I laughed out loud when I got this thank you note from Lark. Check out the “live long and prosper” hand and the references to Star Wars and the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. This kid is brilliant.
A 10-year-old girl named Lark completely captured my heart last weekend. She suffers from debilitating Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and I had the privilege to go to San Pedro, CA and teach my Wisdom of the Chakras workshop as a yoga benefit for her. I absolutely fell in love with her!
I’m not the only one who loves Lark. There are at least 16 other people who feel the same way because they all rallied together for her last weekend. I had the pleasure of leading the workshop and meeting all these beautiful people interested in the chakras and interested in helping Lark.
Every once in awhile, I have a visceral reaction while I am teaching. I’m overcome with a powerful undercurrent of love and I don’t understand it. My rational mind is aware that these people I’m feeling love for are effectively strangers. It doesn’t make sense to me but it is a very real experience. I’m moved to tears feeling this feeling and I try to just let it wave over me. It is beautiful.
Last weekend was a reminder that despite feelings of loneliness, we are not alone. The feeling of being connected is available to us at any time if we are willing. Thanks to Lark, I’m more willing.
Energy, or prana, flows through the body and the chakras provide a sacred roadmap to our consciousness. The subtle energy we experience can be explored through the architectural design of the chakras, their traits, qualities, and physical manifestations. In this workshop, we will investigate the chakras as an energy system as it relates to the healing practice of yoga.
Sign up here – very limited space available
The Stewpot Art Program is a community outreach serving the homeless and at-risk populations of Dallas. It is open to people looking for an environment to express and create through the medium of art.
Starting on Wednesday, I am teaching my Creative Process Yoga class to provide a format for the artists to get to know their creative process in a more intimate way through yoga, meditation and conscious breathing.
I feel a deep connection to those I will serve because there is a part of me who identifies with this feeling of not having a home. I feel blessed and honored to volunteer the wisdom yoga provides to all people – regardless of their social status, income or belief structure.
She heard a voice while searching for a sign in the woods that closed her throat in on itself like a black hole swallowing matter. It sucked her breath, her umbilical cord to source. The alchemy of longing changed to feeling. All grown up, she waved the white flag to no one among the silence in the trees, her heart open, revealing to the space her fear that he was only in the vivid hues of imagination.
All this time selecting, grading, discarding, she turned herself into a miner. Infatuation was all a matter of perspective as she snapped up, documented and filed the moments through her left eye. The view from the high rise was the same as the view from the lake. She became a key collector.
Daily, her ritual bath was self-awareness. Doing what was filtered into her imagination, she knew.
Can she change her last name to Hope? It resided in her thoughts where truth murders time and expectation dances with faith. She’s known this is the place only she can go – never looking back like Orpheus did and never wearing a watch. At least this way she could blame it on their individual mission statements and the IPO.
Is this the last time she cries for the love only held through conversations with Mr. Rogers? Relief comes in the stillness, the knowing, that he will find her.
As sculptors, they created each other. They were detectives searching for the seed planted by children force fed a diet of judgement. At the end of the day, she drew him from the mountain, home to rest his head upon her breast. Who is with you at the end of the day is what matters. Thought bubbles held songs that shaped her upbringing and he read them like a comic strip. She listened to his ideas, connections, contemplation, confessions and worries. He was only waiting to hear her voice. She talked of her gratitude, her forgiveness, her knowing, and confessed her fears.
Everyday they walked in the woods, showing each other the signs, drinking the nectar of the gods.
And on the 9th day, Beatrice heard the tree, “Sing. Sing not for the sense but sing for my breath, my life. Our soul.”
Every ending is a chance to look back at the beginning and embrace change as your constant companion while you regard time as a specter who wants to be seen.
Yesterday, my yogis from Advanced Yoga Studies Level 2 graduated. I still haven’t processed how my time will change now that I won’t be teaching a training program until August but I have processed the beauty and wisdom these women shared with me during our 100-hours together. Today, I feel like a momma bird who is watching her babies fly from the nest. I am so grateful.
There is a man who pushes a cart around the neighborhood, collecting cans from recycle bins. I’m assuming he is homeless. He’s become as familiar as my next door neighbor with his routine stop in front of my house and we always wave, give the obligatory smile, and the neighborly exchange of conversational pleasantries.
At first, I felt pity for this man… how it must feel to not have a home… how he must be living in fear. My ability to project my own fears of survival on this man led me to see there is no indication from him that he is afraid. He actually seems quite happy as he delivers a nugget of wisdom in conversation, “You deserve the truth.”
Then I felt envious of his reality – time is simply measured by sunlight. He need not wear a watch as he is free to do anything with his time. The watch is my albatross. Freedom exists in the mind and reality is what we make of it.
On my days off, I aim to live more like this man – wandering with the sun as my guide, wondering with my shadow behind.
Ever wondered why a song gets stuck in your head?
One Love Dallas. Yoga Charity Event. Off the Mat Into the World. 108 Sun Salutations. India. AT&T Performing Arts Center. Yoga Event Dallas. Trina Hall Treenuh Yoga.
One Love Dallas – the brainchild of Melody Moore and Jennifer Chitwood – is like a yoga marathon. They choose 12 teachers each year to lead hundreds of people through 108 sun salutations to raise money and awareness for a charity, Off the Mat into the World. I’m in for my 2nd year and I am honored to be in the company of these other amazing teachers. Let’s all get on board and do this!
This year, One Love Dallas is raising money to liberate and educate women and children who are victims of sex trafficking in India. I know, this is heavy sh*t. The CIA estimates that 1,000,000 girls and women are put into sex enslavement every year. Every year, 50,000 girls are kidnapped and brought in to the US alone.
Open your heart, open your wallet and give some hard earned cash to help empower these women and children who need our help! If we can find it in our hearts to help, we must.
I’ve started a team to encourage my students, friends, and family to donate: http://www.crowdrise.com/onelovetreenuh
If you don’t want to donate, get your yoga on and participate in the 108 sun salutations with me!!
Thanks to stevankoye.com for our group photos!
This will be a beautiful experience you won’t want to miss!
Come celebrate with us on The Mat’s Two Year Anniversary! All day long we will have home baked goodies, hot apple cider, raffle drawings after every class, and big sales on retail products. Don’t miss our extra special live music during the 6:30pm Open Flow & 7:35pm Meditation classes with Trina by The Sound and The Meaning, North Texas’ vibrant kirtan and world music ensemble.
Pre-registration is greatly appreciated, and the 6:30pm class is first come, first served, so please arrive early!
As the mourning ceased, palms hiding face
Love as impaler -
Love as liberator,
Love as the base line
Love as the thread
Love as the wave
Love as the particle.
There is no light, no darkness.
Love is all there is.
Love is all I am.
Raindrops have marching orders
Falling in line.
All mistresses of the Infinite.
A yellow marker along the human experience.
The story you are about to read is completely true. All names have been changed to protect those with a guilt-ridden grin turning up their rosy cheeks.
Bob: When was the last time you kissed someone?
Me: Someone tried to kiss me Thursday.
Bob: What do you mean someone tried? Do you not like kissing? Kissing is good.
Me: I love kissing – it just has to feel right.
Bob: Do you think you could ever be in love with me?
Me: There is no way I can know that after 10 minutes of knowing you.
Bob: Sure there is. Maybe yes or maybe no.
Me: I haven’t a clue.
Bob: Can I impregnate you?
Snake became his staff
furrowed brow in hand.
Casting thought on River’s spine
we took the path without footsteps.
Last night, something shifted as I lay awake at 2am, listening to music. I questioned my beliefs. I thought about my attachments. There was a time when I wanted to learn what was important to me. I moved into my run down art studio – it didn’t have a kitchen or a shower and was probably 100 square feet or something. I became keenly aware of what I needed and was able to see and feel my attachments to things. Turns out I don’t need that love letter from my ex but I do want the book my grandpa read to me as a little girl. We get to choose what we keep from our past. There is something symbolic about letting the physical go – we shift the energy. We make space.
This afternoon, I cut about one foot off my hair. Thoughts of identity, labels, femininity, love crossed my mind as the scissors sheared through my attachments and released freedom. Liberation and I embraced.
The funny part – that I only realized afterward – is my mom called me two days ago. She and my brother were watching the Cowboys vs. Redskins football game. When I was 3 or so, I cut my hair EXTREMELY short when these two teams played each other. Every year, they call me to tell me to hide my scissors.
Earth waits for her lover to whisper a new season on her breast. The breeze is hinting at change; a softening of the air that graces Earth’s skin. Sky makes love to the horizon – the unattainable vision of unity out of division. Her body aches as she lay in silent breath. Come to me, my lover. Breathe light inside me. All at once, devour me – enlighten me – frighten me – become me. My womb is your grave.