Until you’re forced to pick up all the pieces of your shattered heart, you won’t know how big it really is.
One-Line Wonders, Part 1
March 2nd, 2010For Your Consideration
February 26th, 2010Two weeks ago I had a yoga private with a woman whose dementia is slowly eroding her memory and concept of time, place, space. She is incredibly lovely, a former English teacher and beloved mother and grandmother.
When I arrived at her apartment, she was staring at the snow swirling outside her kitchen window. I went and stood next to her. We didn’t talk for a few long moments. Without turning to me, she whispered: They don’t always dance this way. Usually they just fall.
If you’re cursing a snowy commute or canceled travel plans this weekend, I humbly offer the cogent observations of an incredibly wise, wonderful woman for your consideration. Precious is the life that lets us witness this ballet…
Bon weekend!
Birthday Letters, Proverbial Rivers, and Trying to Let Go
February 23rd, 2010So remember my big idea? Yeah, THAT big idea. Well this past Saturday was my 25th birthday, and I absolutely couldn’t wait to open the letter from past-me to future-me (really, present-me). I had the great, great honor of teaching a class at OM on Saturday morning, so I explained my experiment and ripped open the envelope and read the whole thing aloud:
2/19/09
Dear Becca,
Today is the last day you are 23 years old. Here are some things that seem(ed) important today:
1. Your plans to go home with D. and D. Your high school friends flaked but you’ve resolved to go to New Hope and drink and maybe pierce something.
2. Completing your Yoga Synthesis class assisting requirement.
3. Your boss joined eHarmony today and even though she doesn’t have faith, you really hope she finds someone special.
4. You are reading Pema Chodron’s The Wisdom of No Escape and the Path of Lovingkindness.
5. You are anxious that D. will give you a shitty gift and if he does, that it means he doesn’t really know you. You are trying to simply label this “Thinking” and let it go.
6. The inspirations for this list were PostSecret and the desire to write anything at all because your handwriting rocks today :0)
7. You miss Eli…more than anyone knows.
Happy Birthday!
A year and one day later, none of it matters.
I did go home that weekend but didn’t go to New Hope, and I didn’t pierce anything but got my first tattoo shortly thereafter; I assisted a class that very night and it was an absolute nightmare; my boss found true love, but not on the internet; I read and re-read and re-re-read Pema’s book; my boyfriend gave me a great gift, but I’ve since realized that has ferociously little to do with how well he knows me (and he knows me quite well btw); I’m not as impressed with my script, though it’s cute; and I still miss my bunny, Eli, more than anyone knows.
The fruition of this experiment could not have come at a better time. Now more than ever, as I cope day-by-day with a family tragedy, and keep trying (unsuccessfully) to put down my grief and let go of this exhausting, all-consuming sadness, I know that in time its intensity will dissolve. I try to keep reminding myself that all of the things that seem so solid today will drop to the bottom of the proverbial River of Time and rest where they fall even as the stream pushes forward, forward, forward. The rocks don’t change, of course, but our closeness to them does, and that…well, at least that’s something.
News, WEATHER, and Thawing Your Inner Snow Mountain
February 11th, 2010I very seldom turn on the news. The news is 1) poorly written, 2) often vapid, and 3) depressing.
Today I made an exception. This morning I had to leave the apartment early to teach on the UWS, but I woke up even earlier than earliness required, so I had some extra time. Let’s see what’s happening in the world, I thought, Let’s watch the news.
Of course, whenever we’ve had WEATHER, the news becomes totally obsessed. The storm yesterday was no exception. Newspersons are charged with the noble task of reporting on that which is occurring directly outside viewers’ windows. It’s an important job, and they know it. So after a big WEATHER event, I imagine newspersons get a bit depressed. They’ve gone from being immensely important to being…persons on the news. Hm.
“Joining us now is Suzy Weatherkins, reporting on conditions for this morning’s commute. Suzy?”
“Good morning, Bob.”
“Good morning, Suzy.”
“Good morning. Road crews have been working around the clock trying to prepare the streets for this morning’s commute. New Yorkers have to traverse a number of obstacles after a WEATHER event, and I’d like to show you some of what you might encounter on your way into the office this morning. As you know, plows sweep snow onto the side of the road, and it piles up at the corners. [Walks to a corner] The snow gets densely packed, creating a ’snow mountain.’ You can see how dense it is [kicks mountain], so you can be sure this will hang around for a couple days. Once you climb over The Mountain, you’ll have to face what we call the ‘Slush Ocean’…”
Oh, Suzy.
The truth is, while it may seem silly and vapid, this morning’s newscast epitomized a pattern that traps us each in turn. Something happens, and it’s really really big when it’s happening, and then it stops happening, but our reaction stays really really big anyway, even though nothing is actually going on and we’re okay. I think part of this phenomenon has to do with the fact that we all really want to be seen. We want to know that people care about what’s happening in our lives, and we want people to listen to what we have to say. So we cling to what happens, and we hang on for dear life. Even when hanging on is stressful or hurtful or harrowing, we cling nonetheless.
You probably didn’t make a snowball and stash it away in your freezer on the off-chance that we won’t get more snow this winter, and in much the same way, we can allow that which is past to thaw, melt, slide down a sewage drain, and eventually join the ocean.
Not the Slush Ocean. The real ocean.
This weekend, New York (and much of the East Coast) will be a drippy, melty mess. No one will notice if you kick off a chunk of whatever mountain you’ve been freezing and throw it into the mix with everything else.
Bon weekend!
Tragedy, Bodhicitta, and Missed Connections
February 3rd, 2010Last weekend I received some devastating news. I don’t much care to post about it here, but suffice it to say that my family and I were reminded that the human mind is a tragic, complicated, terrifying place. Hearts and lives are broken.
I’ve been trying to take care of myself, despite my inability to sleep for a few nights after hearing the news. My self-care process is a combination of crying when the mood strikes overwhelms, distracting myself with editing work & old episodes of Veronica Mars, going to yoga with one of my favorite teachers on the planet, and trying to allow each sensation of grief to arise, abide, and dissolve in its time.
In Buddhism, we believe in a person’s basic goodness, their Buddha-nature or bodhicitta. Especially in the wake of tragedy, when recognizing bodhicitta can be especially difficult, it’s important to remember that all beings everywhere are fundamentally good. The karmas that lead to the events that transpired…well, they can’t be qualified by the lives in which they manifest. All we can do is perpetuate compassion and try to avoid giving rise to more non-virtuous karma, more suffering, by hardening our hearts to the reality of our painfully human condition.
So I’ve been reading “Missed Connections” on Craigslist. What could MC possibly have to do with recognizing bodhicitta and coping with loss, you ask? It’s no secret that I take a healthy dose of dharma cues from my time on NYC subways, and MC reminds me that my fellow subterranean passengers are searching just like me, seeking each other out for connections and meaning and heart-mind vibrations. I feel like our culture has become so preoccupied with maintaining our steely facades, we’ve forgotten how to take action when our Buddha-nature starts to hum and our heart-mind reaches, reaches, reaches to connect with someone. MC is a forum for slightly delayed reactions to this very human yearning, and as sappy as it may sound, it gives me hope. If we could all find a way to recognize our sameness — our beautiful, perfect bodhicitta — we might not feel so alone. We might have the courage to turn to each other instead of retreating to a place where we can’t be reached, where we deny our essential nature and reject the Buddha within.
Fair warning: There are a lot of not-so-noble, lust-driven, casual-encounter-esque posts on MC. But if diamonds were easy to find, they wouldn’t be so valuable…right? See some of my favorite posts from the NYC site this week, or find your city’s Missed Connections page here.
Contest Results, Boating, and the Truth About Where Your Dreams Will Take You
January 25th, 2010So first things first: I love you all, but you kind-of fail at contests. I’m keeping my mediocre blog-name until someone comes up with something excellent. The only thing I’ve managed to think up = my secret Sanskrit name + a hackneyed play on a beloved HBO sitcom title. No, I won’t tell you what it is and yes, I’m withholding as a display of my bitterness over the aforementioned contest fail.
It’s a gloomy day today in NYC, which affords me a chance to catch-up on my freelance editing work, which in turn affords me the opportunity to reflect on why I even have editing work to do in the first place. Here’s the thing about being a yoga instructor: it’s not something one does for the insta-cash. Or the not-insta-cash. Okay, it’s not something one does for cash, period.
If you’re like me, teaching yoga is something you do because you believe in the practice’s ability to transform suffering, and view teaching the practice as a way to live your Bodhisattva Vow. Noble aspirations? Check. Money in the bank? [insert purposeful silence here].
Meaningful sidenote: When I was younger, I spent countless hours in voice lessons and choral workshops, steadily preparing for my sure-to-be-imminent Broadway debut. I never auditioned for community theatre, never worked backstage in school productions, and refused to take dance lessons. I took up smoking, never practiced enough, and quit piano lessons. But I kept dreaming. And guess where that got me?
Fucking nowhere.
Readers, I share this quaint anecdote because it’s time to cut through our delusions about dreaming. Dreams, passion, desire — it’s all totally worthless without hard work and the willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed. Charging at life armed with nothing more than your super intentions and a smattering of passion is stupid and will get you exactly nowhere; charging at life armed with super intentions, passion, dedication to cultivating your craft, humility, determination, and an action plan might get you nowhere fast, but you’ll go somewhere. Oh, you’ll go.
The very esteemed Buddhist teacher Chogyam Trungpa often wrote about “spiritual materialism” or “spiritual shopping,” our pattern of drifting from belief system to belief system in order to find what makes us feel good instead of what really leads us to spiritual truth. He taught that in order to gain insight and move toward enlightenment, you have to pick one boat and stick with it, no matter what. If you want to discover new worlds, you can’t hug the shoreline and have one foot dragging in the water; you have to strap on a life vest, pack supplies, and paddle until your arms feel like old Jell-o Wigglers hanging at your sides.
Dreams are like that too, I think.
This is all to say that I hope you dream really, extraordinarily big — I really do. But more than that, I hope you have the strength and support and adequate levels of crazy to doggedly pursue the thing that makes you feel alive. Make a plan. Do the plan. Give ‘em hell, and take what’s yours: a dream dreamed, a reality earned.
Facebook, Samsara, and a Contest You Should Enter
January 13th, 2010I canceled my Facebook account. I know, I know — bold choice.
Sort-of.
See, I can’t figure out how to wholly cancel the account, since the evil masterminds so obviously intent on world domination over at FB sweetly suspended my account, with the assurance that the moment I log-in again (that’s when, not if), everything will be just as it was, as if I never left at all.
Social networking is a slippery slope, particularly if you concern yourself with things like egolessness, dissolving attachment, and breaking down the barriers between self and other. On the one hand, social networks afford us the opportunity to connect with people in a way never-before possible and foster relationships without accord for spatial proximity or cultural barriers. On the other hand, every keystroke on a profile or self-affirming “tweet” entangles us deeper and deeper in the samsaric mire.
What is samsaric mire? Well, samsara is a Sanskrit word often translated as “suffering,” though its meaning is more complex. Samsara refers to the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, and it’s filled with the suffering of ignorance, aging and sickness. Without getting too entrenched with samsara, suffice it to say that any ego-confirming practice — anything that makes us believe in the permanence of our human condition — contributes to the suffering that is samsara.
In a word: Facebook.
Just to be clear, I am continually justifying the existence of my Twitter account (@beccafaith742) because I use it to connect with lots of phenomenal Buddhists and yogis, people who make me laugh (follow @effedparkslope and @tremendousnews if you need to lighten up), and I think it helps direct some of you here, to the blog. Which brings me to my next point: the blog.
I started this blog because I read in an independent contractor tax-law book that having a web site helps prove to the government that your (wildly unprofitable) sole proprietorship is, in fact, a business. Ever notice that pesky “schedule” link in the corner? Or my “prices and policies” page? Yes, those exist because I am trying (“desperately” might be the right modifier here) to be a full-time yoga instructor. Do you see that IRS? Do you?? But I digress…
So I started the blog and I called it “Becca Faith Yoga” because, well, that’s my name + the word “yoga,” and it just made very good sense. But for the last few months, I’ve become increasingly bothered by my name at the top of the page. I hate telling people the web address, and I’m even a little embarrassed at the presumptuousness of an eponymous title.
Hence, a contest:
- Re-name my blog. The new title should be relevant to the subjects treated here, so reading through some archives might be prudent. Kindly check to make sure your brilliant idea isn’t already a web site/blog.
- Post your idea in a comment on this post.
- At around this time next week, I’ll pick the title I like best and commence the domain-buying, name-switching nonsense. AND I’LL SEND THE WINNER A PRIZE. Depending on your practice, it will be either yoga- or meditation-related. Or not — you tell me. Whatever it is will be totally rad, natch.
I know this blog’s readership is relatively tiny, but let’s not make me feel like a total loser by NOT RESPONDING AT ALL, okay? I’ve already lost the personal affirmation of friend requests, “like” buttons, and heartfelt Happy Birthdays from people I haven’t seen since kindergarten, and I just don’t know how much more I can take.
Volunteering, and the Ultimate Answer to an Age-Old Question
January 11th, 2010Since July, I’ve been volunteering weekly at a lower east side shelter that provides services and support to homeless, disabled New Yorkers and homeless victims of domestic violence. Every Friday, I run a yoga class attended by people working through a startling array of medical and social issues: Multiple Sclerosis, Lupus, multiple amputations, stroke recovery, cancer, and the list goes on and on. Diseases and disorders aside, what most of my students have in common is a history riddled with abuse and abandonment. And yoga.
Over time [read: as my artfully constructed class plans fulfilled their collective destiny of MASSIVE FAILURE], I arrived at a system that’s safe and fun and spontaneous and totally chair-bound, since limited mobility is a hallmark of many residents’ conditions. It goes something like this:
11:00: greet students. commence chit chat.
11:15: introductions, breath awareness.
11:20-40: asana, including seated sun salutations, rotation awareness, twisting, lateral bending, hand & arm mudras, and good old-fashioned shoulder rolls.
11:40-12: meditation.
This week I started our meditation practice the way I do every week, by asking each person to weigh in on the question, What is meditation? I wanted needed to share their responses verbatim, because…well, you’ll see:
Meditation is…
- Concentrating
- Thinking
- Focusing on your breathing
- Thinking without thinking
- A process that makes your mind keen, so after meditation it’s like you can solve any problem
- Dreaming
There was some backlash after one of my sweetest, sleepiest students suggested “dreaming,” and I’m not really sure what happened next because it all transpired in rapid-fire Spanish, but suffice it to say, “dreaming” got the axe. Still, this is an impressive suite of answers and did I mention that those top three responses came from first-time yogis??
Because I got such superb-o answers, I gave slightly more in-depth instructions than usual. After five minutes of sitting, we talked about our experiences and there was a mixed bag. Some people felt peaceful and focused, others were sleepy, and one of my most consistent students said it went really bad. That’s when we talked about how there’s no “right” experience; how some days, the mind will be spacious and big like a clear sky and other days, it will be completely clouded over and some days, it might feel like the whole universe is jumbled up inside your brain.
Then I had a conversation with a brand-new student, which I will humbly transcribe below in the hopes that we all find a way to be so sure, so steady:
Student: I’m gonna do this everyday.
Me: That’s a wonderful plan. And ambitious. It’s really hard to sit everyday, especially by yourself.
Student: No, I’m doing this everyday until I die.
Me: Would you like to share your experience with us, so maybe we all try to sit everyday?
Student: This is the first time in my life that I could think one thought. The first time in my life. I have to do it. It’s good.
Me: It is good. It is really, really good.
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Resolutions, Wind Advisories, and Gardening in January
January 4th, 2010There’s been a severe wind advisory posted in New York for the last few days, and I can’t think of a more apt weather condition for ringing in the new year. Since many of us make a special effort to enact our resolutions in these first weeks of January, it seems right to me that the “winds of change” are blowing through with so much force.
But there’s something else. These winds? They’ll eventually die down. And unfortunately, a lot of our resolve will, too.
So how do you keep the momentum of change going once the wind has quieted to a whisper?
I have no idea. Seriously, I don’t know. But I’ve been reading Turning the Mind Into an Ally by Sakyong Mipham, and I’m pretty sure he’s got it all figured out:
The problem for most of us is that we’re trying to grow a flower on a rock. The garden hasn’t been tilled properly…It doesn’t work to just throw some seeds on top of the hard ground and then hope for the flowers to grow. We have to prepare the ground, which requires effort. First we have to move the rocks and hoe the weeds. Then we have to soften up the earth and create nice topsoil…[we are] creating the space for our garden to grow. Then we can cultivate qualities that will allow us to live our lives in full bloom. (7)
I think Sakyong Mipham really speaks to why New Year’s Resolutions notoriously fail; we try to make big changes without preparing ourselves for what’s coming. Most of us wouldn’t expect a long-time smoker to quit by saying “1…2…3…QUIT!” but that’s exactly what we’re doing by trying to effect change on January 1st.
What if we all decided to take January to prepare our soil and gather our seeds? Instead of commencing a starvation diet and over-zealous exercise plan, why not take extra time to plan meals, set goals for staying hydrated, and start to go for 20-minute walks 4 times a week? Or maybe instead of chaining yourself to a desk to bang out the Great American novel, why not start journaling this month to get into the swing of writing daily? And if you want to kick that nasty cigarette habit for good, why not dispense with the frigid poultry and start rationing your intake gradually, one day at a time?
If we just throw a handful of seeds at the frozen, winter-worn soil, these winds are gonna blow it all away. But if we find a way to thaw the ground and lovingly place each kernel in the earth…something beautiful just might grow.
NYE, Canapes, and (Not) Being a Fuddy-Duddy
December 29th, 2009I really hate New Year’s Eve.
I don’t like big crowds, especially not drunken ones, and I’m not such a fan of loud noises, either. Big, drunk crowds, loud noises, and a sparkly ball that doesn’t actually herald anything remotely to do with time…ugh. Holidays of renewal used to be about birth and ritual impregnation of young women and the moon cycle. Not anymore. Now it’s all empty rituals and booze and the highly unritualized impregnation of some young drunk thing.
Holidays in New York are particularly heinous because people flock here to be drunk and crowd-y. Remember Halloween? I can only imagine that Times Square is 8 trillion times worse than anything I’ve experienced, and will continue to merely imagine it since hell and the highest water could never get me within 10 20 23 subway stops of all that madness.
In my perfect world, I would spend December 31st cooking adorable canapes and puffs, and slicing fruits for delectable cocktails featuring sparkling wines and pomegranate. I would clean my house, borrow chairs from our neighbors, and spend a ridiculous amount of time on my hair. People would come over. We would eat, drink, feel extremely merry, maybe play a game or two. The ball would drop. I’d bring out the chocolate-covered strawberries, a little port or liquor, make some coffee for a hot toddy. Basically it would be the greatest NYE of all time. Ever.
This Thursday evening, I will certainly find myself in an overcrowded-is-an-understatement, overpriced-was-$10-ago bar with my boyfriend and his brother and his brother’s girlfriend. There won’t be canapes or puffs or pomegranates anywhere.
And I think I’ll be perfectly content.
I have a history of being a fuddy-duddy about parties. You can tell that that’s true because only fuddy-duddies use the term “fuddy-duddy.” I don’t like crowds. I never feel like I have the right clothes. Drunk people annoy me (yeah, that DOES include drunk me, and mmhmmm, I DID think of that). But this year, after slipping into my traditional fuddy-duddy-ness, I woke up to a very important fact: I’m totally full of shit.
Something I’ve learned this year is that most experiences are more terrifying and horrific in my mind than they are in real life (e.g., driving on the FDR, signing a lease with my boyfriend, paying a bill late (it totally wasn’t my fault, Time Warner, just to be clear)). So I have to believe that if I got out of my own way and just embraced the whole, crazy mess life brings, I’d be a happier, more fearless, less fuddy-duddy-ish person.
I still think a class-tastic party at home is a phenomenal NYE option, and someday I will have it my way. But for this year, I’m closing ‘09 and welcoming ‘10 (OH-ten? Are we doing that?) with an open mind and softened heart, even if it means an emptier wallet and the inevitable violation of my personal comfort zone.
Happy New Year, everyone. Don’t be a fuddy-duddy.