~worth a read~

2 minutes

Take two minutes to lightly close your eyes and relax your face.  You can do this sitting, laying down, or standing.

Let you shoulders move down the back.

Inhale, allowing the belly to be big.

Slowly exhale anything that is not serving you in this present moment, drawing out all the air from the lungs.

Continue this breathing practice for about 12- 15 deep breaths.

Let you breath become natural.

Take a moment to think of two to three things you are grateful for.

Bring your palms together, thumbs touching your heart center.

Close your two minute practice how you wish.

Perhaps gently bowing the head to your practice, to your life, to the divine within.

Open the eyes, taking your time to return to "normal" activities.

Love and breath,
Charlene

A two minute poem by yours truly for Valentine's Day.

I came to be from the stars and the earth

I wandered deep inside, finding my way

You came to be from the stars and the earth

You wandered deep inside, finding your way

A collision of the cosmos came to be

When you

And me

Became we.

Facebook Free February

In honor of the first day of February yesterday, I decided to take the month off from Facebook.  Let's see how much time I save for other things like:
Meditation
Yoga
Painting
Writing
Reading.

: )

An interesting way to look at death with a connection between Jesus and yoga:

"Nidrasana (Sanskrit nidra = “to lie down, to sleep”) is a fundamental yogic
posture. It is the position we take when we sleep. In fig. 7, Jesus appears laid in the tomb. In this posture the body is at rest and, like the energy lying in a seed, is preparing to come again to life. Death in this way can be understood as a form of sleep. Death is not a final destruction of the body but a condition in which the human vessel lies hidden for a while in the womb of mother earth. Yoga is concerned with rebirth, with a life force that is continually trying to renew the physical world."

Source:
Sahi, J. (2008). Yoga and the Wounded Heart. Religion & The Arts, 12(1-3), 42-76. doi:10.1163/156852908X270926

*Note: Nidrasana is more the savasana lay down for yoga nidra meditation, at least in my interpretation.

Owning Your Own Shadow Book by Robert Johnson excerpt

The last portion of this book was absolutely fantastic.  The exploration of mandorlas connected many cultures and forms of art, religions, and cultures. 

I have always been fascinated by mandorlas and yoni shapes.  I remember over half a decade ago, I felt compelled to get out my oils and brushes, connecting them to canvas. I ended up painting something very yoni-like without realizing why, it just was so beautiful, dark, and perfect.  

"A particularly powerful form of mandorla can be seen in the customs of South American curanderos, who are a curious mixture of primitive shaman and Catholic priest. Their mesa (table) is an altar where they say Mass for the healing of their patients. They divide this alter into three distinct sections. The right is made up of inspiring elements such as a statue of a saint , a flower, a magic talisman; the left contains very dark and forbidding elements such as weapons, knives, or other instruments of destruction. The space between the two opposing elements is a place of healing. The message is unmistakable; out own healing proceeds from that overlap of what we call good and evil, light and dark. It is not that the light element alone does the healing; the place where light and dark begin to touch is where miracles arise. This middle place is a mandorla." p. 111

“Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

Absolutely stunning words

Jack Gilbert

The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words Get it wrong. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people in northern India is dying out because their ancient tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would finally explain why the couples on their tombs are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated, they seemed to be business records. But what if they are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light. O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper, as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor. Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script is not a language but a map. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses and birds.

Poem found here: http://www.smith.edu/poetrycenter/poets/theforgottendialect.htm.