Dreaming of Yoga

They say dreams are symbols. That may be true. I certainly remember some of my dreams, and have throughout my life. Some are fraught with fear and make my pulse quicken with a sickening feeling of dread when I think of them even now. Others are funny and strange, or so symbolic it's actually laughable.

I remember once I dreamed I had a leaf-shaped key chain lying on the center console of my car, and with great dreaming awareness I turned it over. (Yes, that's right, turning over a new leaf.) I never have interesting dreams, not me. They are either terrifying or distorted—or so lame I cringe. I have dreams I remember since childhood that are vivid and horrible. I remember not only each dream, but also the resulting horrifyingly wakeful night, the rush into my mother's bed and my wide-eyed exhaustion. I remember my fearful focus on the bedroom window, wearily outlasting sleep to see the first muted colors of sunrise; the soft reassuring coo of doves outside signaling a safe moment to finally close my eyes.

I have sort of a running debate with my daughter about dreams. It's a family legacy for the daughter in any mother/daughter duo through the history of our family to be very into her dreams and for the mother to be resistant. The resulting debate: my daughter recites her dreams in detail while I remain steadfast in my position of uncomfortably advising her not to focus on dreaming at all. I wonder what the matriarchal dream aversion is in my family? Maybe it's just too many years of disturbing dreams. Maybe too many women in my family have suffered through years of prophetic dreaming and overly vivid imaginations. My dreams often seem like a forced acid trip might seem to a person in recovery.

For many years I have had what people call prophetic dreams. I have seen the face of someone in a dream unknown to me who I then meet the next day. I have dreamed that I would have a flat tire and the following morning, sure enough, yes. (My mother used to refer to this as my "psychic bullshit.") We matriarchs are also fairly circumspect about the psychic ability in this family as well. In my previous incarnation as a would-be actress in 1980s Hollywood, I even used to dream that my agent called and I needed to get in touch as soon as possible, and then the next morning would call only to find I did, indeed, have an audition.

Oh, yes, and then there are the recurring dreams. Do I dream that I am being followed through a labyrinth only to find a different way out each time? Of course not. I dream of floating trash. That's right, I am viewing trash as it is windblown through a car window. It's a recurring silent movie of floating trash. Fellini would have loved it. Ha.

So with all this preamble into the nether regions of my psyche, then why did I dream last night that I was doing yoga? Well, besides the fact that I have gotten out of my practice and need it, I am also screaming out for balance. You don't have to be a silent trash-viewing, leaf-turning matriarch of a great psychic-experience-denying family to get that one, baby. You only need the basics. Sometimes we dream about what we need. Sometimes we do in dreams what we wish we were doing in real life. (I can hear those three special friends who consistently read my blog filling in the words "Joe Manganiello" after the words "wish we were doing"—and shame on you.)

I wish I were in the balance and peace of yoga.

So where has yoga gone in my life in the last months? Yoga can fall away. I think for me it fell away through a long bout of bronchitis and then stayed away because of a feeling that I didn't have the strength to begin again. But I am forgetting an important aspect of yoga that many of us forget. Yoga is a personal journey. And I don't care how many “fitties” in your health club class sneer at you because you can't keep up or you’re clearly a novice. (They probably aren't actually sneering; they are probably victims of your own "self-hate-colored glasses.")

Yoga is personal. In the best yoga classes I have seen people who have been at all different levels, happily, comfortably, and peacefully. The best yoga teacher of my life started class by having us all turn around and face the back windows. No mirrors. She felt (and rightly) that yoga is not about judging. Yoga is about embracing where and who you are—right then, in that moment.

I remember when I got this. There is a lot of bending and twisting (writhing) in yoga. You get to see the parts of your body that you don't spend a lot of time contemplating. For example, it was in yoga that I first became very up close and personal with my toes. Not my greatest feature, and a source of consistent judgment and unhappiness in the litany of my-messed-up-body-parts song and dance.

So, one day while I was there bent in a position to very closely commune with my toes, and my teacher (guru) said:

“Let go,
 Accept where you are,
 Love and appreciate your body for being the vehicle that gets you here to yoga."

Suddenly, I got it, and I was filled with an embracing love for my previously considered flawed appendages. My amusing little toes and my 52-year-old live-in-them legs were quite frankly a miracle in getting my soul around. Amazingly useful, incredibly wonderful, particularly blessed toes. They stood me up, they made me walk, or run, or dance, or climb, or anything else I wanted to do. They rubbed the fur of my dog as she sat under the table, they squished sand in between them on a hot summer beach and they got me to yoga—in that moment.

A lady who can embrace her toes can embrace herself—warts and all. Our bodies are blessed amazing instruments and they are incredibly necessary. And hating them and hurting them and avoiding them and disregarding them can only stop at the moment we embrace ourselves and say, "Bless this little toe."

So here I am today with my bag of issues, my sack of problems, my hat full of worries and my pocketful of miracles. Loving ourselves enough to open the way to greater self-care starts small. It's loving the flaws first. It's just perspective.

Maybe we can all turn over this new leaf (sorry) and give it a try. Today my toes, tomorrow the world!

With all the love there is,

Beauty

The Summer of (Self) Love

Photo Credit,  Joni Mitchell, For the Roses

I am not sure how many of my readers were around to experience the real Summer of Love. As a child in the late 60s I remember it, however, I certainly did not have any of the awareness of a teenager or young adult deeply moved by that moment in history. I think this photo of Joni Mitchell symbolizes what I imagine personal physical freedom to be; what I imagine self-love to be in photo expression--a complete relaxation of self, unadorned, free, naked--feeling at home in one's body and soul and in harmony with one's surroundings. At its best the Summer of Love seems to have been a time of love consciousness. The concept is interesting to me as I think about what I would like the rest of this summer to be for me.

When I look at this picture of Joni Mitchell I can imagine what it would be like to be transported. On a rock experiencing the spray of the Pacific ocean and the heat of the sun immersed in a private and personal joy. I see someone who feels well and serene. Health is directly related to how we feel emotionally. Stress or sadness, emotional turmoil, or even negativity play a part in overall health. Why this is seems fairly simple when you think about it. Emotional pain is exhausting--whether it's the pain brought on by loss or just daily and unrelenting stress. Emotional pain can be about how we feel about ourselves. People live lives that are out of sync with their values. People often don't see themselves as worthy; they see themselves as flawed instead of as children of God. There are many reasons we can get stuck in emotional pain. Once we are stuck it seems like physical issues follow.

So, how to deal with this? The logical and easy answer is get over the pain, get over the exhaustion, move forward into a good attitude and healthy habits.  For people in pain or experiencing stress that seems like a huge mouthful. Like someone saying, "Hey, just change your whole life and you will be able to get it together. Oh, and do it now. Oh, and I have no idea how. Gotta go."

But any task can be completed by simply breaking it into doable pieces. By making it underwhelming and manageable. When things are manageable they seem less stressful, when stress is reduced happiness increases. It's just a matter of giving ourselves the same rational and calm help we would give our child or a cherished friend. How do we treat ourselves with love while at the same time nudge ourselves into a workable, reasonable plan?

To metaphorically drop one's burdens of ill health and emotional baggage and stand before the ocean naked on a rock. This summer is about getting naked on that rock. (Yes, I am laughing, but it does have value.) How do we get to be our best selves, our healthiest selves, and how do we do it this summer? I am excited to see how. I am open to the new experience. Willingness is the first step.

Enjoy a Joni classic and have an amazing, sun drenched day--and a summer that makes you remember the peace of the Pacific Ocean and the paradise of California.

Love--
Beauty