Make It Rain

This past year and change, since I left my job at the Capitol and started my own business, has been such a learning experience. It's been beautiful in a lot of ways, but the ups and downs I've met with financially have taken a toll.

This morning I went to a benefits seminar at the University for my new job, and I realized I had a tax-sheltered annuity from when I worked at the University previously that I'd forgotten I had. And it had grown. Significantly. Such happy news to stumble on a pot of gold right when I needed some tangible evidence that I have everything I need to make it in this world despite all the setbacks.

And then tonight, I went to class with one of my favorite teachers, and this song, perfect for marking this day, was on the playlist:

When the sins of my father
Weigh down in my soul
And the pain of my mother
Will not let me go
Well, I know there can come fire from the sky
To refine the purest of kings
And even though
I know this fire brings me pain
Even so
And just the same

Make it rain
Make it rain down, Lord
Make it rain
Oh, make it rain
Make it rain
Make it rain down, Lord
Make it rain
Make it rain

And the seed needs the water
Before it grows out of the ground
But it just keeps on getting hotter
And the hunger more profound
Well, I know there can come tears from the eyes
But they may as well be in vain
Even though
I know these tears come with pain
Even so
And just the same

Make it rain
Make it rain down, Lord
Make it rain
Make it rain
Make it rain
Make it rain down, Lord
Make it rain
Make it rain

And the seas are full of water
That stops by the shore
Just like the riches of grandeur
That never reach the poor

And let the clouds fill with thunderous applause
And let lightning be the veins
And fill the sky
With all that they can drop
When it's time
To make a change

Make it rain
Make it rain down, Lord
Make it rain
Make it rain
Make it rain
Make it rain down, Lord

Yes please.

And thank you, thank you, thank you...

Reveal Yourself

So today, I was asked to teach at the Breathe for Change summer teacher training. Ashtanga and trauma. Two of my favorite, and most familiar, subjects.

Teaching 50 people Ashtanga was fun. I love sharing that practice.

Telling my story to 50 people, many of whom I'd never met, was, well, revealing.

Cue Dave Davies of the Kinks:

Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself.

Life on earth is so bizarre,
We must find a way to fulfill,
What we really are,
Yes it's true,
I love you,
And there's nothing you do that's wrong,
Find values of your own.

Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
On the living room floor,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Till there isn't anymore.

And it's safe to say that this is, to some extent, my motto. It's more important for me to be real than anything else. I have to be honest. I can't fake it. I lived that way too long to do that to my adult self.

I don't often tell my whole story though, for a variety of reasons. For one, my story includes something that most people find abhorrent: sexual abuse.

And they should find it abhorrent. It is abhorrent. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. And it doesn't mean that there aren't many, many people living with its devastating effects on the psyche and the body.

So when I'm asked to talk about my trauma, to a group of teachers training to be yoga teachers, I don't hold back. I don't just talk about the pretty stuff. I talk about just how devastating that sort of developmental trauma is and what the path, or at least my path, out of it looks like:

Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
For there are places even you don't know.
Reveal yourself,
For life is nothing but a movie show,
Or free yourself,
Your heart,
Your mind,
Your soul,
Your sanity,
Just got to see it,
Smell it,
Know that it's reality.

There were so many places I didn't know, for such a long time. I had to create a different reality in order to survive.

But now, as a 45 year old woman, I'm doing a lot more than surviving. I'm living. And I couldn't say that, I wouldn't be doing that, if I hadn't done what Dave is urging:

Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Doesn't matter anymore,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Till there isn't anymore.

Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
And maybe you'll go down in history.
Oh, how much longer must your life remain a mystery,
It doesn't matter if you're thick and fat or thin and long,
You must find out exactly where it is that you belong.
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Doesn't matter anymore,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
On the living room floor.

I get that it was difficult, in some cases excruciatingly painful, for some of those teachers to hear my story. But that doesn't mean it wasn't important for them to hear it, that they shouldn't have heard it.

Quite the opposite. It means they needed to hear it most:

Reveal yourself,
For there are places even you don't know,
Reveal yourself,
For life is nothing but a movie show,
Reveal yourself,
Your heart,
Your mind,
Your soul,
Your sanity,
Just got to see it,
Smell it,
Know that's it's reality,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
Reveal yourself,
It doesn't matter if the world thinks you're right or wrong,
Reveal yourself.

Santa Monica

While I was looking for the song Ghost for the post a couple of days ago, I came across this rockin' tune, and it has been playing in my head ever since:

I am still livin' with your ghost
Lonely and dreamin' of the west coast
I don't wanna be your downtime
I don't wanna be your stupid game
With my big black boots and an old suitcase
I do believe I'll find myself a new place
I don't wanna be the bad guy
I don't wanna do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just wanna see some palm trees
I will try and shake away this disease
We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die
We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die
I am still dreamin' of your face
Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away
I don't wanna be your good time
I don't wanna be your fallback crutch anymore
Walk right out into a brand new day
Insane and risin' in my own weird way
I don't wanna be the bad guy
I don't wanna do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just wanna feel some sunshine
I just wanna find some place to be alone
Yeah watch the world die

It's good to get clear on what we don't wanna be in this world. Thanks for the inspiration, Everclear!

House of the Rising Sun

When I make my gratitude list at the end of the day -- which I don't do every day, but as often as I will -- Ashtanga frequently warrants a mention. I feel very fortunate to have found this path, and I am highly motivated to stay on it with fidelity to the practice and the way it was intended to be practiced, which is 5-6 days per week. Practice takes 75-90 minutes, so this is no small commitment. It often involves rising early in the morning, when I don't feel like I've had enough sleep, and taking a body that is often sore from other activities through numerous challenging postures.

A lot of people who practice Ashtanga have a teacher, but our group in Madison just occasionally imports them or hits the road to practice at their shalas. One local-ish teacher that I've mentioned before is PJ. PJ is an amazing teacher, and an eloquent writer about what it means to be on this path. Here's what he said yesterday about the role of a teacher with this kind of practice:

"A true teacher gives power with their presence, their care and faith in our process, their belief in us saddled with their experience is the light that guides us through the darkness of our fears and ignorance. It can also be the spotlight that shames us, an accountability that blames us and a responsibility that names us when we choose to give up inside."

Damn.

Luckily, I'm not about to give up inside, but my main practice partner and I were considering taking the day off today. Until I read PJ's post last night, and then texted my friend and told her we were NOT taking today off.

Lucky for us, we were rewarded in multiple ways:

1) With the practice, which is its own reward;

2) With the best coffee in Madison afterward, EVP;

3) With the best scones anywhere afterward, from Lazy Janes;

4) And with this classic tune coming through the walls from the fitness studio next door to our practice space:

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one

My mother was a tailor
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gamblin' man
Down in New Orleans

Guruji: the man we have to thank for the practice of Ashtanga!

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

Oh mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your lives in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain

Well, there is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I'm one

Put it all together along with the smiling mug of the gentleman pictured here (now passed), and you have yourself a banner morning!

Ghost

I've been riding my road bike around town a ton lately, and I'm happy to report that this morning, en route to a friend's house to carpool to practice, my inner ipod started playing this number:

I keep going to the river to pray
'Cause I need something that can wash out the pain
And at most I'm sleeping all these demons away
But your ghost, the ghost of you
It keeps me awake

As happy as putting many miles on my bike makes me, I'm even happier to report that although I understand all too well the pain that's left when someone super important to you ghosts, I'm not living it anymore. Perhaps in part, this new freedom I'm feeling has to do with the fact that I finally wised up and drew a line in the sand about contact. I finally sent a clear message saying what my heart and my body had been telling me all along: "It's gotta be all or nothing with this one, baby."

And I can live with nothing. It's the in between that's a killer. It's the thinking that maybe:

Each time that I think you're gone
I turn around and you're creeping in
And I let you under my skin
Guess I love living in the sin

Oh you never told me
True love was gonna hurt
True pain I don't deserve
Truth is that I never learn

Actually, Ella, truth is that I have learned. I'll admit, it was a lesson that took a while to sink in, but I've got it now:

Give up the ghost
Give up the ghost
Give up the ghost
Stop the haunting baby

'Cause you're either all in or you're all out of Archie...

I Wish I Was the Moon

Full Moon outside my bedroom window last night!

Today is the official first day of summer and I'm soooo glad.

So many things to be grateful for today, among them:

-My new job at the University!
-Fabulous weather
-My Ashtanga practice's new home
-Practicing tonight with this amazing teacher
-Dining out tonight with this amazing woman
-Riding home with the moon to light my path

I don't ever super understand Neko Case's lyrics, but I wanted a song about the moon and I can definitely relate to being super tired -- that's what happens when you combine parenting teenagers and early morning yoga practices!

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins
As numb as I've become

I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight

Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name
'Cause I had sold my soul but awoke just the same
I'm so lonely
I wish I was the moon tonight

God blessed me, I'm a free man
With no place free to go
I'm paralyzed and collared-tight
No pills for what I fear

This is crazy
I wish I was the moon tonight

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands & bloodless veins
As numb as I've become

I'm so tired,
I wish I was the moon tonight

How will you know if you found me at least
'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one
With my heart in my lap
I'm so tired, I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight

Keep A Knockin'

My Dad, his girls (I'm in yellow) and his Dad, circa 1974ish

Continued from yesterday, today's entry (and song) is about the other choice in dealing with the sins of our mothers and fathers.

Now there's some question about whether we really choose how to deal with our wounds. One of the things that Mark Haviland talked about yesterday was how far we have come in the last few generations toward self-awareness and willingness to grow.

Maybe I've done more work to invite in love and light and healing because I can. I mean for sure I have chosen this path, but also, it was open to me. Revealed, even.

I'm not sure that's true for my parents, who have "chosen" or at least followed, the other path:

Keep a knockin' but you can't come in
Keep a knockin' but you can't come in
Keep a knockin' but you can't come in
Come back tomorrow night and try it again

You said you love me and you can't come in
You said you love me and you can't come in
You said you love me and you can't come in
Come back tomorrow night and try it again.

Keep a knockin' but you can't come in
Keep a knockin' but you can't come in
Keep a knockin' but you can't come in
come back tomorrow night and try it again
You said you love me and you can't come in
You said you love me and you can't come in
You said you love me and you can't come in
Come back tomorrow night and try it again

In my experience, the consequence of this path is that you might get in sometimes, but there will be conditions, and you don't want to get too comfortable, because you never know when it might change.

And I have to say, this father's day, that this has made my desire to knock lessen over the years...

Knocking on Heaven's Door

Today I went to an amazing workshop with Mark Haviland. What a phenomenal human being. Funny, real, irreverent, wise... He taught us that we were all screwed up by our parents (and those of us who are parents are, to one extent or another, screwing up our kids), but we have the choice about how to respond. And because Mark's my kind of guy, both choices have soundtracks.

There's the choice to honor the wound, and allow it to open us, and reveal our own divinity.

Cue Dylan with the original, and G n R with a most excellent cover:

Mama take this badge from me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dark too dark to see
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Mama put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore
That cold black cloud is comin' down
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Yep, I'm knocking, and what's more, I can feel it opening...

(Stay tuned til tomorrow for option number two)

River

My practice has been challenging lately, but I keep getting the message, from multiple sources, that pain is not necessarily a bad thing:

-Guruji, the founder of Ashtanga yoga, used to say without pain there is no yoga.

-My note from the Universe today said something similar:

Where there is pain, there will be strength.

Where there is sadness, there will be wisdom.

And where there is fear, Sarah, there will be renewal.

But sometimes, what one needs to keep living with the pain (even if it will one day lead to strength), is support.

So tonight, after a long day, I managed to make it to yoga with one of my favorite sources of support.

This song was on his playlist tonight:

Out across cities I see buildings burn into piles
And watch the world in wonder as mountains turn into tiles
And trees losing their leaves and faces becoming tired
I wish I could discover something that doesn't expire
Come and stumble me

Take me river carry me far
Lead me river like a mother
Take me over to some other unknown
Pull me in the undertow

Such are the things that make a kingdom rumble and shatter
The same dynamic that another day would never matter
It really just depends on who's giving and who's receiving
And things that don't make sense are always a little deceiving.
Come and humble me

Take me river carry me far
Lead me river like a mother
Take me over to some other unknown
Pull me in the undertow

I wanna go where you're going
A follower following
Changing but never changed
Claiming but never claimed

Take me river carry me far
Lead me river like a mother
Take me over to some other unknown
Pull me in the undertow

Yep, sometimes, we all need to be carried, even if only metaphorically...

Black Coffee

I think it's super interesting how our taste changes over time. I stopped eating meat in March, and after 40+ years of being completely grossed out by mushrooms, I liked them the first time I had them as a vegetarian. So strange!

And then this week I have another major taste change to report; like my friend Ella Fitzgerald, I now like my coffee black:

I'm feeling mighty lonesome
Haven't slept a wink
I walk the floor and watch the door
And in between I drink

Black coffee
Love's a hand me down brew
I'll never know a Sunday
In this weekday room

I'm talking to the shadows
One o'clock to four
And Lord, how slow the moments go
When all I do is pour

Black coffee
Since the blues caught my eye
I'm hanging out on Monday
My Sunday dreams to dry

This song is a classic, and Ella is about as classy as it gets, but if you ask me she's got a bunch of stuff wrong in this next verse:

Now a man is born to go a lovin'
A woman's born to weep and fret
To stay at home and tend her oven
And drown her past regrets
In coffee and cigarettes

That's not why women were born. Most definitely not.

I get how low she feels in this song, because I've most certainly been there, but I'm not, thankfully, there anymore:

I'm moody all the morning
Mourning all the night
And in between it's nicotine
And not much heart to fight

Black coffee
Feelin' low as the ground
It's driving me crazy just waiting for my baby
To maybe come around

My nerves have gone to pieces
My hair is turning gray
All I do is drink black coffee
Since my man's gone away

Nope. My man's been gone long enough now, and I've experienced enough healing, that I'm back to fully living my life, and that sure feels good!

Brave

"If you want to see the brave," says the Bhagavad Gita, "look at those who can forgive."

This quote has helped propel me through the long process (probably still in process in some ways) of forgiving my parents, and I thought of it this evening when my friend told me I was brave as I sat in the car with her crying over the events of the last couple of months.

I wouldn't have been so brave if it weren't for my children and my dedication to giving them the best life I can, with my own experience as a child to help guide me. My father hated his father, but I was devoted to my Grandpa. We played the organ together, we meditated together, we walked his dogs, we went swimming at his neighborhood pool. I adored him.

So I knew, when I had my own kids, that despite the difficult relationship I have with my parents, I wanted my kids to have a relationship with their grandparents. And so I've worked extremely hard to heal from and forgive the traumatic nature of my childhood and the ongoing difficulties and disappointments in my relationship with them. Extremely. Hard.

And in some ways we are reaping the benefits: In the car on the way to my nephew's graduation where we would see the whole family, my daughter was so excited about seeing everyone and it was wonderful to witness such an important rite of passage for my nephew.

It was also hard. The stilted conversations, watching many members of my family put away the wine, listening to my Dad's comments during graduation which just struck me as really dark.

One of the things I missed the most after I got divorced was having someone on my team when I am around my family. I am strong enough to wade into the quagmire alone, and I am proud of that, but it isn't easy and it sometimes results in tears a day later and feelings such as those Josh Groban describes in the song for today:

You wanna run away, run away
And you say that it can't be so
You wanna look away, look away
But you stay 'cause it's all so close
When you stand up and hold out your hand
In the face what I don't understand
My reason to be brave

But I'm clear on my reason to be brave. It's for my kids. It's also better for me, I think, but it's definitely not the easier path:

Hold on, hold on so strong, time just carries on
All that you thought was wrong is pure again
You can't hide forever from the thunder
Look into the storm and feel the rain

You wanna run away, run away
And you say that it can't be so
You wanna look away, look away
But you stay 'cause it's all so close
When you stand up and hold out your hand
In the face what I don't understand
My reason to be brave

Go on, go on

That I will Josh, that I will. I don't know if it will ever get easier to be with my family, but I know that I will go on.

I also know that when I am done preparing, I will have a partner with whom to navigate these difficulties and I am very much looking forward to that...

Rebel Yell

My little friend from the bike path this am!

Heard this song yesterday:

Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door
Last night a little angel Came pumpin cross my floor
She said "Come on baby I got a license for love
And if it expires pray help from above"

...and the refrain stuck with me, as a refrain will do:

In the midnight hour she cried more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
In the midnight hour babe more, more, more
With a rebel yell more, more, more

Especially on the day after I saw the man I was crushing hard on last fall for the first time in months. If I'd thought about seeing him before it happened, I would have predicted one of two outcomes:

1) I'd be over my crush; or

2) I'd get all flustered when I saw him.

Neither one of these things happened. Instead, we gave each other a giant, super satisfying hug, the way we always did, and then we talked. Heart to heart. Pretty immediately, the way we do. Or did.

And as I stared into his eyes, all I could think was "Wow, you are so beautiful. I love looking into your eyes. I love the way your body feels when you hug me. I love when your eyes well up with tears when I say something that gets to you. Damn, my ardor hasn't dimmed one little bit in the months since I've seen you."

And, I'm not gonna lie, when he walked away, I also had some Billy Idol-related thoughts:

More, more, more

Because that's what I've always felt when I see this man. I want more of him than he is ready or willing or able to give. That's why we stopped hanging out:

She don't like slavery, she won't sit and beg
But when I'm tired and lonely she sees me to bed
What set you free and brought you to be me babe
What set you free I need you here by me
Because

In the midnight hour she cried more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
In the midnight hour babe more, more, more
With a rebel yell more, more, more

I didn't want to put myself through another version of what I went through with the New Englander, where he wasn't ready to partner with me because he hadn't worked through his previous marriage or the vestiges of his childhood.

I still don't. So I let myself send him one text saying how beautiful and good-feeling I find him, and that I know the timing isn't right for us, but I appreciated seeing him as a reminder that I want to feel those feelings about the next man I date.

Well, that and more, more, more - someone willing to go that thousand miles the rebel yeller sings about:

I walked the ward with you, babe
A thousand miles with you
I dried your tears of pain, babe
A million times for you

I'd sell my soul for you babe
For money to burn with you
I'd give you all, and have none, babe
Just, just, justa, justa to have you here by me
Because

In the midnight hour she cried more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
In the midnight hour babe more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
More, more, more

Oh yeah little baby
She want more
More, more, more, more, more