The Mat

My long time mentor and friend once explained the role of discipline to me in growth. For the longest time I believed discipline was something that I sorely lacked. I was never a sporty person so sports practice was never a part of my schedule. I didn’t play an instrument, so I missed out on scales and drills. I was a singer (once upon a time) but I never considered my rehearsals a discipline because I loved to sing. I was a study geek in high school, I was genuinely disappointed if I didn’t get an A. But I felt compelled (for the most part) to study, because giving less than 100% felt like letting everybody down.

I was a strict vegetarian for many years and I avoided all caffeine, alcohol and drugs (prescription and elicit) for 3 years. This was what I considered my only discipline. I felt that my moods and fluxes made me flighty and inconsistent and that I was too rebellious to toe the line. I believed that military discipline in all its unyielding precision was the only real discipline and hoped against hope that by hanging out with military men (3 of my best friends at this stage were serving in the army) I would learn to respect discipline though osmosis.

As wonderful as military men are (and they are, I married one of them, though he is no longer in the Army) they did teach me one thing; military discipline is something that cannot be sustained constantly. The stricter the discipline in their day the harder they ‘let loose’ in their down time. I am still in awe of the air of discipline and order that permeates their world, but I now know that discipline need not be nailed down and policed. Discipline is essentially commitment in action.

My mentor, a wonderfully wise woman who has been a yoga teacher (amongst other things) for more years than I have lived, described discipline to me as ‘returning to the [yoga] mat’. Her definition of discipline (which I have happily appropriated) is continuing to return to your practice, whatever that may be, time and time again. Endlessly and reliably returning to the mat rain, hail or shine, with your exhaustion, grief or joy. It doesn’t matter how you show up, so long as you do.

My practice is varied. My commitment is to my highest self. I return daily to compassion, to honouring my desires and giving of myself in loving service [Bakti] every single day without fail. Sometimes I show up whining, others joyfully, sometimes I show up in pain. Every day without fail I say ‘yes’ to my son when I want to say ‘no’, every day without fail I honour my desires with a relaxed cup of tea, chocolate or a candle-lit shower. Every day without fail I seek to learn more of who I am and to show love to the world. It took me more than a decade of practice to realise that this, this is my discipline and it requires I toe no line but that of my own heart.

I would love to hear about your discipline.

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Practice

When it flows it flows… but honestly, how often does it flow?

It is easy to be compassionate and forgiving to those we love, when those people are behaving beautifully. It is harder to remain kind when they are being unreasonable, and harder still when they are being unreasonable when we are in a bad mood. It is exponentially harder to be kind and compassionate to a stranger.

If we rely on our natural tendencies we would be grumpy and unkind most of the time. That would suck.

It takes study and practice to master any skill. If we relied solely on our impetus the world would be sadly devoid of all professions and crafts except for prodigies and geniuses. We would all meander through life without building on our skills, haphazardly picking up a guitar, a paintbrush and an economics book from day-to-day. Some of my friends would be expert cocktail drinkers, others (I probably fall into this category) would be expert readers, others would be fantastic adventurers. I know a few lawyers, I wonder if they felt compelled to read those dry dreary text books or if it was simply their begrudged, pragmatic study.

There is no such thing as a gifted person, sure there are plenty of people with exceptional potential and we all know what Dylan Moran has to say about potential. (You don’t? It is a worthwhile, valuable and piss yourself funny perspective, I highly recommend you check it out!) In essence potential alone is useless without practice.

To achieve anything worthwhile, even love, it takes dedication. Unrelenting practice. Returning time and time again to our skills; revisiting our failures, reviewing our weaknesses, putting our skills into practice every day. Even if we don’t want to, especially when we don’t want to.

*Hat tip Kelly Diels

The challenge

I was going to write about my search for a guide, but in my procrastination I happened across this. Yes I would love for you to click and go take a look. In fact I am still browsing the site, however I’ll give you the cliff notes here.

It is a challenge, a 3 week challenge. It’s called the 21.5.800 challenge. A challenge for Yogis and Writers. Specifically Writers who want, or should or used to, be yogis. Or Writers who like to lay down a lot. Anyhow.  It goes like this:

for 21 days

5 yoga sessions a week

writing 800 words a day

No it is not the guide I am looking for, but it is movement. Agitation in the good sense of the word. Something positive to focus on while my guide and focus find me. Perhaps in the 16,800 words I will be writing I will uncover my next project/direction.

The project need not be for creative writers. The words can be study notes, essays, journals, creative writing. Pretty much anything. So I encourage you to jump over to binduwiles and join in.

My husband and I have joined, (guess this is one of the times when it rocks to be married to a yoga teacher) so I will keep you updates as to how it goes.

The great lie

“One misunderstanding is that if you do the right thing, then life’s storms will stop. If you do the right thing, the storms actually get bigger. This is because they know they can’t blow you down like they used to” David Deida

I remember a time when I didn’t know this fact. Maybe I didn’t have eyes to see it. Maybe I was still naive to much an idealist. Whatever. I was in my own little bubble and  I clearly remember thinking ‘if we just help people to sort out their shit [very technical term] then bad things will stop happening to them. Perfect!’ I am almost ashamed to admit the delight I felt at this ‘Aha!’ moment. Under this extremely foolish pretense I took out a loan and studied a number of natural and alternate therapies.

I went on my merry way, acing exams and a few short years later setting up a little practice only to discover;

1) David Deida is right. The better you get at life, the harder it gets.

2) Life, heck the whole damned the universe, is cyclic. It will move from blissful, to average, to meh, to shit and back again over and over. This is the nature of life.

After this realisation hit me (and it did hit me, for a 6 actually), I remember sobbing hard, devastated tears. Almost bittersweet tears. I finally understood that I would never be ‘sorted’, that I would never maintain the natural high that comes from the good times in life. Now I know that every win, realisation, triumph, success, signifies to life that I am now capable of handling bigger, deeper, more painful and more difficult crap.

Life isn’t peachy for the truly great. Life is difficult, trying and character building, for those who rise to meet it. The notion that life is hard because you suck at it, is the great lie.

So if you are at home with a cup of tea musing over the fact that you used to be better at life than this, that things used to be easier, that life suddenly sucks and that [rudely] no body warned you about this shit then rest assured that you rock! Yes, you, baby. The shit in your life right now is a living breathing testament to your life skills. Here’s to you.

Ugly

Ugly is awful. When things ‘get ugly’, people get hurt. Fat ugly tears get spilled. Ugly words are spoken. The ugly faces of jealousy, insecurity, spite, fear, pain and judgement shine. Ugly can’t be taken back.

Ugly is progress. Ugly is releasing the pressure valve. Ugly is [more] honest. Ugly is make or break time. Ugly is purging the toxic. Ugly is exorcising the Demons. Ugly can’t be taken back.

Sometimes ugly is necessary. If I have never seen your ugly side, I have never really seen you. If you can’t handle my ugly side, you can’t handle me. If you don’t embrace my ugliness, you don’t deserve me.

Sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better. Sometimes ugly is the only way forward. Sometimes ugly is the birth of something … beautiful.

The most beautiful lotus flowers grow through the mud and emerge beautiful and clean.

Farewell to the worst week ever.

*Photo credit

After a while…

The following poem was a life-saver to me when I was in a really black hole. There is a tremendous amount of power, wisdom and hope in its words. Power, wisdom and hope that became the light at the end of the tunnel when there seemed to be no other.

At the moment I, and some of my dearest girlfriends, are having a pretty crap time. Yes, we are doing what we choose. Yes we are walking in the general direction of our dreams. Yes there is forward motion. But it feels like we are walking slowly into the wind up a damned big hill. (The fact that is feels like we are walking hand in hand helps though.)

I have heard myself, and my besties, say ‘why did no-one tell us it would be like this?‘ too often in recent months. I guess nobody told us because we would have chickened out, run or laughed in their face. I am clinging to the sentiment that these dark periods are normal, natural and necessary. Thrashing around in a cocoon is necessary for a butterfly to be strong enough to fly when the time comes.

With that in mind, and permission from the author (she gave me permission years ago and I had not had the right occasion, till now) I give you After a while

After a while you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and chaining a soul

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning

and company doesn’t always mean security

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts

and presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes ahead

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns

if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

that you really are strong

and you really do have worth

And you learn and you learn

with every goodbye you learn …

Copyright 1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall.

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Unplugged connection

Yesterday I feel like a traveled back in time. I caught the train into the city to meet a friend. No blackberry. On the train I read a book. A real paper book. Not a blog or an E book on a smartphone or tablet. We sat on her couch and on her bed like we used to when we were 15 (yes I have known her that long) and we talked. We didn’t communally watch TV, play a game, sms, or update our  Facebook pages. We even let our phones go to voicemail. Oh the horror. We went to lunch at a local cafe and had pies, not some elegantly put together tossed salad, and enjoyed tea and soft drink. No diet or artificial sweetener to be seen. We even shared the best chocolate éclair ever! Yumm.

I read some more on the trip home on the train and when I had the carriage to myself I called a long distance friend to catch up with her. On the walk home I picked up some ingredients for dinner and actually visited a ‘video store’! Two DVDs later (two of my faves) I went home to cook dinner and watch DVDs curled up on the couch with my husband, under a hand-made patchwork quilt no less!

It felt fantastic to just connect. Not connect in the über modern sense of knowing what your friends had for lunch thanks to twitter, or where there are thanks to foursquare, what they did during the week thanks to their Facebook pics. But real connection, to hear the wobble in their voice when they talk about something difficult, to see the smile crinkle the corners of their eyes in a way that an emoticon simply can’t convey. To laugh with someone. To feel that genuine connection, where so much is conveyed between the words.

I don’t know about you, but pretty much every young woman [20 to 35] I care about has been on an emotional roller coaster recently. And we seem to be stuck in the big dipper part swinging from low to lower, with an occasional sharp upswing. The thing that is keeping me (and I know a lot of them) sane, is female connection. Its power simply cannot be underestimated. It is like alchemy for the soul!

Have you thanked your ‘girls’ recently? Mine know who they are… love you guys! xxx

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What I need to remember

You are not your roles.

I am not my roles.

I am not what I ‘do’.

I am not who I think I am.

I am not who I wish I was.

I am not the sum total of my deeds.

I am not the sum total of my mistakes.

I am not the net of my good minus my bad.

I am not a success. I am not a failure.

There is no label for me.

There is no combination or array of labels that will ever illustrate even a fraction of what I am.

Nothing in my life defines me.

Nothing in my life limits me.

There is nothing on earth with the capacity to behold me.

I may never truly understand what I am.

What is dying to be born?

At first look this question is lightweight. It isn’t the transformative powerhouse that, has effectively had me floundering, meditating, pondering and writing for over a week. Danielle LaPorte is sheer dynamite. At a time where I am floundering to figure out who I am, again, she was the perfect find online; a default, distant, online mentor of sorts. Bless her. (Her answer to this question was so much clearer than mine, for now)

A few weeks ago she addressed the following question on her blog: What is dying to be born? Wow! Fuck! Ummm…. There are so many questions and assumptions inherent in those 6 words.

It suggests that there is something dormant that simply must become manifest. It suggests urgency – that unless it is born this potential will wither and die. It assumes every act of creation is also an act of destruction. It assumes chaos and balance. It suggests we are all vessels carrying something, all midwives to something unique.

In my experience birthing is natural and blissful with support and a just right environment. What needs to die to create that environment are my fears, my feelings of inadequacy, my playing small. What in me is dying to be  born? ‘My potential’, ‘my inner goddess’ and my ‘higher self’ are all true but too cliché to be meaningful. What is dying to be born of me is my true voice; in my actions, lifestyle, my writing. A voice I wont apologise for.

In the broader sense, what is dying to be born? Reverence for femininity to rival our worship of masculinity. Understanding of the power of sexuality. Respect for the art and science of conception, birthing and nurturing our children, our selves and our dreams. These are dying to born of us collectively and I hope to play midwife in my own small way.

What is dying to be born?

A challenge – ask a friend

This is The Highwire’s 150th post. Woot! I often get very invested in the ‘doing’ (Leo Babauta @ Zen habits would be very proud of me) that I forget to take my own advice and celebrate the little things. In this case – letting it all hang out for the world to see 150 times!!! And perhaps the ways that is has changed me for the better.

In the spirit of living at full throttle, of putting ourselves out there and celebrating ourselves for the simple things we do every day I have a challenge for you. Yup! You heard me right. I challenge you my wonderful, articulate, strong and liberated readers (see I too can employ the subtle art of buttering you up) to take the ask a friend survey. (After the jump)

Have in introduced you to Danielle LaPorte yet? No? Go. Find. Her. Like, seriously, I have read a million self-help & spirituality books, done the courses, (even taught them), been to the circles, led the circles, done the practice and after a while it all begins to sound the same. Until I stumbled upon the White Hot Truth. Her questions (like those she posed in this challenge) pierce through to the heart of the matter.

But I digress. On to the challenge! I challenge you to copy the bullet points below into an email and do what I am about to do – send it to my very best girlfriends. I guarantee those girlfriends are staring daggers at the screen at this moment because, despite being amazing, super intimidatingly intelligent and accomplished, they both hate confrontation and are diplomatic almost to a fault. Pick your best girlfriends because they are people whose opinions you respect and because they make you feel like you can drop the masks and [be loved for being] you. You want feedback – not a roasting.

• What do you think is my greatest strength?
• How would you describe my style?
• What do you think I should let go of?
• When do you feel that I am at my best?
• What do you wish I were less of, for my sake?
• When have you seen me looking my most fabulous?
• What do you think I could give myself more credit for or celebrate more?

The thing about putting your self, your words, your perspective out into the world is that you can’t take it back. Creating anything is a process of breathing life an idea and then releasing it to a journey all of its own. A little piece of you running around outside your body. We often are scared of getting feedback on our creations; our projects, our lives. Ironically, feedback is invariably far less caustic than we imagine. Case in point the post I was most afraid to publish got nothing but personal emails of thanks. People who live balls-out (tits-out?) embrace feedback.

The aim of this challenge is to see yourself as others see you. To balance the inner critic with healthy feedback. To take a moment to celebrate the pretty-fucking-awesome parts of you, that you probably overlook on any given day.

Happy 150th post to me and a pat on the back to us all for having the balls to ask for, and hear, the truth.

I’d love to hear how the survey went for you in the comments – I might just post the responses I get, depending on what they are

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Powerful honesty

I have this friend. I have known her a long time. Nearly half my life. She has this thing; she is blatantly honest.

I wonder if you think that is a ‘good’ or a ‘bad’ thing? From experience I think it’s a good thing, if you can take it. The older I get, and the longer we are friends, the more I rely on her honest opinion.

She is prepared to disagree, politely of course, on anything of importance. Openly and tactfully laying her cards on the table when something is awry. More than once I credit this with saving our friendship from crashing into the rocky shore of our opposing political views, divergent lifestyles and different views on life and the world. More than once her honesty has also rescued me from swirling confusion and dominoes of bad decisions.

Although her honesty is a blessing, it is sometimes a difficult pill to swallow. Not because of what she has to say, but because our pride, inadequacies and fears make honesty confronting some times. Herein lies the second layer of blessing; her honesty makes me a better person. A more aware, more compassionate, stronger person.

If only more people were courageous enough to be powerfully honest.

Sense of self

As the days roll on, I am lucky enough to witness my toddler create his sense of self. He has begun using sentences with ‘me’ and ‘mine’. He also refuses help and asserts his opinions with the all too annoying “No!” and “Yuck!”. Despite its infancy, his self-esteem seems imperviable. I wonder how long it will stay that way and what I can do to help.

When he does something ‘naughty’, he comes to me, admits his wrong doing and then gives me a cuddle. If he is chastised or punished, he assumes the millisecond it is over that he gets cuddles, and loving attention again. He interrupts almost every hug his father and I share with a ‘love oo’, his chubby little arms outstretched, knowing in his bones he will be embraced too.

I love watching him, and his infectious belief that the whole world loves him, at work on the street. Fearlessly he smiles and greets strangers ‘Hello’. Smiles and bats his eyelashes and is offered any number of treats from chocolates and marshmallows, to stamps, toys and books. At such a young age he works a room so well I learn just by watching him and people who are less than friendly seem to not even register.

He takes risks. He values only love and fun. He expects the world to support him. He anticipates love from all directions.

Every day I feel as though I am seated at the foot of the Master. With close study he may teach me perfect self esteem.