Galungen

One of my favorite things about working with a company based in Bali is to learn all the traditions and holidays.  I love getting an email in response to some request I have that states “sorry but we are closed for the next three days for Galungan”.  Galungan?  This of course prompts me to investigate more what that holiday/celebration is all about.  Bali is not lacking for celebrations, and while we were there last spring it seemed there was one each day .   Bali has a unique calendar that displays all of these holidays in its cycle of 210 days.  Galungan occurs once in the 210-day cycle of the Balinese calendar, and marks the time of the year when the spirits of the ancestors are believed to visit the earth.   This is a ten day holiday, with the last three days being of the most importance, the final day being Kuningan

I am told that Galungan is the most important holiday symbolizing the victory of Virtue (Dharma) upon Evil (Adharma). Galungan is the most important feast for Balinese Hindus, a celebration to honor the creator of the universe (Ida Sang Hyang Widi) and the spirits of the honored ancestors.   Our designers tell us it is big like Christmas is big here. 

During Galungan the whole island sprouts tall bamboo poles called "penjor" - these are usually decorated with fruit, coconut leaves, and flowers, and set up on the right of every residence entrance. At each gate, you'll also find small bamboo altars set up especially for the holiday, each one bearing woven palm-leaf offerings for the spirits, set on the right side of every house entrance. People are attired in their finest clothes and jewels this day.  The arch of the penjor represents Mt. Agung, the body is river that flows from the mountains to the sea, and along its route are the products of the harvest, tied to the pole; at the foot of the pole is a temporary shrine.

So I wish you all a very happy Galungan, and encourage you to ponder upon Virtue/Dharma victory over Adharm/Evil and to pray/meditate upon your ancestors, those that have passed before on this planet so that you my be here now.  With much gratitude....

I’m sure by now you’ve all see the bumper sticker or sign somewhere, W.W.J.D.? with the original meaning “What Would Jesus Do?”  Interesting slogan and it has seemed to have caught on.  Just the other day my friend saw a car with the bumper sticker “What Would Janet Do?”  Janet who?  Jackson?  Her personal friend named Janet?  These WW_D? slogans can take an interesting twist by filling in the blank.  I personally have decided to make my own version:  W.W.S.D.?

I’ve taken notice that some of my favorite people I am blessed to have in my life with qualities I’d like to emulate all have their first name beginning with the letter “S”.   My Maha teacher, Shiva Rea,  my business partner Soma, my local teacher, coach  mentor and friend Shannon Schneider and my long time therapist Shana.  All these “S” women have ways of being, ways of communicating, ways of devotion, ways of teaching that I strive for, dream of, and desire for myself.  Maybe not so coincidentally they all have characteristics of the paramount “S”  Shakti, the personification, of divine feminine creative power!

When I’m in a tough spot I try to ask myself what would S_____  do?  When I am in my habitual reactionary place, how would “S” handle this?  More often than not I don’t have a clear answer, primarily because I am not them and I don’t really know, BUT I have a pretty good idea and even just that pause, that extra breath, that inquiry within, between my response or reaction sometimes that question is enough to have my name begin with an S.  I may not know for certain how my “S”s would handle certain situations but here are my best guesses.

Soma, beautiful Soma, she would turn to devotion, Bhakti, worship, meditation.  She, of course,  is the one pictured above in the Ganges river.  She would look to her spiritual guides in all their forms.  She would get on her knees and pray, bow, offer.  She has very little doubt.  I so admire her skill in dedication, her unwavering, and all with such an incredible love and very old maternal wisdom. 

Shiva, fierce, soft,  gorgeous Shiva.  She would devour, dedicate, inquire, swallow whole, embody, study, embrace and exemplify all with such love and tenderness mixed with fierceness and strength.  She would move it and bend it and twist it through her body with power and ease.  Should would breathe and embrace it, all the while touching every soul in her 100 mile radius, changing their lives.  She is an incredible example of strength in a extremely feminine form.  She is beauty, love, power incarnate in a blonde fierce fairy package of intelligence! 

Shannon, poetic musing moving Shannon.  She speaks, writes and bends and turns her words into song and poetry.  She then takes those words into form in movement and leadership.  She takes her poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression and turns all that somehow into the most moving soul stirring of yoga classes.  She is the muse. 

Shana with her tousled head of black curls radiates femininity, knowledge and power through her communication.  Her “white witchy-ness” is mesmerizing and empowering.  Her way of placing words, thoughts, emotions and feelings into graspable, tangible terms is astounding.  Most admirable is her ability to speak to men in a way that seems to stir them., almost like a spell has been cast.

And Shakti, well Shakti, she is the divine mother of it all.  Not only is Shakti responsible for creation, she is also the agent of all change.  Shakti is cosmic existence as well as liberation.  She is the sacred force of empowerment, all in all a very multi-dimensional goddess! 

With my cast of “S” women to call on I will always have a profound answer to “W.W.S.D.?”   As Shannon often quotes “we ARE the company we keep.”   You can refer to me as Skaryn from now on.....

Bali Malas that adorn my “S”s:

1. Shiva Rea wears often our Rudrani/Pearl mala and Citta Seeds designs and even has her own collection with us! 
2. Shana likes anything with lava, like our Strength choker
3. Shannon is a self proclaimed “mala-holic” and lets her mood rule her mala of the day
4. Soma is of course the creator of them all!
5. Shakti wears of course the traditional, plain malas, however we have specific designs that invoke Shakti.

One of these mornings

You're going to rise up singing

Then you'll spread your wings

And you'll take to the sky

But until that morning

There's a'nothing can harm you

With your daddy and mammy standing by

Summertime,

And the livin' is easy

~ G. Gershwin

Ice Cream Truck!

We live in a neighborhood where an ice cream truck rolls through every summer afternoon, annoying little jingle blaring from its speakers.  Annoying not only because it is a sure sign I will have to make the decisions for my daughter, is it too close to dinner time, has she already had enough sweets for the day, is it really a good idea to support a gas guzzling over priced non healthy treat brought you your curb?  But also annoying because it is a catchy, and by this I mean stuck in your head for the rest of your life catchy, little ditty that has not changed in over 15 years.  In a way a nice constant that summer is upon us, in another way, why can’t they change the darn tune? 

As a way to cope with the ice cream trucks daily cruise, my husband and I have decided that whenever we hear its tinny chimes we hear it as our “meditation bell”.  It is time for us to stop whatever we are doing and take a minute to breathe consciously, to reflect on our pattern of thought.  Are we being kind in that moment?  Are we open to compassion and ease at that moment?  The charm of it all is we never really know when it will roll down our street, and sometimes when we are in other parts of our town we hear it and stop and reflect then as well.  At the carwash, in line at the bank....

What in your life is a constant that you may find annoying that could turn into your daily reminder to breathe?  Isn’t that often the way, something that really bugs you often becomes your best teacher?  AND you get get a creamsicle while you’re at it!

Immersion

Like a naked dove bar dipping into the dark chocolate coating over and over, so was my recent ten day training with my teacher Shiva Rea.  I was at the studio at 6:30-7am each day, sweating, scribbling notes, bending myself, twisting my brain and my body, stretching and growing, dipping myself into that vat of sweet yoga chocolate.   Coating myself thoroughly, being sure not one spec of my pure white vanilla ice cream self was left exposed.   At the end of the day I’d stiffly walk the two blocks home, eat, read the study materials, work on sequencing and fall into a deep slumber.  Wake up at 6am the next morning and do it again.   Dousing, dipping, plunging....

As I listened daily to my dear husband holding down the home front, I learned that LIFE was still happening at home, in FULL SWING.   The unexpected in life; broken wrists, dog hit by car (happy to report both are fine and mending) and of course the more common of life, the laundry machine breaking, cooking/cleaning, grocery shopping.  I shared and learned from my fellow “yogic dove bars” in the training with me that their lives too were still in full swing back home.  All while we moved into our 100th downward dog of the day with our delicious chocolate coatings still wet.   Huh, I really didn’t HAVE to do it all, I couldn’t do it all, at least not right now!  To have ONE thing to solely focus on for an extended period of time, ONE thing to deeply engage in.   Just ONE thing to occupy myself with, to go to sleep with and wake up to and carry with me throughout the entire day.   When was the last time ONE thing got my complete and full attention?  In my incredibly speedy, over scheduled, pulled 1000 directions world,  I often do many many things in a 24 hour period, but honestly not ONE of them is done really well.  I learned that sometimes it is necessary to pick one thing and plunge, dip, douse, duck, dunk, submerge yourself into it.  No nuts, no whip cream, no fancy sprinkles, no extras,  just ONE thing.  Back home now, I have somehow found more space, mentally and emotionally, to attend to my life.  The daily full swing of groceries, work, carpools, kids, and dinners seem to have a vastness to them now.  I have more room in me. 

Pick your “dove bar” and dive in, your vat of sweet dark chocolate awaits!

My immersion mala of choice was the  “Ayu”.  The rudraksha beads are now very dark with the

my experience while the south sea  pearl’s luster is activated.  The shortened length of this mala

was perfect for the practice of yoga.  I am still wearing it but will be taking it off soon for the first

time in a month or so.   Whenever I go to wear this mala again I will certainly be reminded of my

yogic dove bar experience.  See our selection for you at www.shop.balimalas.com

Motherhood as Yoga

“There’s a special place in heaven for the mother of three boys…”

The gentle music, the sweet sweat glistening on my skin, the most incredible feeling of relaxation and all is bliss with the world.  The calming voice of the yoga instructor at the front of the room guiding our breath, the harsh intercom voice piped into our sanctum requesting I attend to my child immediately in the nursery. 

So began my introduction to yoga and mommy-hood….. again.

I have four children.  I have spent 22 years, 20 years, 18 years and 8 years collectively and individually with each of them.  My oldest son will be 32 years old when my youngest child graduates high school.   All of my adult life (excluding the year from 21-22) has been spent as a mother.  All these years at motherhood have taught me how strong of a person I really am and really am not, and that I can do almost anything backwards in high heels with a baby on my hip. 

Eight or so years ago, with my fourth child tummy still soft and flabby, engorged breasts, and sleep deprived, I heard a call from within me towards serenity. This call took the form of a recreation center guide section entitled “Yoga”.   I would have loved to have my introduction to yoga be at one of the many top rated yoga studios that we are fortunate to have in our Yogi community of Boulder, CO, but the rec. center offered the one thing these top rated, world class studios did not……childcare.  Only in 1.5 hour intervals mind you, the exact length of the class.  With baby and diaper bag in tow, I signed my child into the care of strangers and walked across the hall into bliss.

After my first EVER three movements of a sun salutation; inhaling with hands raising upwards to meet above my head, extending from the middle of my back (known to me as my wing center), then lowering my arms, in swan dive fashion folding over as I exhaled, lifting half way up from my middle as I inhaled, exhaling folding over my mommy belly again, inhaling fully as I raised up, arms floating overhead and eventually landing over my larger than life breasts in prayer.  I knew in that moment I had found something that was to shift me and mold me, rearrange me somehow.  This yoga was something I wanted to share and teach to others, especially to mothers.

Mom, Mum, Ma, Mama, Mommy, Mummy, Ma, or as my middle son likes to refer to me “the giver of life”…  The yoga mantra of mommy-hood.

How motherhood relates to life, is that like life you are never done, never really off duty, never really far from the essence of being a mother, until the day of course when you are done.    Motherhood sneaks into your dreams, your vacations away from your kids, your date nights with your husband.   An essential survival skill to motherhood is to know how to put the kids and their issues out of your mind, but they never leave your heart.  Even when I die I will still have folks on this planet that knew me as their mother and possibly, as their grandmother.  The family is a web and the mother is the silk.  She connects all the dots, she weaves the kids, cousins, relatives, friends, community, kids, appointments, life, marriage, together. 

I always thought I’d be a mother from when I was young but I never knew why I would be a mother.   What did being a mother entail? Why did I want to be a mother?  Why did I want to have multiple children?  Even pregnant with my fourth child I found this question difficult to answer.   Maybe it is one of those things you can’t answer, because it just is, it is just my path this go around. 

When all four of my children are home together – which is not often of late - THESE are the days as a mother that I cherish.  As they grow and move and expand so do we as a family.  I was recently asked “what is it that I once richly held close and now is radically empty?”  Deep question I know, you should meet the woman who asked it, Shannon Schneider of movingwiththemuse.com.  She is the one who encouraged me when I didn’t think I was young enough, hip enough, or gumby-esk enough to be a yoga teacher.  She is the one who reminded me of what I could teach, about embodiment and movement from my experiences as a mother.  What I could offer to those younger, hipper and seemingly more swavay than myself, about their bodies from my 45 year old mother of four body. 

My answer to this oh so probing question of what was held so close that is now empty, is my sons as boys.  Their curls, baths, trucks, legos, slingshots and rubber band guns.  Their dirt, loud playfulness, their fears, and fighting, scrabbling, smelly, beautiful, ease-i-ness selves.  My value to them by applying tickle cream to scrapes, and when needed, taking them as calmly as possible to the ER for stitches and casts.   Finding the popsicles to give them when the sore throats struck, and cool cloths to foreheads to settle fevers.   Reading books and books and books, Winnie the Pooh, Goodnight Moon, Dr Seuss, Star Wars, Narnia, Lord of the Rings.  Combing their locks and washing out the dirt between their toes, cutting their nails.  Cheering and encouraging them on oh so many, many soccer fields, baseball fields, and piano recitals.  Picking them up from wherever, whenever to appointments, school, dates, friend’s houses.  Their simple complexity of being boys.  Being asked for advice, help with applications, studying for tests making science fair projects, and filling out the forms and forms and yet more forms.  Friends, first loves, drivers license exams, college dorm shopping, and now…….well not too much really.

Now, once, twice, three times a year if I’m lucky I get to wash my oldest son’s uniforms, fold his clothes, make his favorite meals and host a party with all his buddies in between his deployments in the Navy.     Maybe six times a year I get to make my middle son’s favorite meals, chat on the phone but more on Facebook, offer advice with direction and goals, classes and jobs.  With the last one who is still at home, but hardly ever home, who is deep in the  throngs of being 18, we are mostly struggling through the emancipation process, curfews, grades, SATs, and college prep.  The occasional twenty bucks here, $100 there.  Not exactly priceless moments.  I am now the mother to young men, no longer boys. 

I send my opening “OM”s in my yoga classes often to my sons.  I often will dedicate a practice to one, or all of my children.  I have found myself in tears during a class, releasing or grieving the loss of one of those boys into manhood.  They have given me my strength, like my yoga, they have guided me, like my yoga, they have pushed back, like my yoga, they have in many ways raised me, like my yoga.   Yoga has aided me through my evolution of  unraveling of my three boys to men.   My yoga is motherhood, motherhood is my yoga. 

So the saying goes, there is a special place in heaven for the mother of three boys, I believe there too is a special place in heaven, here on earth, for the mother of three men.  Watching them walk away to their next deployment at the airport, towards their jobs here in town, towards their university classes, towards their girlfriends open arms, towards their ever growing independent lives, is the most pride filled and pain filled sight for me as their mother.  The in between, the independence, the interdependence, the yoking, the union, the yoga of being their mother. 

I am so grateful to have my girl, my beautiful daughter of eight years.  The hair-dos, nail painting, tea parties, dolls, and pink dresses.   The sweetness, the cuddles, the discussions, art projects and the nature walks with her I cherish.  I am excited to be a bit older and hopefully a wiser, more patient, more present, yogic-like mother for her.  The mother who soon will lead other mothers with their flabby new mommy tummies and engorged breasts to breathe, move, stretch and embody their motherhood through an hour and a half hopefully with no intercom calls from the nursery.

Why be a mother?  Possibly the answer is simply because I am.

Bali Malas

tribute to all

mothers

Mother/Ibu

Welcome to Bali

Bali, Indonesia, Island of the Gods:

In March, 2010 Karyn and Jay set off for the island of Bali for a part business trip part vacation, and part life experience sort of trip.  With the island of Java to the west and Lombock to the east, Bali (pop. 3.5 million) is the only Hindu province surrounded by the remaining 33 muslim provinces of Indonesia.  Indonesia is the largest archipelago in the world with over 18,000 islands.   We agree with Margaret Mead’s assessment  “Bali is an enchanted land of aesthetes at peace with themselves and nature”.   Balinese Hinduism is deeply interwoven with art and ritual, daily offerings and daily celebrations.  Bali's tourism brand is Bali Shanti Shanti Shanti. ("Shanti" (शान्ति) meaning peace).   The perfect birth place of our malas.

Distance between Boulder, Colorado, United States and Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia, as the crow flies:  9151 miles (14727 km) (7952 nautical miles) which equals an approx. 21 hours worth of air travel and 14 hour time difference with Karyn stopping in Seoul Korea, and Jay stopping in Taiwan (took separate flights, long story).   $1USD=10,000 Rupiah made for rather simple conversion.  Avg. temp. while we were there 90 degrees with 87% humidity.  We were told it WASNT the hot season.  We always seemed wet with sweat, ocean water, pool water or from a shower.

Language = difficult.  With over 350 native languages in use the most common one is  Bahasa Indonesian, we got a few key phrases down, the one we most used was terima kasih (thank you).  When Karyn, using her handy dandy dictionary, gave directions to the driver in Bahasa Indonesian she was given a long response in maybe Bahasa, none of which she could understand!  Lesson learned.  Gratefully many people new a touch of English, some very well.

We are grateful to our friends, business partners and hosts Soma and Shiva for letting us stay at their beautiful villa in Pecatu, near Ulu Watu.  We adored meeting our new friends Kunda and Sangeeta (and fellow band members of Sankirtan) from Byron  Bay.  We are so happy to have met all of Soma and Shiva’s beautiful staff (Made, Made and Made, the Balinese have only four names for family members denoting birth order and caste) who did all our cooking, laundry, driving, cleaning, and the occasional massage!  We were so glad to finally put some faces to those we work with at  Aum Rudraksha/BaliMalas.  and to see their offices.  We were touched to meet Robin Lim of Bumi Sehat, it is often to hear of those trying to change the world, but to actually meet someone who IS was truly a blessing and very humbling.    The Bali Spirit Festival was the culmination of our trip and as always an inspiring time for Karyn to be with her teacher Shiva Rea, at the sacred Monkey Forest Temple and given the treat to visit the inner most sanctum of this temple after performing the first ever western Kecak dance there!

We were in Bali for two weeks, which felt like at least a month.  We traveled from the southern most point at Soma’s villa on Bingin Beach on the Bukit to the northern island of Menjangan island for the most incredible snorkeling/scuba.  We loved staying at Taman Sari so much we expended it a night, and sponsored a baby coral in their reef project there.  We stayed in Ubud at the Mansion, in the center of the island and drove scooters everywhere (on the opposite side of the road, a real experience in itself).  Time, minds and hearts were all expanded.  Our tans are beginning to fade and peel but I can still smell the scent of frangipani in our clothes.  As a friend told me, sometimes the real trip begins once you come home.  We are finding this to be very true.

Ulu Watu

On my list of things I really wanted to do while in Bali was to visit temples and learn to surf.  While we were staying with our dear friends/hosts/business partners, Soma and Shiva, they told us UluWattu, which offers both, was very close to their villa .  They lent us beautiful sarongs and waist scarfs (require attire to visit any temple in Bali), and told me to take off all jewelry because of the monkeys. With limited directions and our handy dandy Indonesian dictionary off my husband and I ventured for our first motorbike ride (on the opposite side of the road) through this country to find UluWattu. 

The countryside on this part of the Bukit (southern peninsula of Bali) is gorgeous and we were pleasantly surprised at the condition of the roads, freshly paved and smooth.  As we zoomed along, up and down curving our way closer, I was excited to visit to my first Hindu temple.  I had heard from friends who had been to India about their temple experiences and was anxious to have my own.  We easily found the nearly empty parking lot surrounded by small Warungs (shops/restaurants) and proceeded to do the sarong wrap (too difficult to ride on a motorbike with sarong on) and agreed to hire a guide to take us through the monkeys to the temple. 

Our guide Wyrung carried a large slingshot and had to merely think about pointing it at the monkey’s who wouldn’t move from our path, and they scattered, I assume they had felt the twang of a pebble launched from his slingshot in the past.  Smart monkeys.  We were quickly taken in by the incredible view of the Indian Ocean

crashing at least 1000 feet below us.  I could easily see why this was considered a “directional Temple” that guards Bali from evil spirits from the SW.  The blues, greens, whites of the ocean churning below were spectacular.  We stood in a hypnotic state for a bit, silently watching and taking in where we were standing. Had we really just been at the foot of the Rocky Mountains yesterday?   We continued our walk along the wall of the outer most temple to the Pura Luhur Uluwatu Temple with its black coral rock and more spectacular views.  I kept looking for the “temple”, and our guide kept pointing to an open courtyard.  Not exactly what I had pictured as a temple.   No ceiling and low walls, a large elaborate entrance gate area, many stone statues and an open courtyard.  This was the typical Balinese Hindu temple.  Later I learned the lack of roof makes it easier to communicate with the gods.  Famous not only for its unique position, Uluwatu boasts as one of the oldest temples in Bali, built by a Javanese Hindu priest in the 10th century.  In the 15th Century the great pilgrim priest Dhang Hyang Dwijendra, who established the present form of Hindu-Dharma religion, chose Pura Uluwatu as his last earthly abode: history records that Dwijendra achieved moksa (oneness with the godhead, in a flash of blazing light) while meditating at Uluwatu.  This wasn’t too far of a stretch to imagine that happening here. 

Through the heat of the day we began our decent over the west side of the temple, pausing in the shade to take in this sides’ view, we spotted  far below in the raging waves and rocks, really?  Surfers?!   They must be crazy, how did they get there? After a cooling coconut and drink at a Warung we hopped on our motorbike and headed over to Uluwatu Beach.

Down many many narrow steps you arrive to a small slit of sand with the ocean churning between two steep walled caves.  This is the entrance and exit to some of the best surfing around, granting of course you can get through this gauntlet during high tide.

We took a quick dip to cool off and even wading here was treacherous as the waves pushed you to and fro with all their might.  This beach is well known for its surfing movie-making angles and perches, and in nearby hostelries, its full moon rage parties. A popular surfing spot for the very experienced, and for us not so experienced Uluwatu offers a wonderful vantage point to watch.   We had lunch at one of the many warungs  perched on the cliff and surveyed the vast Indian Ocean full of daredevil surfers.  We oohed and awed over our burgers at each surfers ride and subsequent wipeouts.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSPVpT0Pg5I&feature=youtube_gdata

As we made our way back home to Villa Soma I understood why our malas and jewelry carried the energy and essence they do.  Just having this first day in the neighborhood where our designs are created and made, a day of spirituality, history and surf really made sense as to why our products are so incredibly unique.  Bali Malas pieces are made in one of the most culturally rich, historically strong, geographically beautiful, inspiring places on the planet I’ve ever visited.  When I got back to the

offices at the villa I named one of our bracelets Uluwatu Surf Bracelet and put it on.  It has sat on my wrist now for over four weeks.  The colored thread has faded and mellowed and the salt water of all the ocean swims has worn off, but as long as I wear this I will feel the push and pull of the Uluawtu beach caves, the heat of the temples, the thrill of the surfers and the warding off of the evil spirits. 

P.S. surf lessons will have to wait for another day.

Firekeeping.

Fire keeper, tender of the flames, igniting, fueling and sustaining,all the while transforming alchemically from solid to smoke to ash...

On a morning when our front yard was dusted with snow like powdered sugar I knew it was the morning to light my fire.   I found myself alone in the house, an uncommon occurrence with four children and a husband who works at home.  I seized the opportunity and moved the furniture to the sides of the room, gathered up arm fulls of wood, turned on the music, laid out the sticky mat, my malas and my journal.  While I got the fire going, which took quite some time, I thought about how much effort it can take to really get a good sustainable fire going, figuratively AND literally.  With soot stained hands, the entire morning's paper crumbled and gone, frustration building, working on intentionally starting a potentially destructive entity.  As though asking for your commitment to it, to let it know it can trust you to maintain it and not let it go out of control.  A silent contract between creator and energy.  Hence the adage "don't play with fire", it is to be taken seriously.   So I asked for help (Google) and learned that a secret to building a roaring, nearly self-sustaining, long enduring fire is actually counter intuitive.  Building a large base transitioning up to small twigs and needing only TWO sheets of paper, and ONE match, my fuel was mindfully arranged.  A sacrificial Mayan pyramid of Colorado pine.  Once the twigs and paper lit the brilliant red orange embers burrowed down into the center igniting the next layer of bigger and bigger wood pieces.  None of this lost its metaphor for my life.   It pays to design, prepare, have plenty of fuel, think of what comes next and ask for help.  As the second level of my pine pyramid litup, so did I into my practice.

As I released and went deeper into the flow of movement I felt the tapas, the heat, rising through me, heating to my bones, the kind of warmth that will get you through a January full of Chinook winds.  I caught a reflection of myself in our front windows a ghostly representation of movement with an intensity of blaze rising, roaring, raging, behind me.  I turned facing the fire and met myself eye to eye in the old mirror above our mantel (what HAS that mirror seen and echoed back through time?).  I was nearly unrecognizable to myself.  How often do you really see into yourself, look into your own eyes like you would your beloveds?  I saw centered in my grayish blue spheres a very tiny flame, a little light that I know has never been exterminated since I began this practice of breathing 45 years ago. I may have forgotten about it, ignored it, doused it in water and sometimes sand, entered into wind storms, used a regulated and licensed Class C Halon fire extinguisher, AND encountered several snuffers in my life, however it has never extinguished.   I have often needed to strike another match (or 20), add more twigs, paper, cardboard and kleenex, and even resort to adding old candle wax but most often I've  just had to let go and be consumed.  A sliver of a flame in grey/blue eyes in a body that is dancing and swaying, sweating and on fire on a random Tuesday morning in my living room.

I replaced the furniture, nodding with gratefulness to our front door not having to have encountered the UPS man during my personal combustion.  Gliding by the fire grate I dipped three fingers into the grayness and swiped a trilika across my forehead.   " What is it about lighting yourself on fire and watching yourself burn that is so pleasurable?" my teacher asked me later in the week.  I think it is the smooth, silky soft, pale smoldering ash that is left behind.