ready

Yesterday I noticed small raised bumps on my ankles and I am thinking it must be fleas, so I spend my last minutes at home before checking in to surgery in Durham, cleaning blankets, vacuuming carpets and this morning before leaving for the hospital, kidnapping my unsuspecting cat, Weenie, zipping her quickly into a small cat carrier and dropping her off at the vet. Two things happened. The vet called-no fleas- and the bumps on my body are slowly but surely taking over. I have hives. It is amazing the utter lack of control one can have over ones body when it comes to stress. I am a person who usually can maintain a semblance of calm and fortitude even during the worst of times, but for some reason this time, my body has its own plan. It started having anxiety attacks a few weeks ago, commanding my attention just enough to procure a prescription for Zanax, my very first, and after becoming completely catatonic after taking just one, it is my last.
I wanted so bad to blame this current outbreak on fleas, spiders or even bed bugs. The thought of having a rogue body acting on its own accord frightens me. Anxiety ruled my day today. My husband Dan encouraged me to breathe through my stress and to try to avoid taking any drugs. I complied, wanting to have a last night of fun, connection and clarity. So we roamed around Durham eating and drinking in some amazing local establishments, eating local food, talking to local folk, counting down the hours to when we had to surrender to the “system”. The time is now. It is after midnight and I can no longer eat, drink or even swallow water when I brush my teeth. Tomorrow at 10:00 am I will have a re-called hip device removed from my body and in its place; a safe, hopefully functional replacement will be installed. As for now, Dan is dozing beside me, I am itching like crazy and almost ready to have this all behind me no matter what it entails. The support and love I feel from all of my friends and family is palpable and I am grateful. And ready.

Loose Ends

I woke up before the sun feeling wide awake, but not ready to face the day, I forced myself to fall back asleep re-entering the world of dreams and mystery. My dreams have been fraught with intrigue, dysfunction, insanity and all kinds of craziness and no wonder! My life is a bit crazy these days. As crazy as my dreams can be, they are never too crazy for me to say. “Hey, wake up, this has gone too far!” I relish in the scenarios, the unconscious connections between everything that is happening in my life being played out in random dream dramas. It’s better than soaps. I had planned to travel to Durham today to settle in and enjoy some time before checking in to the hospital before my surgery on Thursday, but after sleeping until 11:00 am and working on things on the home front, we decided to head out tomorrow and instead spent the afternoon working out, Dan running on the treadmill and me swimming a mile in the pool of our local YMCA. Swimming for me is an old friend. My father introduced me to the water at a very young age-it was in fact in a pool. Being landlocked in rural Wisconsin, my father, an avid swimmer himself, took his children- at that time five girls- to any public pool in the winter months that he could find. Summer in Wisconsin, of course, afforded days of fresh water swimming in a multitude of lakes and that is where we could be found, coolers full of drinks and sandwiches camped out for the day. I was a competitive swimmer in high school, but not very dedicated. I think I was voted the least likely to succeed in the sport or something along those lines, but the swimming, the style of it, the finesse of breathing and reaching out for the stroke, always stayed with me. To this day I have great form and probably good potential as a distance swimmer. Today, I was happy knocking out a mile, but I am also integrating swimming as something important to my future physical well being and it feels good to conquer! The rest of the evening was spent finding the best oysters on the Outer Banks, and why not? I am facing at least five days of no eating and no drinking so Dan and I set out to eat as many steamed local crab slough oysters as we could, all washed down with copious amounts of beer and wine. All I can say is I hope those post surgery days of not eating balances out my present over indulgences! It’s hard to resist eastern North Carolina oysters in season.

Letting Go

Today was my last day at work before embarking on a two month medical leave to have my left hip re-replaced due to a device “re-call”. I left work feeling almost completely satisfied that I could face the impending circumstances with almost no work-related stress or unfinished business. In fact the only thing that was left on my plate was creating a Christmas card list of the past year’s donors and supporters of the small non-profit that I work for. I quickly recited a list of worthy recipients to any co-workers who may have been listening as I breezed out of my office into the snowy afternoon. They may or may not get out; I just have to let it go. I’m finding that I am letting go of a lot of things these days. I will no longer be able to run after my bionic-titanium parts are replaced with those more fragile. Ceramic, plastic and metal will probably not invoke words from my surgeon like, “Do whatever you want as long as it does not cause you pain.” Not that pain has ever stopped me before. No pain, no gain, right? I will miss running though, and I’ll have to face any other limitations head on as they come. Since I am returning home from the hospital mere days before Christmas, I am letting that go too. My family, my husband Dan and our two children, have been trying to create a family holiday experience as far from the consumer, commercial version as we can, spending our time making gifts, cooking food, playing games and music- and if we are not on a traveling adventure- staying home and just having fun. Two years ago our kids, they are twenty six and twenty one now, squirreled away and wrapped random objects from our home so when we woke on Christmas morning, Dan and I really thought Santa had come. The gifts were spilling out from under the tree, until I looked closer at the bicycle with the big red ribbon tied around it, noticing the rust and dirty tires-who's bike was that? In the days leading up to this week I have amassed a stack of books to read while recovering. I have selected various tomes for friends and family as gifts this season and that is all I am doing. Cooking, traveling, creating, taking care of family and friends, I’m letting it go. The first time I had total hip replacement surgery was four years and four months ago and three days after finding out my husband was having an affair. It’s amazing how the trauma of that disclosure and the corresponding emotions completely trumped the trauma of surgery. Dan and I are amazed that we have almost no recollection of what happened the first time I had surgery. We are trying to put the pieces together in order to prepare ourselves this time around, but we have hardly any memory of the experience. It really puts in to perspective the depth of pain one suffers from an affair in a relationship. It’s hard for me not to remember those times now as I get ready to go through this once again, but this time I have the full support and care of a loving man-my husband of almost twenty seven years. And it’s funny because this second surgery, this “do-over” is like another chance to make all my stories right, to let go of those stories and parts that “no longer serve me” as one of my wise friends noted. And so here it is, another chance to let go, another chance to continue creating my story.

Falling

I have been home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina from my two month sabbatical in Costa Rica for almost four months now. The memories of my time there, the simple routines, new friendships and the feeling that I would return home and make significant changes in my life after “re-entry” have faded into the urgency of daily demands from work, family, relationships and most urgently-my body. Anytime I am away from home I look forward to the pile of mail waiting for me when I return, most of it is junk, I know, but I still get excited by post that is addressed to me personally. I had pen pals as a girl for this reason alone. I remember one in particular, a dark haired, mysterious young girl of eight, my age, living somewhere out west. She sent me a photograph of herself dressed in white jeans and a white shirt, cowboy hat perched on her small head, looking straight at the camera, unsmiling, seated on her horse. I think I loved her, but not enough to maintain the relationship via pen and paper. Now after two months away from home my stack of mail was significant and I settled into the comfort of my screened in porch in anticipation of what I had missed. After separating the junk from the catalogues, the catalogues from the bills, the personal emerged and that is where I started. What was waiting for me on that September afternoon among the pile of letters that were a combination of known and unknown, was a curious letter from Duke Diagnostic Clinic. I read it twice to make sure that what I was reading was true and then with an unsettling feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, I looked for my husband Dan. “Dan, you are never going to believe what I am reading here in this letter from Duke University. It seems that the artificial hip I received four years ago at Duke Hospital that was manufactured by Johnson and Johnson, has been re-called." The letter went on to say that only a small percentage of recipients would have complications, but I didn’t need to read any further to know that these were going to be my complications-my life- starting now. Since then I have been traveling the two hundred plus miles back and forth to Durham, the home of Duke University and the Duke medical complex to find that every test that I have taken indicates my device has not only failed, but has been poisoning my blood, damaging surrounding tissue, and quite possibly-we will not know for certain until the surgeons are inside-infecting me. In a past post not so long ago, I spoke of bold action and with trust, falling into the arms of the universe. Now, faced with major surgery in four days and all of the unanswered questions surrounding this endeavor, I feel like I am falling, but I’m not sure where.

Feel For You

I saw my first V of geese today. They stopped me in my tracks while I was running this morning in my neighborhood in Southern Shores, North Carolina. As I looked up tears welled in my eyes... I’m not sure if it was because they looked so beautiful flying in formation in the clear blue fall sky or if it was my longing for the promise of warmth further south. I remember last year around this time my husband Dan and I were headed to Hatteras to transport visiting Israeli musicians performing in the schools down there and as we were crossing the Oregon Inlet Bridge, a long and controversial span that connects us to the southern most part of our county, we witnessed thousands of birds making their way south. The sky was almost blackened by them. Today was different though, because it was only a single formation and because I cried. I stood there looking until they were out of sight then I picked up the pace of my run and tried to let the sounds of Chaka Kahn motivate me. Running for me can be as meditative as yoga sometimes. I run listening to music, but my mind has no problem wandering as I go. I often come back from a run with insights about my work, life and creativity. Today, as Chaka’s song “I Feel for You” was streaming into my ears, my mind began to turn the words around- I feel for you- and I thought about how much more I “feel” these days. There is so much sadness and beauty in the world. I know it has always existed, but I don’t think I was really awake to it all until my heart was broken. When you’re heart is broken and you are looking at the possibility of losing everything you believe in, everything becomes so much more important -so dear. I can feel the pain of a friend who just lost her mother. I feel the sadness and extreme gratitude of a friend whose child’s life hangs in balance. I feel the pain of people suffering far from here and I cry tears of joy looking at the face of my husband across the table from me. Music brings me to tears, and so will geese flying south. Sometimes I just cry and wonder if I’m shedding tears for someone who may not be able to-someone who has not had a broken heart or suffered a loss in their life- someone who has yet to plunge the depths of their emotions out of unknowing or perhaps fear. I cry sometimes and wonder, in this crazy world full of so much madness, beauty and pain, how can I not?