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Akumal is a sleepy little resort just about an hour south of Cancun, Mexico. It’s the perfect place to relax, do some yoga, go snorkeling and explore the underground–the cenotes.
I fell in love with Akumal last February. It’s kind of an old hippie village, friendly to those of us who have un piquito Espanol. Or none at all. The restaurants are international and the fish is fresh as can be. After a week, I could totally see returning for more. More sightseeing, more time sunning on the beach and of course more time doing yoga!
As fits the setting, Akumal has a more relaxed and musical approach to yoga than you may be used to. However, it’s founded on strong principles of alignment, and the teachers are very knowledgeable about anatomy, sequencing and philosophy. I got some excellent feedback on the mysteries of my bodily misalignment.
Michael J. Stewart is master teacher at Yoga en Akumal, and during the off season he teaches across Europe, Russia and Morocco. I just happened to get to Akumal when Michael was teaching a workshop. It was a lovely adventure, and we celebrated the closing with a group dinner where I found him to be an engaging spirit as we discussed everything from Hindu philosophy to John Friend.
Michael quotes Patanjali who said ‘to perform the yoga asana “boat posture” simply to get a flatter tummy is indeed, missing the boat.’
GO TO AKUMAL AND CATCH THE BOAT!
“We’re happy!” declared the Burmese refugee group as they finished their Des Moines Art Center tour on May 8, 2014. This was the culminating activity of their four-week art class. According to the ELL teacher at Lutheran Services in Iowa, “many elderly clients are dealing with vision, hearing and general health problems. Some have endured torture and malnutrition… Many … have had no schooling in their own country…”
The language barrier makes it difficult to know much more than this about our art students but we can tell that some have formal art training, and we know that several were weavers before they came to the US. They often use English letters and numbers in their designs, as well as images from their native lands. Art is proving to be a universal language.
This spring session was the third one for several of the refugees, some from Burma and some from Bhutan. People in both ethnic groups arrived in the US after many years in refugee camps. It’s hard to imagine an environment more different from south Asia than Iowa.
We focused on batik during the spring session. It is a universal medium; every culture around the world has developed an art form based on a resist process. The medium brings out the refugees’ love of fanciful designs and bright colors.
The First Unitarian Church will host an exhibit of the class’ work in July. The Church is prepared to collect a donation from anyone who wants to purchase the artwork. Proceeds will be used to purchase personal art supplies for students in the program.
I walked into the kitchen and had to squint. The morning sun was shining brightly through the door. It’s been a challenging winter; judging by the number of people walking and running outside yesterday, we’re ready for it to end. The cardinals, goldfinch and house finches are emptying my bird feeders again.
I’m itching to get back into my garden—fantasizing about trimming my redbud tree, opening my pond and hanging a set of Japanese lanterns above the Old Pond Garden. It’s time to bring the compost bucket back into the kitchen and thaw the lid on the composting bin. These are all ways I connect with my mother, the earth.
John Muir, naturalist said, “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.” Earth is where we come from. One of the strongest connections we have, but we rarely think of it.
I’m taking my classes outside to collect materials for spring art projects. Their resistance reinforced my concern that many kids don’t have the love of the soil and all that grows from it. Richard Louv’s article is hopeful abut helping kids connect to the earth, and how it will help us create the solutions to our Mother Earth’s challenges.
In a speech at Drake University last fall, President Olafur Grimsson of Iceland highlighted the connections between ice, energy, and food. “As the Greenland glaciers and the Arctic sea ice continue to melt faster than ever and NASA issues extreme warnings, some of us ask, a bit bewildered: Why does the political and corporate leadership of most countries honour and respect the Space Agency because it landed a man on the Moon, and recently a robot on Mars, but ignore it altogether when it gives us alarming news about Mother Earth?”
Viewing the Earth as mother gives us a paradigm for our origination from Earth, living as part of Earth, our expected return to Earth, recycled just as all biomass is recycled. When we know at a deep level that we are the Earth, we listen to the warnings and look for the creative solutions.
There are several answers, none really easy. The big answer is, “Use less energy.” Considerably less. Until we have clean energy sources that don’t add to climate change, decreasing the use of fossil fuels really makes a difference.
For me, this involves combining trips in my car, walking or riding my bike when I can. What does it look like for you? Please join the conversation.
Find your true nature. Then resist it. We’ve been exploring this concept in yoga lately, and often the question is why? Another is how? Here’s a story that answers both questions.
Back in 2004 (thanks Beth!) we built the Adventure Learning Center. We scheduled training with Junior from Wisconsin. I loved Junior. I probably owe him my life. I certainly owe him insight into my true nature.
I spent the first two days of training on the ground. This was possible since we started on the low course where elements are only twelve to eighteen inches high. To be honest, I was actually a little scared of those!
When we did play around on the highs, I carried ladders with my friend Jeff who was also determined to remain grounded. We learned to belay really well. Then at the end of Day Two Junior told us the last three days of training would be exclusively on the high course, 40-60 feet above the ground.
I lay awake Tuesday night, filled with fear. Some people dream of flying. I dream of falling. One thing you do with fear is look for ways to avoid doing the thing you’re afraid of.
I decided I’d “experience” the high elements, but not set them up. I could stay on belay and I wouldn’t have to set up the belay system that could mean life or death to a climber. Seemed reasonable to me.
Until that morning when we got to the ALC. Junior put us into four groups of three and told us our first task was to climb a pole, set up and take down its element. I could no longer see a reasonable way to avoid climbing and setting up.
I don’t ask others to do things I’m unwilling to do myself. So, climb I would. The tower held a cargo net and a giant ladder as well as the climbing wall. Setting up meant fastening the belay system to a cable running above my reach around the perimeter of the tower.
We set a ladder against the northeastern telephone pole and lashed it to the pole with bungee cords. I don’t know who went first, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. I believed my true nature was to stay on the ground. I had a visceral, palpable fear of heights. When we took our kids to the Rockies, I spent a good deal of time pulling the boys back from the edges of cliffs.
Making it to the top of the ladder wasn’t so bad, but then finding the giant staples sticking out of the pole, getting a purchase on them and figuring out where my left foot should go was another huge challenge. Especially since I was shaking.
Not only was the footwork challenging, but I was using lobster claws for the first time (I was also on belay thank god). By the time I got to the top and locked the carabiners on the cable I was shaking AND crying.
I had bruised and cut my legs and arms reaching for staples and navigating the railing, but there I was at the top with task accomplished. Cheers came up not only from Eric and Corinne but from the whole group. I had done what I never expected to do. I had resisted my nature.
Over the next two years I gained confidence in my ability to set up the belay system correctly, keep at least one lobster claw clipped to my harness and one to the pole. I learned to love being perched at the top of a gently swaying telephone pole, just a little closer to flying in the clouds.
I met with a colleague this morning; she’s launching a freelance career in marketing and communications. We talked about our Be the Change dinner discussion series, and what we hope to accomplish. I’ve thought a lot about how hard it is to communicate in concrete terms, but I came a little closer this morning.
I often feel overwhelmed and helpless when I think about all the problems confronting the world today. When I feel that way, I don’t do anything. Yet I know there is a lot of power in doing something, anything. In fact, the First Unitarian Church in Des Moines is hosting a class called “The Power of Just Doing Stuff” right now. I’ve heard it’s great.
But there’s more than that to Be the Change dinner discussions. Most of my friends are passionate about one thing or another. I’m interested in a lot of issues, but I’ve had to narrow it down to social justice. That’s still really big, but it’s easier to get my arms around than climate changeguncontrollocalfooddeathpenaltyhealthcarereform.
Then there’s the fear associated with addressing social justice issues. Will anything result from my work? Will I alienate people? Will I endanger my job? We’ve got to look at those fears and figure out whether they’re real and what’s at risk?
Once I know what’s at risk, or think I know, I have to decide whether I’m willing to take that risk. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. So be it.
And finally, what if I can’t see any results of my work? Throwing starfish back into the sea can be tiring, especially when there’s no way of seeing whether they live or die. So I hang on to Rachel Naomi Remen‘s words, “What if what you’re doing right now, is exactly what the world needs at this moment?”
”Hope and Courage to Be the Change” will be the topic for Thursday, February 6, 2014. Register for any one event that includes a healthy dinner of fresh, seasonal ingredients for $30 at Christopher’s Restaurant, 2816 Beaver Avenue, Des Moines (Wheelchair Accessible). Pay by cash, check or credit card the night(s) of the event(s).
What does activism mean to you? Is it writing letters, lobbying, picketing, boycotting, community building? Maybe it’s volunteering somewhere or meditating on peace.
Most people don’t even consider themselves activists. I think we are lucky, if at some point in our lives there is at least one issue important enough to spur us into action. Why do I say lucky?
Because being an activist means connecting with that which is life on Earth. All issues are issues of living on Earth. Activism is a conscious decision to be part of the creation and chaos.
Author Alice Walker says activism is the rent she pays for living on this planet. What I have to learn to pay that rent is way bigger than what I know.
I learn from, and I am inspired by others. David Korten said, “Life is most vibrant and creative when each living being finds its place of service to the whole. For our species to thrive and prosper, we must each find our place of service to one another and to the larger community of life on which our continued existence depends.”
by Kyla Cox, Next Step Program Coordinator
Sometimes it’s hard to find a new activity to help break the ice at a class or meeting. I’m always looking for new ideas. I found this one that I put together a long time ago (I’m cleaning my office!) and thought I’d share it.
It’s certainly not unique, but it might add a twist on things you’ve done before. And you can use the name tags to divide the group into nine smaller groups.
I developed this version for a meeting of facilitators and girls from Chrysalis After School groups, so the symbols I used are related to things we wanted for the girls and their groups–unity, understanding, wisdom, voice, strength. This Name Tag Game has everything you need to print off to play the game.
Each person’s name tag is printed with one of the pictures on the Name Tag Game Board. Have them write their names on a name tag as they come into the room. Then they are to find a person with a matching name tag picture for each square on the Game Board, as well as one thing about that person they didn’t know before. When they have all nine squares on their Game Board initialed, they have completed the game. Prizes are a nice incentive. It’s great to have something for everyone as they finish. Maybe it’s their ticket to snack or a pin that represents the group.
“Your body is a temple of the holy spirit,” I think that’s one of the few catechism teachings that made a real impact on my life. It’s made me hesitate to get tattoos, though I do have some “nasty piercings” as my daughter calls them. Since I started practicing yoga about four years ago, that catechism passage has become more meaningful to me.
We are embodied beings. The path to harmony with nature and fellow humans is at least in part through physical discipline. To create serenity and contentment, we must nurture and respect our bodies. Too many of us (some say 90% of women) do NOT respect our bodies. We think we’re too fat even when we’re too thin. We yoyo diet and don’t get enough exercise.
“Be the Change in Your Body” is part of a series of Thursday evening dinner discussions at Christopher’s Restaurant. Join us on January 2, 2014 for a discussion on changes that happen to our bodies, with or without our permission. What it takes to accept those changes and the power they have over our self confidence. We’ll explore what it means to be embodied beings, to nurture our spirits by keeping our bodies healthy. We’ll discuss our relationships with food, and the ways we move our bodies to enhance our lives.
“This body of ours is a temple of the Divine”
I grew up at Disneyland. Every time relatives visited from the Midwest, we took them there. There was no wearing jeans in those days. My brother Leo and I were four and three years old the first time we went. Mother dressed us up, me in my dotted Swiss pinafore, Leo in a white shirt, and dark shorts and shoes. You enter and leave the Park through Main Street. Sometimes as we walked out through the gate, Walt Disney was sitting on the balcony of his apartment waving to his guests.
Each time we went, we spent a good deal of time buying giant dill pickles from a barrel and listening to the party line at the General Store on Main Street. The Disneyland Band wandered the streets. On that first visit, the director invited me to lead the band. As he tried to hand me his baton, I reached for my little brother Leo, and I waved that baton with our arms around each other’s waists.
As we grew older, we pushed Grandma around the Park in a wheelchair, and she said that was scarier than any of the rides. We always twisted mom’s arm until she went to Tom Sawyer’s Island with us, the only place in the Park where you could wander on your own. We would get mom on the suspension bridge and swing it until she screamed. That didn’t really take much. She was scared of everything. Sometimes we got her into the “Indian canoe” where she swore she “never put all her weight down.”
Disneyland is the perfect fantasy. It offers a glimpse to the past and future. You can totally leave the present behind. Our family changed when we were there. The kids got to choose.
Leo is in 6th grade and I’m in 8th. We share the same recess and lunch periods, play together and go home for lunch together. We run across what was once an orange grove, then a field where we fought dirt clod wars and is now an asphalt parking lot that fills to the brim for five Masses each Sunday.
Usually we kneel as the Angelus rings from the Church bell tower, but all the rules are broken today. We burst breathless into the kitchen where mom is ironing; a starchy steam rising from my father’s dress shirt. A sweet smell, warm of the kitchen, mingling with the yeasty scent of bread dough rising.
The counters and backsplash are tiled blue slightly brighter than Wedgewood. Weekdays when he’s not traveling, Dad makes tall glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice, eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. Mother’s plugged the iron in on the wall between the nook and telephone corner. She’s wearing a housedress, her hair neatly cut and curled. She turns up her hearing aid as we walk in.
It’s November 22, 1963 and Sister Mary Hope just announced over the Intercom, “President Kennedy has been shot!” We run into the kitchen to tell mother. “Is he dead?” “Yes.” “Good.”
I’d like to say my heart stopped. I’d like to say my own political ideas changed in that instant. I’d like to say the news cracked the shell of prejudice and stubbornness that was my worldview. I can’t.
Since the early nineteen-ninetys I’ve known big changes come to me after depression. Maybe that’s true of my high school-length depression as well. When I return to Bishop Amat High School after my first year of college, no one recognizes me. I can’t vote or drink, and I’m just getting my driver’s license. But I can protest. I can march. I can boycott class. Years later my mother will ask me, “When did you become a Democrat?”
It’s hard to be hopeful when we’re bombarded with news 24/7. Sometimes it’s next to impossible to scare up the courage just to go out into a world where it’s ok for almost anyone to carry an automatic weapon.
Much less to speak up about what we believe, whether it’s a big issue–climate change or a small one. Well, after a fairly thorough search, I’m pretty sure there ARE no small problems. Maybe a few inconveniences.
But I read an article this afternoon in More Magazine that takes it down to the simplest of solutions. Go back to the things that comforted you in your childhood. Mira Bartok talks about rabbits, both literary and plush. She also writes of a photo of an absent friend on her fridge; I have a small gallery of mentors who have passed away on my dresser.
I can look into their eyes at the beginning of the day and find the courage to go out into the world to seek my fortune. I also have a necklace my friend Jill made me from beads she collected while she was in Peace Corps. When I was going through a particularly difficult time of my life I wore it to meetings where I felt vulnerable and needed the courage to tell my story.
That experience of reporting an incident of sexual harassment didn’t seem like it would change the world, but it’s exactly the kind of thing that can.
A young friend of mine, at great personal cost, brought charges against a doctor who harassed her. Her courageous action means he no longer can practice. She’s made it safer for women to trust the professionals we rely on.
Jane Goodall spoke at Drake University a few years ago. She sees a fairly dire future for the planet, her beloved chimpanzees and all of us. But she talked at length about hope and about the work she continues to do to turn the curve of climate change, “What else are you going to do? You can’t just give up!”
