Consider the Altar-natives

Isn't it interesting that the things that have the most potential to change our lives are usually the simplest? Stop smoking. Start exercising. Stop binge eating. Start decluttering. Stop staying up late. Start getting up early. Sounds simple enough...until you actually undertake any one of them. If it's just a matter of starting or stopping something, what is it that holds us back? Oh, a few words come to mind: addiction, habit, routine, laziness, apathy, discouragement, fear...basically, the human condition. The solutions themselves may be simple, but the process is far from it. 

I've struggled all my life to establish a meaningful spiritual routine for myself. Daily prayer? I'm a regular pray-er, that one is very natural and meaningful to me. But what about regular yoga practice? Consistent journaling? Personal study from my core books? I'm real good at the whole stop and start again bit. What about meditation? Just like with prayer I often find myself snatching moments throughout the day to meditate. Certainly a yoga practice in and of itself is a meditation. A walk through nature. Sitting under a tree. Nursing my baby. Walking barefoot in the grass. Singing. Listening to music. All of these and more are meditative by nature.

What if I could create a space that was set apart just for my spiritual edification, what would that look like? Would that help me commit more fully, more deeply? In my desire to really dig deep and make some lasting changes in my life, I decided to build an altar. Altar, you may ask? The following, taken from yogajournal.com, is a simple and lovely explanation of an altar:

Altars are places of worship—centers for yoga or meditation that infuse the space around them with the energy of your practice. Think of an altar as a physical manifestation of your inner spiritual landscape. Artfully laden with images and objects that remind you of your own best self, an altar gives you the opportunity to consciously reflect on things you might otherwise take for granted. It’s a place of solace and repose that becomes a receptacle for your spiritual energy. And when you sit before it, that energy is reflected back to you.

Whether you’re meditating, practicing asana before your altar, or simply pausing for a moment as you walk by, a personal altar can be a beautiful way to reconnect with your deepest intentions for your practice and your life. Whatever you choose to place on it, says kirtan musician Sean Johnson, “an altar is a mirror of the heart, a reflection of the energies and attributes and love that you carry inside.”

http://www.yogajournal.com/article/lifestyle/devoted-to-you/

Here are some beautiful images of altars that I found online. The first caught my attention because of the rough stone and asymmetrical legs. It wouldn't even need anything on it and it would be compelling to worship at.

This next example caught my attention simply because of the overall ambiance--the view through the large windows, the bear-skin rug, the natural sunlight--which the lovely altar perfectly completes.

This last example demonstrates an artistic, earthy and altogether awesome set up of chakra bowls, filled with, I can only presume, their corresponding gemstones. Who wouldn't want to lotus up and zen out?

So ultimately, there are endless ways to create your own personal altar. But don't get so caught up in trying to have all the perfect pieces that it prevents you from just jumping in and getting one started. I speak from personal experience that I spent way too much time daydreaming about the perfect altar and inadvertently put-off getting started for months. It's the perfectionist in me. Finally, after becoming frustrated with waiting, I just hopped in the car and soon found myself pulling into the Home Depot parking lot. About fifteen minutes later, with one box of nails and one rather heavy beam of redwood, I loaded up the car and headed back home to a somewhat surprised husband.

"What's this new project?" my husband asked, curiosity mixing with anxiety.
"Oh..." I stutter, "Did I not mention that I'm building an altar?"
"Well, no, I don't suppose you mentioned that." Not upset, just a titch confused.
"Oh. Well, yep, I'm gonna build myself an altar!"
"And, may I ask, what exactly is an altar?"

He was quickly on board (board? no pun intended) with the project since he has been eagerly trying to meditate more often. Ultimately, it turned into a rather fun project for both of us. He busted out his power saw and cut the beam into three pieces. Then we hammered in some nails. Voila! Right? Wrong. As soon as my one-year-old toddled over and pulled himself up to a stand using the altar for balance it tipped over and fell apart. We pulled out the bent nails and came up with a sturdier design, which only involved cutting one more length of wood to serve as a crossbeam. Then it was ready.

I had already loved the idea of putting the altar right below one of my bedroom windows that faces the south and gets a lot of natural light throughout the day. I decided to cover it with a beautiful scarf and have slowly been waiting for the right pieces to manifest themselves to make it to the place of honor atop our altar. Currently (it changes from week to week), from left to right, you'll see

1. the God Can -- a little place I stash written prayers when I know it's something out of my hands and only "God Can" handle. Once it's in the can, I'm not allowed to worry about it. I can only sit back and vibrate.
2. "Cosmic Serpent" foil print by local artist Miriam Tribe. Okay, so she's also a good friend of mine and we read the book The Cosmic Serpent by Jeremy Narby for our book club. She made a foil print for all of us. For me the serpent represents the universal language of faith. Read the book for more insight ;-)
3. necklaces (hanging on the picture frame) carved from large seeds that have the symbol "om" and a tree. I got these in Spain and bought them from the artist himself. 
4. candle
5. incense burner (above the candle sitting in the window frame). We got this on our honeymoon to Lava Hot Springs.
6. a picture of my guru Christ.

And since this is a shared altar for both my husband and I we have our own little section underneath the altar to stash our favorite reading material that bolsters our spirituality. Things we hope to add soon: gemstones (with chakra bowls maybe?), meditation cushion, pictures of other gurus, tingsha bells...who knows?

Don't I know, it's rather humble compared to the amazing altar photos posted above, but I'm just getting started! I'm excited to see how my altar evolves over the years as I evolve, because after all, it's like Sean Johnson said, “an altar is a mirror of the heart, a reflection of the energies and attributes and love that you carry inside.”

For now, it's become a meaningful addition to my bedroom. Do I suddenly meditate and study every day like I've always wanted to? Not yet. But I stop in front of it many times each day, sometimes just gazing at the pictures and smelling the redwood scent, but most of the time it's to stoop down and pick up the picture frames that my toddler knocked over during one of his covert stops in my bedroom. Either way, I'm stopping, I'm slowing down, I'm tuning in.

What will you put on your altar?



http://www.gobodhiyoga.com/

My Yoga Beginnings

Namaste. For the past year and a half I've been training under the inspired mentorship of Syl Carson, founder of Bodhi Yoga (http://www.gobodhiyoga.com/) here in Provo. I'm literally a handful of hours away from completing my certification as a yoga instructor. And once I have that lovely little certificate in my hands, do you know what that will mean? That I'm an official student and lover of yoga! Seriously, I may be a "teacher" by title, but I'm first and foremost a student, eager to learn what you know and eager to share with you what I've learned so far.

Many things led to the decision for me to pursue yoga more in depth. I won't deny that the over-arching reason boils down to self-interest--I simply wanted to be immersed in it for my own personal benefit. I craved it. I needed it. I've dabbled in yoga off and on since I was young, first exposed to it while working out alongside my mom to some of her yoga tapes. Literally, tapes...not DVD's. It was a very Western approach to yoga, where the goal is burning calories more than raising kundalini (though I daresay you can't do one without doing the other), but it was a good place to start.  I also have fond memories of watching my uncle Dave and aunt Shanti meditate or practice yoga in the woods or on the sandy beaches of Lake Tahoe where we often vacationed with extended family. They were the official "yogis" of the family, if my aunt's name isn't a dead giveaway, who studied under Baba Hari Dass, the founder of the Mt. Madonna Center. But it wasn't until I was in college that I felt driven to seek out my very first yoga class with live instruction, having no idea what to really expect. Would you believe it that the quiet, sleepy town of Cedar City, Utah sported their very own Kundalini yoga studio? I couldn't even pronounce the name let alone knew what it meant. I just saw the word "yoga" and walked through the doors...and then continued to walk through the doors over and over and over for months to come. I had never done anything like it before, all of the repetitious kriyas, the meditations, the chanting, the pranayama--breath of fire, especially--the crystal bowls, the gong, the mudras, the mantras...I could go on. Where was downward facing dog? Warrior pose? Triangle? The wide, wide world of yoga was opening up to me, or rather, yoga was opening me. I couldn't get enough of it. I probably only attended classes there for a few months before I moved away (some handsome massage therapist had swept me off my feet and lured me up to Provo) but it made a lasting impression on my life.

Fast forward a few years and I suddenly found myself 7 or 8 months pregnant with my first child (see pic below). I was working full-time in a very physically demanding job. That was a tough combination for my body to handle--big belly + big stress = unhappy mama. Nic's massages were truly my salvation. But as my pregnancy advanced it started to become increasingly clear how tight I was, how stiff my muscles and joints felt. I would feel really good for a day or two after a deep massage but then it would seem my muscles would lock right back in place. Inexperienced with childbirth though I was, I sensed that tightness and stiffness were not simpatico with "easy delivery". I also sensed that it was as much an emotional tightness as it was a physical one. That's when the inspiration came to seek out yoga. Both Nic and I soon found ourselves inside the lovely, peaceful Bodhi Yoga studio.

That rekindled the flame. I won't say I had the "easy delivery" every mom yearns for, but I knew my body was responding to the work I had begun a little late in the game. I shuddered to think how much longer or harder the delivery could have been without regular massage and yoga and tried not to dwell on how much easier it could have been if I had started yoga earlier.

Truly, here I am writing this with not just one, not just two, but three little kiddos tucked into bed. My body's changed a lot since those early pregnancy days, and I don't mean for the worse, actually. Each delivery was progressively easier and faster. My first delivery with our daughter, Saidie--19 hours, major tearing, lots of sutures, painful recovery. My second delivery with our son, Avery--12 hours, no tearing, took a full year to drop the baby-weight. Then little Leif, our youngest, was born in a record-breaking 2 hours and 15 minutes, from start to finish and the weight was gone within the week. Is it a coincidence that I was in my yoga immersion courses all throughout that last pregnancy? That I practiced gentle kundalini twice a week his entire gestation? Don't I know, it's all very anecdotal. Who's to say how things would have been different or why they turned out the way they did. There are many factors, simple muscle-memory being a big one. But I feel comfortable giving a good portion of that credit to my increasing commitment to regular massage and yoga practice.

All of that explains just the first reason for my delving into yoga professionally, for my own self-interest as it were, yet from only one perspective, of how it aided me in pregnancy. Perhaps in future posts I'll explore some of the other physical and emotional benefits yoga brings to my life. The other major reason that I'll conclude with today is that I couldn't deny just how well massage therapy and yoga interplay with one another. Wouldn't it be a dream to work side by side with my husband guiding people in their journey to health and well-being?

Dreams come true.

Abounding in Apricots

I've always known, deep down, that fruit trees rocked. Apple, apricot, cherry, pear, plum...I'm just warming up here. What's not to like? My mom has a choke cherry tree. That one gives me pause. I just don't have enough imagination I guess to get all that hog-wild-excited about those. So how do I know that fruit trees, yes, that's right, rock? Well, let me think. Allow me to conjure up some examples: I remember visiting my friend Eirene each summer and ravaging her current bush for hours at a time. My fingers would be stained red and my intestines would cramp--oh joy like nothing I'd ever known! But this won't do, I know, for bushes never were trees.

Well, there was the time I saw my very first pomegranate tree. It was in Beijing, China. I felt so elite and sophisticated, living in a courtyard where exotic pomegranates grew right out of the ground! How was I to know they did that in California, too?

The most memorable dessert I've ever eaten was in Florence, Italy which happened to be followed by the most memorable slice of pizza margherita I've ever eaten. After clearing our plates the waiter stepped up onto a stool, reached his hands high into the leafy branches and plucked a handful of oranges from one of several orange trees that shaded us on the patio while we ate. Then without a word he laid them on the table for our enjoyment. Mmmm. At least I knew this time that oranges did in fact grow in California right along with those exotic pomegranates, so I wasn't so much caught up in the exoticism, just the fresh factor.

Then there was the time, when we lived in southern Utah, our neighbors invited us to come harvest all the potatoes we wanted from their field one day...yeah, okay, I'm out of fruit tree examples. So though I know I saw my share of fruit trees growing up I clearly didn't have much interaction with them. And until you're responsible for a fruit tree, for better and worse, it's easy to see them through rose colored glasses. What would it be like to have free-flowing fruit right outside my door? I know--it must rock!

This deep-seeded enthusiasm was put to the test when, upon moving into our new home this past June we discovered that the giant shade tree in the backyard was none other than an apricot tree. It was probably as old as the house by the look and size of it, pushing 60 years or more. But what really blew my mind were all of the bundles of green, golf-ball sized fruit that filled every viable branch as far up as my eye could see. There had to be thousands of them.

The "thunk-thunk" on the tin lean-to shed that, well, leans underneath the apricot tree was the grand announcement that apricot harvest was upon us. For about three full weeks of July it was apricot madness. Because this tree is so big, and perhaps not properly pruned, I had no notion how to properly harvest the fruit. Our friend's twelve-foot ladder got us to the lowest branches. Another time, my husband and his buddy climbed it and shook whatever branches they could, whilst, down below clenching a tarp, I wore a make-shift metal colander helmet to protect myself from the hailstorm of a lifetime. And while that did fill up buckets worth of apricots, it hardly dented the mother-load. So we eventually resigned ourselves to laying out a tarp underneath the tree and letting the fruit fall and then gathering up whatever wasn't terribly bruised. Because we used this method, I threw out probably every other apricot.

I scrubbed and pitted bowl after bowl full, filling dozens of baggies and freezing them for smoothies. I dehydrated. I fruit-leathered. I apricot-syruped. I jam-med. (My English is suffering more with every sentence) I had my neighbors come gather at will. I took bags full to friends. And, of course, I stuffed endless amounts directly into my mouth. All this, I say, for about three weeks straight. And that was just the half of it. Like, literally, just half of the harvest. Please recall that I threw out about every other apricot because they were too smashed, bruised, or inhabited. My mind couldn't conceive of how I would have stayed on top of it if every apricot had made the cut. I was exhausted and by the time the last apricot fell, my fairy-tale fruit tree fantasy had been laid to rest.

Time heals all wounds, fortunately, or at least hazes our memory. Once I recovered from the low-back pain from endless gathering and sorting, and once the water bath pot was back in the storage room and my shelves lined with pretty, filled glass jars, I thought, "maybe it was worth it". And now, only a month or two later, pouring my apricot syrup over hot waffles on a chilly autumn morning--I know it was worth it! I'll be benefiting from my three-week internment for the rest of the year.

All of this is to say that, man, do fruit trees know how to supply or what? They are the quintessence of abundance. I was in my friend Malea's backyard just a few days ago and was floored at how many pears her little baby pear tree is producing--enough for a day of canning for sure. It's caused me to really ponder what this overused and often abused term "abundance" is all about.

Where there's abundance...

...there is generosity (If I tired to hoard all of the apricots for myself they would have rotted before I could have dented them)
...there is forethought (how can I make these last year-round?)
...there is joy (oh sweet succulent ripe fruit in my mouth!)
...there is responsibility (I couldn't bear to see the fruit go to waste)
...there is preparedness (thinking of those pretty jars again...)
...there is gratitude (I didn't have to do anything except accept. Just accept the gift. And accepting the gift means sharing the gift)
...there is a season (thank you, God, for only allowing me three weeks of blessed insanity instead of year-round madness)

What would you add to the list?