Creative Process

Grace Comes in a Surgical Vest
Flak Jacket

My new uniform for a few weeks

At the beginning of this week, I explained to my classes that I was going on medical leave. I kept it as La Di Da as I could.

In each class, there was a person who waited until all the other students left so that he or she could ask about my diagnosis. I was honest about breast cancer and my need for a bilateral mastectomy. The reason I didn’t announce this diagnosis and treatment as I sent around the healing stone at those final classes is that I didn’t want to trigger someone with my news. So many women have had breast cancer. Someone in my class has either had a scare, had it, or had a close relative or friend who had it or died from it. In my classes over the years, I have had students who have shown up in their compression sleeves having conquered it or in their head scarves as they lived with its treatment. Soon, I’ll join their ranks as I return to community practice.  (Can’t wait!)

La Di Da doesn’t mean repressing hard feelings. Getting to this surgery wasn’t a breeze. I grieved by painting watercolor portraits of my breasts (yup, never sharing). As I painted the line, the form, the shape I allowed myself to reminisce about how I felt about them as a early teen, how they served me well as I fed my infant children, or of beautiful garments that showed them off. I thought about the meaning of breasts in our culture and in others, about sexuality and objectification. As I finished the last painting I thought about how much space I had created for healing by honoring and packing these old breasts away.

Today, as the grace of healing is just pouring down on me, I’m glad I made some room for it through grief. I have been treated by excellent doctors and compassionate nurses. I have a family and a community of people who call, write, text, and show their love and support in so many ways. Tom has emptied my drains, kept up with my meds and has been a constant companion through all of the prep for the surgery and will be there as we await a call about the pathology, next treatment steps and final surgery to complete reconstruction.

UrsulaI’m even grateful for this white surgical vest with its exaggerated cups and industrial zipper — it looks like something Madonna wore on the “Virgin” tour — and my handy-dandy drain belt in matching white Velcro. The first time I undressed in front of a mirror, I said, “Hey!  Don’t I look like Ursula Andress in that Bond movie?”  And Tom, because he is a beautiful soul, agreed enthusiastically as he prepared my shower.

 

 

Healing Stone

Stone

This is my healing stone, given to me by friends and Iona, who invited me to a lunch last month.  As we parted, Deb invited each person to share healing energy with me by holding the stone in their hands for a brief moment. This past week, I’ve told my students that I’ll be on medical leave for at least four weeks.  This is the longest I’ve been away in 7 and 1/2 years.  I’ve brought this healing stone with me and have had students share their energy with me after a juicy practice.  I will ask Tom to bring it to the hospital room with him when I am in recovery mode so that I can feel the love and light of my friends in the palm of my hand.

This past three weeks, I’ve taught from Yoga Sutra II:16:  Prevent the suffering that is yet to come. How? Find equanimity.  We can use our bodies to find balance. Working to step on the earth in such a way that there is equal weight in each foot. Shaping the breath in equal inhales and exhales. Using the body and breath to step back from your thoughts and be the witness rather than the participant. From this place of equanimity the present moment holds peace, spaciousness, joy. In the beginning of our practice, the glimpse of this space is so fleeting, but with time it grows big enough to hold our suffering and to know that suffering will end.

This is grace.  We’ve got all the  we gifts we need to receive it: body, breath, mind, heart and spirit.

Thank you for your healing thoughts and prayers.

 

 

Awake Curious

Sober Curious
I’ve read two articles about being “sober curious” in my hometown paper in the past month. As someone who chose to stop drinking in April, I feel buoyed by the fact that there are others who are curious about living this way. At the same time, I feel as thought I’ve caught the latest fad, like Whole 30 or mom jeans.

In April I was working with the concept of “awake” in my classes, asking my students to be fully awake to their experiences – not to push them down, deny them, numb them. To meet anything that came up in their bodies, mind and spirits as a gift – a ground – in which to find a path to calming the fluctuations of the mind.

Meanwhile, each weekend, I drank alcohol. Monday morning classes were hard. By Wednesday, I felt better, slept better, had more energy because I didn’t drink during the week (and that was hard!) But then I systematically dismantled this sense of well-being with each glass at Happy Hour on Friday, cocktails on Saturday, and glasses of wine with Sunday dinner. It was a pattern of behavior it took me quite some time to recognize and then even longer to stop.

Each sober curious person has a story about how well they feel when they finally stop drinking alcohol. Mine is this: When my diagnosis came, I received my news with the equanimity that comes from being awake. I’m already practicing letting go and being honest and these practices are really handy in  the face of challenge. I am comforted that my intuition had already started me on a path of healing.

To prepare for healing through art-making post-surgery, I have been practicing with watercolors, something I’ve never quite liked to do. (Kind of like those nemesis poses we hate to do, but those are the ones we need so badly.) With watercolors, you have to plan for the light before you start. A good practice for healing — find the light then work with it as your focus.

When I saw this picture by Tom McCorkle in the in the Food Section of The Washington Post on Wednesday, I wanted to paint it because of the light.  I didn’t want to drink it.

All is well.

La Di Da

La Di DaA good friend gave me this tee shirt off her back. I’m going through a health challenge right now which will mean that I will have to stop teaching yoga and art for a just a little bit beginning in August. My friend is a bit older than me, as are the people I have the privilege to know through the classes I teach for Iona. Older friends have taught me well. Health challenges are part of living with the body as it ages. These challenges don’t define who we really, truly are. They are best met with a “La Di Da.”

My yoga practice of only 14 years is as comfortable and comforting as a worn-out tee and is there when I need it most. I feel grounded and calm, though I’m having to make tough changes in my life to accommodate healing. Every time I find myself worrying about these changes or predicting the outcome of my diagnosis, I label it “thinking,” and return to the beauty of the day outside, or the preparations I’m making for my art class tomorrow; making blueberry muffins or enjoying conversation on the porch with someone I love. Letting go of predicting the future, making plans for the worst or the best or the unforeseen, is a bit “La Di Da,” but it is necessary to healing and wholeness.

Since my life’s work is about helping people find healing and peace through yoga and artmaking and I won’t be in the studio for a while, I’ve decided to turn back here to an online community. It’s been a while since shared connections I found between these practices (like this, and this and even this.) If my energy allows, I plan to teach from the heart right here. Who knows, I might find myself recording the fantasy class I’ll take when I’m able and share it with my friends here. The theme? Living the “La Di Da.”