The church I take the boys to Sunday School is not my favorite place of worship. In fact, sometimes, I feel as if I’m missing out sometimes… there are a couple of other places with awesome choirs, fabulous speakers that leave a mark so deeply that they leave you pondering all week long, and maybe, with a new vision that could change your life… forever. I love the pomp and circumstance of church. I always have.

But I don’t go to those churches, because I take the boys where their friends go. I’ve taken them to those other fabulous churches with the high cathedral ceilings. Yet,  they insist on being with their friends. Giving them a good experience at church is more important to me right now. So, I have given up my favorite churches.

I sit in a second rate Sunday school class on a folded metal chair, while the boys are in their Sunday school classes.  Sunday school is offered “boutique” style there… you pick and choose from a wide variety of topics. I picked the most general class… “Your Abundant Life.” Based upon the verse in John 10:10 “I came to give you life and that you might have it more abundantly.”

Each week, I am shocked that this ordinary man is able to pour so much into a Sunday school class… time flies by, and I leave, actually believing that maybe I did sit in a fabulous sanctuary to listen to a great orator. Funny how God always meets you where you are with a blessing, without even asking for one.

When the teacher is absent, he sends in reinforcements. These are men that come from another church, that no one in the class, except for the teacher, actually really knows. The men tell us they have been “working with our teacher on the lessons all year.” Hmmmmm… so he has a team of researchers working behind the scenes.” What a production this class is. And there are fewer of us sitting there that we can count on two hands.

Once, a man walked in, our substitute teacher. He too had been working with our regular teacher on the lesson plans.  This man was very tall, impeccably groomed, and his clothes were almost “perfect.” He shoes were polished, even though he was casually dressed in blue jeans.

He opened his Bible… it was one of those big ones, with a zipper. He needed that zipper… because inside of that zipper, the pages were literally falling out of his Bible. One page, in particular, had a well-worn hole in the center — a small one –but a worn hole, like you would find on the bottom of your sock. Other pages did not have one single straight edge left on any of the three edges.

I couldn’t take my eyes of that Bible. From that point on, everything that came out of his mouth was filtered through the lens of his Bible. He could have had a new Bible by now.

This Bible did not match his shoes.

“What scripture was on that page that was so worn,” I wondered? Was it a Psalm? Was it a promise in Isaiah?” I couldn’t imagine. I wanted to pick that Bible up, and peruse it as if it were an archaeological find of how one can live one’s life. What passages were so important that they deserved red markers?  I finally stopped staring at his Bible, and looked up at him as he began to talk… slowly and quite measured. This was something, I believe, he worked at. He talked about “taking every thought captive.” And this, I believed, he had to will himself to do, with every word. To say he was kind was an under-statement. He was “other wordly” kind.

At that point, I could have been in a Cathedral, as I listened to the man speak. Who cares about metal folding chairs.

This was a man that gripped the pages of his Bible as if it were a life preserver. Something, life, probably, threw him in the gutter, and I couldn’t stop myself from imaging all the other things he could have gripped. A person. Alcohol. The promise of the roll of the dice. A career. An education. But this man grabbed a Bible — maybe after all of those other things finally gave way — or maybe it was the first thing he grabbed when the storm tossed him.

But I know he’s not letting go. He doesn’t have a new Bible, so he can remember what life was like before.

Kirsetin asked me to jump in on a discussion on this quote: “You can either practice being right or practice being kind.” – Anne Lamott.

It is kind of me to take the kids to the church they like. Did I suffer? Have I suffered? No. I got the greater blessing — one that would have never discovered on my own.

Practice being kind.

We build our entire  life around those celestial objects in the sky (you know, day, night, months and season)– and we hardly ever remember to look up at them and marvel at them. And, we missed it, again. For the fourth or eighth time, we have taken our token first or second grader to Perkins Observatory

to meet with the Astronerds (their word, not mine) while they split open the dome to let us see the sky through the telescope. We were there — we didn’t miss the night — but we mist the view. It was cloudy. Again. Everytime we have ever gone there… it is cloudy.

There is so much to say about this place — tucked away off a busy highway, far above the city, that never dreamed surbubria would encroach so deeply into its space with all of its light pollution — poaching out the vibrancy of the stars.

When you walk through the doors of this building, you know something is different. It’s quiet — but it’s underneath all the other noises in that building. It’s quiet… like walking into a church. There is a hush — although you can’t hear the hush… but it’s there… where did it come from? As if all that oak in the building has transformed the space into a quiet forest. It’s certainly not the astronomers who are quiet.  They’re nuttty and loud and so excited to show you their spheres, orbs and constellations.

Rather than white oak church pews, this building is filled with globes and computers. Rather than hymn books, there are maps. There are white oak desks, high ceilings… and it reminds me of the favorite library where I used to study in college. There is no sound in these kinds of places… all that’s left to do is to ponder and do your work. There is no time in these places…(I’m struggling with the quiet thing — there’s a story here.. but too tired for that now.)

We listened to the talk… cleverly and artfully designed for kids. Isn’t it magnificent to watch someone so knowledgeable, and so professional take his story down to the level of a child? You can’t help but wonder from what place his words come from — a heart that is still amazed, that is still in awe over the wonder of  the falling star — and who is all too eager to share what he knows. He told us that when he was about 10 years old, he sat outside with his father’s opera glasses, and watched Jupiter’s moons move — he sat there for hours. When he was ten. He sat still for hours and just sat in amazement at those moons.

He is still ten. In his heart. The same wide-eyed wonder of a little boy.

Sadly, again, we could not look out of the telescope. But he did tell us about Venus — how there is so much pressure there that it would crush you, and the temperature is 900 degrees, (want to know what would happen to you if you were in 900 degrees? Put a chicken in the oven, and turn up the heat to 500 and watch.) And it always rains there — sulphuric acid rain. Who knew Venus was so inhospitable?  The Russians sent a spaceship there — it lasted 20 minutes before the atmosphere destroyed the ship. But they were proud of the pictures they got in those 20 minutes.

He also warned us, that on the next clear night, to take our kids outside to see this — or he would come to our house and do something terrible to us. I’m warning you now, to get outside and see this for yourself. Here it is: The Three brightest objects in the sky form a perfectly straight line in the western sky. The moon, Jupiter and Venus, for the Moon-Jupiter-Venus Conjunction.

I could not take a picture of this — I am not that skilled — so I went to Flickr and found this — when the Moon, Jupiter and Venus formed a triangle — in 2008 – in Australia!  So, Carolyn… right now we’re looking at the same sky!

NASA says, “This arrangement will be visible all around the world, from city and countryside alike.”

You can see this in the city!!! We saw it tonight. And I had forgotten about it — but my husband and I went outside to take a walk, and there they were — all lined up… one powerful straight line… and I remembered… and we called the boys out to see it — because I do not need that Astronerd coming so my house. They are so bright, nothing can hide their power. Everywhere. And, from what I’ve read, Jupiter and Venus will keep moving closer until the middle of March.

Our littlest son got  it — “It’s really rare to see those lined up in a straight line like that.” Wow… nothing like watching moons for hours… but he got it.

Isn’t it funny that a God who is timeless actually created time. He used those majestic celestial orbs that we gaze at to give us some way to grasp time… to quantify time. A moon gives us our month. We can completely understand that… or can we?

And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth.” And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. Genesis 1:14-18

That little use of the word “separate” just gives me a window into the character of our great creator. Separate. Can you imagine being so vast that you can order day and night into categories? He simply puts a divider into His filing cabinet to separate the two — day and night. Just with a little file divider? It’s that simple for Him. And yet, He doesn’t even need to call it day and night — knowing that we, in our minds, need a day and a night. and a moon, — because we cannot grasp timelessness.

And we need something to separate light from darkness.

That concept, alone,  is just as vast and mind-boggling as pondering how all of those celestial beings keep moving, like clockwork, and not one of them falls out of line or misses a step. And, how much we count of those beings to do their part. We count on them. We know exactly what time the sun is going to come up, before it does… and it never fails us.

A fragment of a grocery shopping list… this is probably about 25-30 years old. It’s her handwriting.

The address label is her mother’s… also about 25-30 years old. I keep these fragments tucked into a drawer… too insignificant for a page in scrapbook, or it’s own “sleeve” in a photo album, but because her handwriting beckons her presence, these scraps are not insignificant enough to toss in the trash. So, I compromise and just keep them in the drawer in the china cabinet in the dining room. Whenever I do  happen to come across them, it’s like she dropped in for a surprise visit. I never expect to find her, when I do.

People are, for one period in time, a mass of cells, atoms and matter — dense — and they take up physical space. They are real.  This is how we define people. Then, poof, they will disappear like dust in an instant. And all you have left, as proof that they once stood here in physical form, are snippets of their handwriting, or the address label that once directed posts to a home.

Not until those bundles of cells are crumbled into dust do you begin to see what has been there all along. What people truly are transcends physical space. They are, instead completely malleable, with a capacity to reside in the corners of drawers, alive in those certain songs, and silently standing by your side as that scent settles around your shoulders.

Time is such a wonderful healer.

This weekend, we pulled out the dust-covered, felt-covered football stadium my son created six years ago as part of his biography project. Before he took it to the curb, I asked him to leave it on the dining room table so that I could take a photo of it.

“You already did that mom.”

“No… I didn’t have this camera back then.”

I stalled to take the photograph, knowing that once I took the photo, there would be no more reason to keep his work around. I remembered how long and hard he worked on this project — the time we spent together at Joann’s picking out self-adhesive letters, felt, glue sticks for the glue gun and paint to complete the project… and the day he actually played hookey from school so he could finish his project. Just couldn’t bring myself to throwing this out, even though it has no useful value.

As I took the photo, I remembered how he creatively used pennants to showcase the subject’s quotes (a necessary part of the project’s written assignment part of the grade.) Words, quotes from a man’s life resonate with me the way no image can. Here, I remembered how the quotes my son chose paint a chilling, portrait — almost foreshadowing a character, the way Shakespeare did in Macbeth, of this man’s future. And my son, at the age of 9, could barely comprehend what he was “painting” in his portrait with these quotes.

“I don’t motivate players… I get them to motivate themselves.”

“Pay it forward.”

“I believe in over-learning. That way you’re sure.”

“I just can’t control my temper.”

The man in question was Woody Hayes. A man who was fired from a job he treasured, simply because he just couldn’t control his temper.

I am not a football zealot.  Yet, while my son researched this man’s life, I learned some beautiful things about the human spirit. Woody Hayes, despite his faults, and despite the many enemies he had, cared deeply about his kids. More than teaching them to play football, he wanted them to be great people.  He taught them to give back to the community by giving back to the community.

More than teaching them to how to play football, he wanted each one of his players to realize how providential their lives were — each one of them, no matter their background. Each one of them had an obligation to give back to someone else… someone future, not from the past. “Don’t bother to pay me back, give it to someone else who needs it, and let them pay it forward to.” No one was a victim. All of us have something to give back. After coaching games, Woody would visit kids in the Children’s Hospital.

Hayes enlisted in the United States Navy in July 1941, eventually rising to the rank of Lieutenant Commander during World War II. He commanded PC 1251 in the Palau Islands invasion and the destroyer-escort USS Rinehart in both the Atlantic and Pacific operations. Once out of the Navy, and running his famous football plays, ”three yards and a cloud of dust,” he found other ways to serve the country. For example, Woody walked each day to his job at OSU to do his share of energy conservation during the energy crisis of the 70s.

With great pain, he left the OSU locker room , after being fired for punching a player at the 1978 Gator Bowl.

“In football we always said that the other team couldn’t beat us. We had to be sure that we didn’t beat ourselves. And that’s what people have to do, too–make sure they don’t beat themselves.”

I know he punched the guy… I know he deserved to be fired. But, I can’t help but tear up when I see that feeble man, humbled by his experiences, walk up the podium at the 1986 OSU commencement speech, knowing his heart is jumping around like a little boy, speaking these words:

Graduates, Mr. President, faculty members, friends and families of the graduates who have done
so much to make this possible.Today is the greatest day of my life … I am so grateful and so appreciative to be here today, I just can’t tell you how much.

Here is a man torn between his inability to shrug off how much he is savoring his own moment, like a little boy. He knows how much he savors this moment… because he lost so much. Yet, he can’t miss, and he doesn’t, the opportunity he’s been given, his obligation,  to throw out these bits of wisdom to the kids he loved:

“In football we learn some wonderful, wonderful things. And one of them is this: When you get knocked down, which is plenty often, get right up in a hurry, just as quick as you can. Do you know what to do then? You probably need more strength. Do you know where you get it? You get it in the huddle. You get it by going back and getting a new play and running that same play together with your teammates. That “together” is the thing that gives you the buildup to get ready to go again.

In your lifetimes, you’ll find that how well you can work with people will depend on how quickly you can get back to them and get together.

… you’ll find out that nothing that comes easy is worth a dime. As a matter of fact, I never saw a football player make a tackle with a smile on his face. Never.”

The garbage man is coming today… the football stadium box is still on my dining room table… maybe it will make it to the curb, next week.

Felt portrait of Woody Hayes by my son, six years ago. Framed, hanging on a wall. One item that will not be making its way to the recycling bin.

I have a 10-year old vision board up in the attic of my house that includes pictures of a red barn, a house on the water, surrounded by trees. When I pasted them on my board, I was merely cutting them up because the images soothed me; I liked looking at them. And the rest is history.

I had yet to discover their power. A vision board, inspired by this book: Visioning: Ten Steps to Designing the Life of Your Dreams is a board where you place your wishes. You could use magazine pictures, or your own sketches… whatever seems to draw you in.

What you’ll need to make your own:

• A big poster board
• Lots of Magazines
• Scissors
• Glue
• A Wish

The biggest problem is finding a place to hang your board.

On the Oprah website, the guests say, “vision boards  power also comes from the simple fact that it allows people time to focus and do something about their lives.” It’s like shopping for a new car, and suddenly you see the car you want all over the place.  “It’s kind of a visual and verbal articulation of my goals. I can remind myself, ‘You need to take actions if you want these goals to show up.’ It’s not a magic trick, really. It’s about you being the person who’s motivated to make that stuff show up.”

This is hardly about thinking when you were 10 that when you turned 40 you would be old; and then becoming 40, and discovering that you don’t really feel that old. Being 40, you may, or will discover, to your delight, is much like your 20s, only better. When you’re in your 40s, you’re old enough to have all the legal fun you want; and most likely, you have more money to do it with. In your 40s, you already know what it is you want. The 20s are the era of exploration; the 40s are the era of actually getting what you want.

People in their 40s are fascinating to watch. Now, with so many of my friends in the becoming 40, and in the 40 age range, I am surrounded by people who are discovering the deepest yearnings of their heart; the funny thing is, none of them were looking for the deepest yearnings of their heart. They were content living their lives as upstanding adults; many are husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, some are single, childless and travel around the world. But suddenly; there it is, like the Holy Grail, all spelled out in front of them. And the Grail demands changes.

This I have observed. People in their 40s secrete hormones that are not unlike adolescents. These hormones make it difficult for those in their 40s to sleep; a deep seated restlessness seems to attack at 2 a.m., and sometimes leads them to think horrible thoughts that, under morning’s light, make no sense. Insomnia reigns, leading to tiredness, irritability, and the feeling of “getting old,” of course. (Here’s a hint: Heed those stirrings, and the symptoms will leave…)

The hormones seem to awaken primal parts of the their brains and sometimes make them think about doing crazy things; things that threaten the survival of their career or family. Those who heed the musings of the heart seem to go through a period of traumatic upheaval and pain that touches everyone in their intimate circle. The lives of many of the 40-year-olds I know are sometimes more interesting than the tabloids at the grocery store; they make the shenanigans of adolescents seem like, well, child’s play.

The prospect of seeing what the heart wants, and realizing this may involve a re-ordering of life’s priorities, can be terrifying. Much simpler, we believe, to simply ignore those constant tapings on the door of the soul. This can lead to misery; putting a lid on the heart, closing down walls and siphoning off the heart so that it can no longer feel the ache of missing something; while at the same time stunting the heart from feeling the joy. Because it is, after all, the presence of joy that takes us to our heart’s desire. I wonder sometimes, if this is the cause of all of those anxiety attacks, muscle aches and illnesses; the heart is screaming for the soul to wake up and following its path.

Suddenly, joy has become a dangerous thing. Joy will demand that you cut off anything that is not serving you; like the dead branches of a tree.

When I see that upheaval face-to-face, I am always caught in some sort of awe-inspiring revelation. That once mousey husband, who always seemed so irritated, is transformed into an outgoing, successful carpenter – who now has a new wife. His eyes glisten, and, really, “I do think he looks more handsome now.” Every time I see this conversion, I am amazed beyond belief; what was once misery has been transformed by simply aligning one’s purpose with the joys of their own heart.

Still, some have the courage to look at the heart’s yearnings directly in the eye, and try to see if there is a way they can make some small, minor modification to realign life’s priorities.  To their delight, they often find that this one small step seemed to have opened up the entire universe. Options that never once existed are spread out like a table laden with food and jewels.  They followed the musing of their heart and escaped through the tunnel without a scratch; they remain unscathed; their intimate circle is equally unharmed, and miraculously benefits from the afterglow of joy.

A friend gently told me this when I was in my 30s: When you cross the street, you will have left an opening around everyone who once stood beside you. They will begin to act differently just because you moved. This, they cannot do, until you cross the street.

It’s up to you to make the move; so that the lives of those around you can be transformed.

Living an authentic life requires an inordinate amount of courage and introspection. Those in their 40s are just beginning to understand the gravity of the responsibility we have to our own lives. You might be able to get by living someone else’s dream when you’re young, in your 20s. But this will never hold up when you reach your 40s.

Your soul will demand that you fess up, pay attention and align your life with your heart.

My husband has a spot on his chest that he proudly shows off every year on our son’s birthday. This is the spot I bit when those last few contractions came when I was standing up, leaning on my husband, at 9.5 centimeters. I was in a rush to see my baby sooner rather than later. Today, that son is 10.

If I was standing during labor, at 9.5 centimeters, this means that there was no epidural; there was no internal monitor. The veil between the physical act of labor and a woman’s body was not cushioned, padded or softened. This was exactly what I wanted. Unlike his older brother’s birth, two years earlier, that resulted in a c-section. This plan had its roots formed in the hospital room when I first came into the world. There, childbirth caused my Mother to “come face-to-face with death.” Her story originates further back when her own Mother fell into a black hole of death, but eventually escaped. My Mother’s story was full of pain and isolation. The nurses left her alone too much; Dads, of course, weren’t allowed in to comfort.

I was terrorized by these stories. They haunted me. For 38 years, I lived with an overwhelming fear of childbirth. As a young girl, I used to lie in bed at night and try to think of ways I could avoid the whole act, yet still become a Mother. One of my favorite scenarios, because it was a fool-proof system for preventing pain, was to begin an anesthesia treatment early in the pregnancy, so that I would sleep through labor and delivery.

I didn’t know then that birth unfolds; a woman responds to what’s happening. Every action she takes with either make it easier for her body to open, or harder.

Ten years ago today, I walked through my fear. Unlike my Mothers, I did not pummel to the depths of death in the process.

To prepare, I was hypnotized, started yoga, listened to guided imagery, took the Bradley Method, and hired a Doula. My goal was drug-free labor. If I could reach back and grab the root of my deepest fear; I could do anything, I thought. I needed to live without fear.

Still, despite all the prep work; my body was reluctant. Stuck at a painful 3 cm for 72 hours, I took many walks through the woods and park by our house. The walks did little to move me along. Something was still holding me back — this was in my mind and not my body. I avoided my doctor’s phone calls. He wanted me to come in so he could “induce me” and get this over with.

What I can remember from those three days of walking were the incredible flowers that were blooming; Lilly of the Valley, the Kentucky Bean tree and the Lilacs all bloomed at the same time; the smells were intoxicatingly pleasant. Returning home from our walk, we’d see the message waiting light blinking; the doctor had called; again.

I told my Dad, “My doctor thinks I’m not going into labor because I’m scared.” He said, “Well, you probably are.” His words gave me an instant wave of relief. I was afraid. This was the elephant in my “mind” that I was unwilling to acknowledge; yet I became aware of how much energy I was investing in suppressing this fear. So, I carried the fear with me, and things began to open up.

Labor was not pleasant; but it was my doula that made it bearable. Rather than passively waiting for each contraction to pass, she gave me jobs to do during each one. Visualize something, lean like this, stand here, and her favorite, “relax your mouth and you relax your entire body.” My job was to figure out how to relax while pain came in waves. Tension made the pain worse; and made the birth come slowly. Now, I had focused work to do. I began to feel empowered in the places where I felt the most fear. This lack of empowerment was the root cause of my Mother’s birth stories. Gynecology asked women to lie on their backs, feet in the stirrups — “get out of the way so we can do our job” was the motto of the medical profession. In that time, there were few other options.

When the nurse said I was 9.5 cm, a red flag when up, as I instantly remembered the part in the Bradley class explaining that 9-10 cm is the most painful part of labor. What’s coming will be even worse than what I’ve already been through… My doula put her face close to mine, and started talking before my brain could complete those negative thoughts. She gently said, “OK, you’re 9.5. If you stand up through these next few contractions, we’ll be able to get gravity to help us make those contractions that are coming work harder for you. You’ll hold your baby even sooner.”

Stand up. At 9.5. This was unheard of in the birth stories I learned; this is the point where you’re supposed to be closest to death. Now, 9.5 was a “place’” a station with its own set of tasks. There was no option; the doula and my husband were already lifting me out of the bed. There were so many words that comforted me in those statements; “contractions that are coming.” I realized then, the contractions are coming anyway, so I might as well use them. I relaxed completely.

Now, I saw that contractions were like a train that would come in and out at regular intervals. If I didn’t work hard enough to “open” for this one, there was always another train coming right behind. I found myself waiting for them to come. I wanted to jump into each one. And thank God, there was even a break between each one! Whoever designed this whole “labor” thing really knew what they were doing.

Still, the words she said, so gently, “…you can hold your baby…” shifted my perspective. I wanted to hold my baby, and if standing up meant that labor would be over sooner, stand I did.

That’s when I bit my husband. The pain was sharp, ohhhh so bad. The bite was maybe my way of sharing the intensity of what I was feeling. My doula was right. Standing up made the contraction so much stronger; and labor was over within a couple of minutes. I was soon holding that baby, and that warm little baby against my chest was pure bliss.

I did more than give birth without drugs. I wiped out decades of terror and fear; I replaced the horrific birth stories in my family with ones of empowerment. I love it when my husband rubs that spot on his chest and brags about that day when Mommy gave birth. I always smile and remember all the demons I conquered that day.

And today? He’s still a babe.

With all the bread, cookies and treats, I’ve been making, combined with this winter weather, I have moved to some more “aggressive” yoga series that work off the extra pounds, while still maintaining the required union of body, mind and spirit.

As I am traditionally a Hatha yogi, and faithfully take Shiva Rea – Yoga Shakti daily. I needed something new to work muscles and glands that might be getting overlooked. I decided to try Kundalini yoga, as this type of yoga delivers one of the most efficient ways to transform your life. First, understand that the only workout I do is Yoga. Yoga, to me, is a time saver: it works my heart, my lungs, and builds strength and flexibility, while also delivering a path to the “Peace that passes all understanding.”

Fat Free Yoga – Lose Weight & Feel Great w/ Ravi Singh & Ana Brett By title alone, I couldn’t wait to try this Yoga DVD. This yoga focuses on strengthening your core, by combining traditional yoga poses with the breath of fire. There was much emphasis on detoxifying the glands, particularly the thyroid and adrenal glands to boost, and ultimately, regulate metabolism.

This video’s focus on your abdominal glands gives a double bonus: First, it tones and flattens your stomach, and strengthens your core. Second, in yoga terms, your core is your center of power. Working this area of your body makes you more “aware” of your weaknesses, (both emotional and physical) strengthens them, and in turn, gives you more “willpower” to say no to the wrong foods, the wrong choices, and to do what is right for you.

This yoga DVD is hard, but not impossible. This 90-minute DVD offers four 20 minute workout, giving you the ability to choose “how far you can go” on any given day. Still, I was looking for a tough workout, and this one delivered… in spades. The first time I did the workout, I wanted the workout to be over over in the first 20 minutes, and I’ve been doing yoga for over 12 years. I always did the entire DVD, and by the third time, I was learning to “appreciate” the exercises, and no longer found them overwhelming. Uncomfortable, yes. But, as Ravi explains, this discomfort sends a signal to your thyroid gland to secrete chemicals that will balance you, and boost your metabolism. The pain is worth the gain…or loss, depending on how you view it.

My favorite part of the DVD is the Your Life is in Your Own Glands, as this section brings hormonal balance. While I’m busy burning calories, my hormones are getting balanced, which is the gem that yoga brings to any workout. These exercises, along with the breathing meditations, are designed to help you strengthen your willpower, help you build nerves of steel, with the ultimate goal of helping you handle any challenge life presents.

Ravi includes low-impact aerobics, that involve the “cross-crawl” technique to balance the hemispheres in your brain. I thought these exercises were a little too light. I’m thinking about replacing those sections with jumping jacks. However, the poses, are TOUGH. Imagine lying on your belly, grabbing one foot, while the other is straight and off the floor, and rocking back and forth. Now, switch legs. Now, do both legs. I had a brief second there, when I thought I would hang up my yoga mat… forever… But I made it. This pose really is a wonderful stretch, once you get used to it.

The rapid twists, designed to tear out toxins, for some reason, have almost eliminated all of my neck pain. I’m not completely pain free, but I hope this will improve, as more time with Ravi marches on.

Unlike Shiva Rea‘s fabulous collection of musicians on all of her yoga DVDs and CDs, that you can listen to all day and night, I’m not fond of the music on Ravi Singh‘s DVD. So, I’ve written down the poses, along with the time for each, so that I can do it on my own, with my own tunes.

I’ve been doing this video for a month, three days a week, with Shiva Rea – Yoga Shakti on the other two days. (Hatha, it turns out, is the only workout that “stops” my restless legs.) In the end, I have lost 6.5 pounds in one month. The biggest benefit is that these exercises have strengthen my core, which has expanded outward to my arms and legs. I noticed this as I went back to Shiva Rae, and was able to hold downward dog that extended beyond my normal fatigue level. Also, when I run around at the park with the boys, my breath doesn’t get short as quickly.

Emotionally, I’ve noticed I’m a bit more relaxed… still impatient… but able to sit and wait, and not jump at the first sound of a crash in the house, and wait to see if it “resolves itself.”

If anything, Fat Free Yoga has enhanced my Hatha yoga practice. The stretches I follow with Shiva Rea are deeper, as my core is stronger, and the muscles in my legs and arms are strong enough to hold me while I extend farther. With those benefits, this yoga DVD will stay a part of my overall yoga maintenance. The hardest challenge is deciding each day, which one I will do, as I still need both.

Have you heard those stories about organ donors? A recipient suddenly falls in love with classical music, and later learns the owner of the heart was a classical musician; a fast-food junkie receives a heart from a vegetarian and suddenly meat makes her sick; or more dramatically, the story of a 10-year old who received the heart of a murdered 8-year-old. The murder was unsolved. Yet, the 10-year old began to have nightmares, and the details in her dreams convicted the killer with the time, weapon, place, and clothes he wore.

The stories are documented in Paul Pearsall’s, MD, book, The Heart’s Code, after he interviewed 150 organ transplant recipients and found that the cells of living tissues do remember. (February, the month of valentines, is American Heart Month, by the way.) Does the recipient know he’s getting far more than just a heart? That he will now have access to the pathways that make up another soul?

Memories are stored in our cells, not just our minds.

When a baby is created, the first sign of life is the beating heart. The heart comes first… not the brain.

Knowing this information makes me uneasy about checking that box on the driver’s license application for organ donation. I know this is the greatest gift I can give… but knowing that the organ comes with its own “private” personal history changes everything. It’s nut just a pump; it’s a heart full of memories, pains, joys… that will live on despite my physical presence here or not. I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around the whole concept just yet…

This month, I’m starting a radically new yoga routine — Kundalini Yoga. On a physical level, I’ve never worked harder, sweating and panting through the end. On a heart level, I notice that it is pulling deeply embedded memories out of hibernation. Stories flash before me like a mini-movie-dream.

Between each yoga, (asana), pose, you are invited to rest. At first, I was irritated, as my goal for doing this DVD was to keep my heart rate elevated throughout the entire routine. I have since learned that the rests do not de-escalate my heart rate that much, really. The rest is necessary — without these little pauses the memories the poses invoke would pile up and crash at the end of the hour. The rest is not for my heart rate… it’s for my heart.

Have you noticed how dramatically different the mind and heart approach a problem? Just when you think you have it all figured out logically, you somehow feel uneasy. Slowly, and I am learning that it’s always, the logic of the heart begins to make itself known. The logic is suddenly so clear you cannot make another choice — and that knot in your gut seems to vanish. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “To believe your own thoughts, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men–that is genius.”

Those little pauses are so important. Although the mind speaks loud and clear, the heart never shouts. It always whispers. Without the pauses, we can’t hear what the heart is saying.

Have you noticed this?

Funerals move too quickly –

they close the casket

before you’re ready

I need — and want — to linger.

Is this is a favor?

That truck with the dirt

shows up as we leave the grave.

Please, don’t let me see.

He lived a long life

so, you think you won’t be sad.

Death is expected.

Still, a reminder

your place in the universe

has shifted a bit.

Then you see his son…

sitting in that same church pew

where you sat with Dad.

Please spare him this pain…

and then, the tears flow in waves.

You move your gaze,

And see the sibblings

the baby brother is now

left behind, again.

I’m so happy

that I still have someone small

who sits on my lap.

My tears fall on his

little shoulder; can I stop

grief’s sting in his life?

I hug him tighter

then I whisper in his ear

love is forever…