Santo

I haven't written in a while. Life has been... speaking loudly recently. I've been too busy listening. And learning.

Connie, Chris' stepmom, passed away on January 8. Chris was with her when she took her last breath. It was such an honor to walk with her until the end. 

The memorial service was a celebration, filled with interesting characters from Connie's life. We sang Morning Has Broken, Swing Low Sweet Chariot. Songs of hope. Check out the beautiful slideshow here.

She was an adventurer, a collector of beauty. It feels so strange that she is gone.

Death is strange. One person's life ends, everyone else's continues. We have to move on without her. Eat lunch, take a shower. But we are changed, forever.

The week after Connie's death I began my 3 week yoga teacher training at the Asheville Yoga Center. I thought I was going to have to cancel, I was a bit shaken by the experience and felt I didn't have the strength to do the training. But I am so grateful I did. 

I went into the yoga teacher training expecting to learn to do fancy arm balances, handstands. Bad ass stuff. What I found was my own breath. My life! Gratitude. Yoga, to me, is movement with breath. It's a way of connecting with yourself and the present moment. The balance between effort and ease. 

I remember going to my first yoga class, clumsy. I remember thinking that I could never teach it. I would never be good at it.

The truth is, I am not the most flexible person. Nor am I naturally coordinated. But I love sharing yoga with other people. Especially in Spanish! When Sister Peggy invited me to teach yoga last September, I wasn't sure what I have doing. I learned the poses in Spanish, I awkwardly guided the class through it. Now, it feels like second nature. I feel confident. 

I'm not sure what I will do with my yoga certification. I don't think I want to be a full-time yoga teacher, but I want to continue teaching it in some way. Possibly to Latino farmworkers and their families this summer! Life continues to be full of surprises.

And maybe that's the point - 
Enlightenment will never be reached.
We are always growing, moving.
Never stagnant.
My practice comes in stages,
As I climb up the mountain,
Only to find the range is endless.
I have so much more to climb.
I protest...
I thought I had finally made it.
My creator laughs,
Wraps me in her arms,
And stands on her head,
Just as my grandmother did
In her polka-dotted bathing suit
Never forgetting to laugh at life.
Om namah shivaya.
I am a child again.
I sigh, and ask my mother from the back of the minivan,
"Are we there yet?"