The sacred overwhelms my heart
Love for the fearful covers doubt
Perfection lives in the heart of nature
Return to her roots!
Your rapture is found in her flow!
The golden thread that weaves me as a tapestry
braids me to you.
The Trinity of the Now.
Remember, Atlas shrugged, too.
Seeking an answer is like trying to understand the tree by only looking into its shadow.
In the silence, the beat, butterfly wings pulsing at your heart.
Witness sacred in mundane.
Take care of yourself and wear your apron.
Sweep your own floors.
Make dinner as you linger in another’s depth.
See the resonance – the relics and the seeds.
Look to the tree, inspiration between limbs. It holds up the sky where you shine.
My paintings and exhibitions are up on my new website: trinatheartist.com
|Mend by Treenuh|
Mixed Media 5×7
This piece began with a thin layer of wax applied with a palette knife and then iridescent pure pigment was applied with oil directly to the wax. The texture was given to the wax before the pigment was applied so the pigment would settle into the grooves smoothly. I then threaded a needle through the thickest part of the wax. The signature used two buttons similar, but of slightly different hues.
Who typically mends in families? Clothing and hearts and skinned knees? The women. Who mends the women?
1. Yes, that is me. No, it is not Photoshopped.
2. Yes, I am on a ledge. No, I did not pee in my pants.
3. Right after this shot, I stuck out my tongue at the photographer, Stevan Koye, and I fell and almost busted my butt.
4. Yes, it was worth it!
Thanks to the incomparable StevanKoye.com for the amazing shot and thank you for not publishing me biting it. 🙂
Sometimes we make important life decisions based on what we think we should do. The “should” can become a barometer for being loved or accepted by others. Much of my life was spent as a purposeful outsider… Never wanting to be adopted into one group, I joined them all. It is like how I can’t choose my favorite color – wouldn’t green get its feelings hurt if I chose pink?
While working in an art gallery and at a museum, I found yoga. Finally, something pure enough for me to want to dig my teeth into. I said my vows, got my membership card and thought of how to best serve yoga itself. I wanted to give people something to look up to… I wanted to be a leader. I wanted to be heard.
So I traded in my vintage hat collection for an ascetic life, trying to free myself from desires and craving. I cleansed. I purified. I tried to honor what the yogic teachings offered me. Glamour and elegance no longer mattered to me. I wanted to embody the perfect yogi. As a girly girl who started wearing high heels before she could ride a bike, it was a stretch to stop wearing make up, but I did.
I became obsessed with my ideal of what I thought I should be. My self-esteem was garnered from an external perception and I somehow always fell short.
All this did is isolate me further from my own truth: anything other than following your heart is a form of self-deception. I was too truthful outwardly to others but little by little, I lied to my heart.
I’ve embraced more of myself – who I am beyond archetypes and titles – and my art is now reflecting my heart instead of my issues. It’s ok to be in love with who I really am and at the end of the day, I’m the only one who is keeping score.
I don’t want to be an ascetic. That isn’t the key to happiness. Happiness lives in the space. Happiness lives in gratitude… Fall down on your knees kind of gratitude. Find the things that make your heart smile and do more of that. I don’t want to be a part of anything less than helping people remember this. We all know it, we just need to be reminded – everything is cool.
Score one for me – I can finally put on my cocktail dress, open a bottle of champagne and do yoga in my favorite pair of heels. Ok so it wasn’t the most comfortable of endeavors, but you get the point, right?
I’d rather stand on my head than talk about the weather.
What is the shadow but an expression of fallen light?
Adventure calls but its voice can only be felt. It’s a feather tickling the heart and a longing in the belly. Those who follow the call arrive in their lives with masks of comedy and tragedy tucked in their back pockets, showing those behind of their past.
For those who walk the lonely path toward meaning offer the opposites to the present like a sacrifice to the gods on the altar of fear. Babylon should be so lucky to imbibe the river’s floods.
Drink up. Suck upon the marrow of time.
Let the city unfold your perceptions as a lover opens a letter. Retreat into yourself but watch. There are patterns, signs, and ways of thinking. Discern them all! Allow the blossom of your heart to unfold like the petals of a flower seeking the sun. Learn the ways of the world but don’t become those ways. Walk your own path and feel those who’ve passed by.
Looking, searching for myself in others, I find the streets.
Uptown and downtown, I walk along designed graph paper, seeking.
The seer sees.
The seeker seeks.
The bird, he sings,
And the tree, she weeps.
Oh city, take me under your wing.
Tell me your secrets like the train passes the breeze.
What is love but the preamble to loss? A sacred contract extracting attachment that pierces the experience of now. Dancing with fools was a thing of the past. Co-creation of the unconventional, they imagined their hieros gamos. Rules and boundaries are made, not borrowed. She holds a heart to be opened, not broken.
Life is really simple; you live and you die. Life’s riches come from attachment and the learning of another is the sweetness of life. She wants to feel the richness of life’s color and know the sound of the vibration. So many possibilities as Spring announced her arrival. The tree is lush and she wants to be seen beyond the leaves.
What causes a sigh?
What brings the ache?
Where is the longing?
How does one wake up?
Where is the line of acceptance
and when does one keep going?
Yoga College Series at The Mat Yoga Studio
Join Trina Hall for this amazing opportunity to go to Yoga College! The Yoga College Series is like going back to school but much more cost-effective and fun! This is your chance to enrich your mind in the philosophy of yoga as you engage in lecture and discussion with like-minded yogis.
Pick the topics to choose your “degree plan”. Come to one or all of the seminars in the series to expand your knowledge on a wide variety of philosophical topics.
Trina Hall, a former college yoga professor, will be giving each of the lectures and accepts apples from the teacher’s pet.
What to bring: Bring a notebook and a pen to take notes.
Cost: $20 per session. Register here.
I was interviewed by Marquette Falbo on meditation. Hear the interview here on BlogTalkRadio
“Created in response to Magmart Video Festival Director Enrico Tomaselli’s 2014 Global Video Program “The Five Senses” representing artists from five continents, this video Touchpoint explores touch as a signifier for a moment of physical and emotional connection, a moment of self and communal discovery… a moment of truth.” – Colette Copeland
Directed, filmed and edited by Colette Copeland
Filmed at The Mat Yoga Studio
Starring yogis Lisa Coyle & Trina Hall
Music by Frame “Global Communication” (Free Music Archive)
It was such a treat to work with the team of producers at “Good Morning, America”. You can read the story and see the entire piece here. http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/health/2013/09/25/confessions-of-a-temporarily-fat-yogi/
Thanks to the incredible team at Good Morning America!
Thank you to Angela Haupt of US News and World Report, New York Daily News, Business Insider, Mike Lucas of “The Doctors”, and Chris Weller of Medical Daily for helping me change the face of yoga. There are so many “success” stories out there about people losing weight. Thank you for showing my success story of how my weight gain helped me find a new level of self-awareness and acceptance. My art piece started a conversation that I think needs to be taking place in our society.
I’ve gained weight and I’m not pregnant. I’ve followed the brand new, yogi-approved Seat Diet.
See it… eat it.
As a yoga teacher, this could be considered career suicide. Instead of slaying my means of supporting myself, I want to slay the notion that people who do yoga need to look like the beauties on the cover of magazines. Last year, my best friend said crying as she dealt with her lifelong eating disorder, “I don’t want to be known as the fat yoga teacher.” I was taken aback by this statement because I would classify her as beautiful, fit, and trim. I wanted to explore her statement that resonated in my mind like the frequency of fingernails tagging with sound their presence on the chalkboard.
To me, ‘fat’ is an arbitrary word that is used as ammunition to harm another. I’m not at war.
I thought this would be an experiment in empowering people to love their bodies and not try to fit society’s mold. Instead, reality of my latent insecurities came like a football team’s kicker being put in as the center (my identity was pummeled).
The stories I made up about what people thought of me were changing and I was emotionally affected. Suddenly, my self-worth was proving to be connected to how good I looked wearing spandex – something I completely denied giving a shit about before this experiment – and that pissed me off. Guilt from eating foods I typically considered bad for me were constant companions in my thoughts. Shame did cameo appearances in my mind’s movie reel daily.
My most shocking discovery through the process is that I’m afraid of not being loved. I noticed the self-talk was that my beauty is only on the surface. I feared no man would want me this way and that I would die alone, probably from choking on a potato chip. There was a war going on inside of me and neither side was winning. Once I unraveled the fears and self-assaulting language as irrational, they no longer had power over me and I began to relax into my new found “goods”.
Nietzsche says the thing separating men from gods is the belly. May we all expand our bellies to digest our fears and empower our minds to think. May we all understand that we all want to be loved for who we are… however we are in the moment. And may we all find love and not die alone, from potato chip asphyxiation.
PS – I’m not fat; I’m fucking awesome!
There was a time when all I needed for inspiration was a quote, horoscope, fortune cookie, or one of those refrigerator magnet poems. The days of fluffing the pillows of hope to make the world seem less random are over. I am simultaneously distraught and relieved that I no longer rely on my tea bag for a shot of wisdom.
My industry is known for injecting the public with heightened inspiration, feel-good yumminess, and the perception that one can be happy all the time. I’m a generally calm and happy person but I’m over the illusion that we can talk ourselves into seeing the half-full glass as overflowing.
Nature is my teacher. People are a part of nature and in my work, I come in contact with a diverse group of humans. A lot of people subscribe to the theory posed by a new-age book that claims to reveal the one secret law of the universe. Basically, it says one just has to specifically ask the universe for what one wants and, like a genie granting wishes, it will appear.
I’m a big believer in setting a goal and a bigger believer in working my ass off to achieve the goal. Whether or not I accomplish the goal seems to only come down to how I choose to spend my time… Not whether I put the right picture on my vision board/talked with my angel guides/chose the right spirit animal before my vision quest.
We have an immense amount of power in our brains to change the way we think about things, but because we change our thoughts does not make something manifest into this world.
I’ve found the people who talk the most about manifesting are the people who are doing the furthest thing from their ideal job. I get that we all want direction and we all want a plan, but the thing that pisses me off about “The Secret” will hopefully become clear by the end of this rant.
Driving down a busy street in Dallas in the middle of Summer, I saw a man carrying his groceries. He was blind and using a walking stick. Do you think it would help him to wish himself out of blindness? Do you think having a clear intention would spontaneously make him able to see? No. And an intention like that would be a complete waste of time and energy whose results would be futile.
He inspired me. He didn’t let his fear take hold of him.
A student of mine was struggling in a yoga class this morning. We were doing Downward Facing Dog. For many healthy people, this pose is a breeze. This man would get into the pose for about one second and need to come down to his knees again. He did this five times in the eight seconds we held the pose. This student has Cerebral Palsy and wants so badly to do the yoga poses everyone else in the class is doing. Do you think if he was very clear that he is asking the universe to heal him that he would get better? Do you think it is a good use of his mental capacities to dream of having use of all motor and mental functions?
He inspired me. He kept trying. He isn’t giving up.
People who do their best with what they have inspire me. Determination and focus inspire me. Vision and creativity inspire me. Don’t tell me the world is going to shimmer with sparkles and happiness when sometimes it is just going to suck. Teach me how to work with what I have – to shape my own clay into something I really love. Teach me how to get re-focussed when I lose sight. Teach me how to love.
Sacred witness being seen
Love floats through air
lands in our embrace.
Steadfast, oh silent heart
The bounty of my love’s fruit
cannot be found in dreams.
Words are easy
words come cheap
therefore, do not speak.
Our magic lives in a space of
I garnish a life.
Equations make sense because we’ve all agreed on the meaning of the symbols within the equation. The plus sign means what it means and there isn’t any argument. We don’t put our subjective vacillating thoughts on the number 8, expecting it to adapt to our will.
Labels and titles are different. When we embark on a journey of any kind with any sort of title or label, we carry along the expectations of said title with us. We project our desires and insecurities onto the title, or moreso, onto the person we’ve bestowed the title upon. This projection creates a disparity between truth (undifferentiated reality – looking at ‘what is’) and our projection of what we think the truth should be.
We all do this unconsciously. How can we begin to recognize the pattern? Notice when you complain about something someone else is doing. A complaint is simply saying, “Reality is different from my projection of what I think reality should be.” You can easily get into a battle of wills stemmed from your desire to control someone or a situation. Reality always wins – it is more of a control freak than you are and it will make you happier if you accept other people the way they are without complaining.
Don’t try to make someone better. You can only attempt to make yourself better.
Accepting someone how they are without trying to change them is a form of love. My most fulfilling relationships are the ones where acceptance is mutual. My dearest friends see my character flaws. They don’t spend time dwelling in my apparent short comings and they don’t remind me of my inability to be perfect. They love me in spite of myself.
I’m in love with many people. I’m in love with the wholeness of them. I am in love with their humanness. I love the unspoken connection. I love the knowing. I lean into the ease of loving.
My favorite thing to do is be creative… however that shows up – whether through creating an experience for my students, cooking for my friends, painting, or photography, it is something that brings me an infinite amount of satisfaction and joy to share.
There are a select few who have seen me in my creative state. It is sacred for me. One of my closest advisers has pushed me to another level where I am exploring the idea of sharing parts of my creative process. This video is part of this new idea.
I’m scared to death as I post this. It isn’t about fear of what people think or how people may judge me. It is a vulnerability – a true showing of my heart. I figure I might as well be even more real and more honest. Isn’t it true that is something scares you, it is worth doing? 🙂
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, we will be offering 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 honored to volunteer the wisdom yoga provides to all people – regardless of their social status, income or belief structure.
I have my grandpa’s cowboy hat, his cameras, the book he read to me as a little girl. He was a boisterous, jolly architect (who never graduated high school), who loved to fish, played the fiddle, was an elder in the Church of Christ, and escaped as a POW during World War II. Never settling for anything average, Grandpa added color and depth to my life as if I lived in the Wizard of Oz after the house landed on the witch. He believed in family. He believed in laughter. He believed in love. I sure do wish I could hug him now and tell him what is going on in my life. I’m having one of those moments where I realize he would be proud of me and who I have become. The tears magnify the letters on my screen as I know what it feels like to be loved.
My dad often gave me pens as a child because of my love of office supplies. Just like a musical instrument can be a muse, a new pen is my muse. I love to test drive a pen to feel how it performs in my hand and glides across the paper. My dad also gave me determination and project-based thinking, a logical mind, as well as the desire to see things differently. After his dad’s funeral, we took a three-hour drive home and discussed the nature of time. It was the first time I saw him as a philosopher as we bantered back and forth about alternate universes. He took what are called “Daddy shortcuts” where we would take the time from point A to B to see something beautiful. I do this now. Thanks to him, I know how to take my time. Poppa took me on dates as a little girl and I fell in love with this protector who worked full time and went to school full time to take better care of us. He is the kind of person who knows what the weather is going to be. He always carries a pocket knife and is active in his church choir. He was a boy scout troop leader who can start a fire with dryer lint. I can’t believe he is my dad. I’m lucky.
Rob Brown was my mentor and friend. A wicked sense of humor and impeccable timing joined us together along with our love of art, music, and generally messing with people. He said, “I want to change all I’s in the alphabet to U’s,” So we dud. Every sungle one of them was changed un oir dauly conversatuons and emauls. Before he died, he gave me a book of Richard Avedon photography that holds a special place on my bookshelf. He was listening to Desperados Waiting on a Train by Jerry Jeff Walker the entire week before he prematurely passed – so now that song is one that will make me cry no matter what. It summed up what our relationship was – I was his sidekick. That man left the planet way too soon.
I suppose the purpose of this very personal blog post is to convey that I’ve known extraordinary men who have taught me love. I have reminders of that love all around me that hold space for something special.
I love my life and I feel so grateful to be able to do what I do. The basis of what I do is teach people how to find their center in the midst of life’s inevitable chaos. I hold space for people to heal what needs to be healed so they can live a more authentic, purpose-driven life. Everything I do revolves around the creative process – something so personal, yet completely universal. It transcends language barriers. It communicates with us and through us. It is magical to me.
Part of my daily practice involves walking through the woods. I bring my keys, my journal, my music, my dog and I run. I meditate. I allow life to unfold around me and I get excited when I notice things… and there is always something new to notice so I am in a constant state of awe.
Yesterday, I was listening to this particular piece of music that put me more into a daydream – I started to run faster than I ever have before – like I was being chased. Suddenly, I tripped over a small tree stump, flew through the air and literally tumbled down to the ground. It was surreal to have my world flipped so suddenly.
When coming back to my car, I noticed I didn’t have my keys with me. I thought perhaps I had left them in the car so I went to check. Someone found my keys on the trail and left me a note.
Today, I cried for the kindness of strangers. You guys are all around me. The world is filled with kind hearted people – there are more of us than those who make the news. Everyone I’ve told this story to is shocked. They say, “Wow,” and, “You’re lucky,” and things like that but I don’t believe that. I believe they would do the same thing when put in that situation. We are inherently good. My mom said I see the world through rose-colored glasses but I’m not naive – I know desperate people do desperate things – but I do believe in the good within each of us. I believe in you. So thanks for being a stranger and thanks for helping those who aren’t yet believers see the fact that you are kind.
He has two gods: nature and music. The notes were his companion, the former rests somewhere beyond the view, begging to be graced with his footsteps. “Don’t look at me. Be with me,” Mother Nature commanded, knowing he was afraid of the dark. Did he need more strength to be strong? Burying the barbed wire beneath the brush, a toll was paid to the cheribum, Fear and Desire, to enter the garden at Giverny. The forest was disenchanted, the wolf his companion as the path was marked with art.
For seven days, he ran. He collapsed and shouted his hands skyward, seeking the mother he never had in a tree. This was his other.
She was concerned about the depth of his faith so decided to practice hers. She already survived Hades resting place where creativity’s marrow was sucked from her soul and she sought counsel in the clouds.
Sounds of a ritualized morning beckoned her from the sky. He opened the aperture of her life and grew himself in her womb. The body of his home now received her touch, the echoes of laughter and love making swam through stone and wood. She held her lion’s hand as his compass for navigating the shadow. He always had courage and seeing Waxing Gibbous reminded him of her light. He knew his light was lovable and finally had proof the entirety of his makeup being dressed down was loved, too.
She was his shelter. She was his light. They were love.
Investing their dividends, they wrote a business plan for their perspectives: luxurious utilitarianism and altruistic indulgence.
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.”
The Mat Yoga Studio is where I teach one of my babies – the training program, Advanced Yoga Studies. I was at their event, Karma Yoga Happy Hour, when the video crew asked to do an interview with me. I didn’t know what I had to say except that The Mat is a beautiful place to work because of the people there – but they pulled so much more out of me about AYS. I guess we can call this a promo for AYS – Katie and I talk about it at 2:40 or so. You may want to check out the end because I show some dance moves as poetic as Elaine from Seinfeld and her thumb dance.
Are you in the water
or on the shore?
Do you navigate
or do you stand?
Because navigation is, itself,
taking a stand.
The answer isn’t wrong
The truth lives in your sole
as you find your wings
an essence in the unseen.
The melodic aching of her soul’s longing
Comes in waves
Pluck from her tree
The taste of one great love
She, a firecracker
Icarus was he
But fly they must
Through divine inquiry.
I, too, had a series of small strokes that left me with double vision and debilitating headaches. My left eye could no longer move and I had resigned myself to always rely on other people to take care of me – a huge feat for a person who craves solitude and independence. I was sad. I was depressed. I needed help taking myself to the bathroom. My life looked so much different than what I had dreamed of as a little girl.
To cheer me up, I was given art supplies because I had said in passing, “I always wanted to be an artist.” I never took lessons but I discovered how to play and tap into the rhythm of oil painting. It was the biggest gift I had been given – relief from the pain, joy from expression, and a love of color that still charms me today.
The creative process is what healed me back to my version of normal (notice I didn’t say “normal” but “my version of normal” because I am definitely a little off-center)… but this time, I had a mission – to live a creative life and teach others how to heal themselves through creative process.
My mind seeks connection in its isolation so I seek to find ways of joining things together. Yoga was the best medium I found for joining people to a deeper connection within and outside of themselves. My teachers always talked about energy in class. Though I understood its meaning in an abstract way, I couldn’t stop thinking about the E in Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. I’ve re-imagined his theory to show how our lives and connection to source/spirit/universe can be enhanced through simple conscious breathing and movement as a meditation. I found conscious breathing is the single most beneficial thing we can do to enhance brain function, spiritual connection and overall wellness. So I need a platform to share this with more people.
I decided I wanted to give my own TED talk so I applied and was accepted to audition a 5 minute talk at TEDxSMU. I learned so much about myself, my expectations, my hopes, my dreams and my desire to communicate effectively. The stillness was palpable when the crowd was observing their senses.
This was an experience I will always treasure despite it being a horrible record of my public speaking skills. I couldn’t remember any of my jokes or any of the points I wanted to make. All in all, I sucked but at least I can say I did it.
He awakened me in Spring. His vision standing brought feeling that needed to be penetrated to be understood. Only by going deep into the now does one understand why. Choppy and rough was my demeanor with Bacchus leading the way to ceremonies. Preparation was in my hands and the only mystery was that of timing as each guard placed around the home left.
Creativity is my life and he wore a comforting glow of familiarity. His hair and lips I want to touch with full consciousness and presence, though I know nothing of love. Desire’s trumpeting gaze took hold of me and I crave more.
The pit of longing, belonging and rapture sit in my stomach while serpents swallow each other’s tails into my thoughts, digesting.
Disservice mounted this hero’s steed and rode into the sunrise with a hint of lingering appreciation.
It was a glorious Spring day when I found myself laying down, looking at the clouds drift through expansive sky-space. I noticed grey dots and wavy lines in between my eyes and my vision of the sky. The more I tried to look into the lines, the further they moved away. These are called “floaters”.
Interesting facts about these floaters:
– they cast shadows on the retina
– they are easier to see on a clear blue sky
– when we try to look directly at one, they move
Though we all develop floaters at some point, they become more prominent as we age, and none of our floaters look exactly alike.
I was thinking about how this related to my life and my vision of my life…
What are the floaters in my life? What seems just beyond my grasp? What is casting a shadow on my ability to see clearly?
This week, I will approach my life with more clarity as I set an intention to develop one-pointed vision and soften through the periphery.
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.
I aim to live more like this man – wandering with the sun as my guide, wondering with my shadow behind.
Perfume of coffee and taste of unshaven legs… the anticipation of art as a container for infinite expression. How does a shadow dance? Where do glances fall? As she approached the tarmac, she wasn’t yet cleared for landing. Baited in breath, the path became clear. There is something rich in mistaken identity as the winter’s trees pretend to have no protection. Just as in every theory, it has yet to be proven.
Her shade was taken away so the sun was in connection – more directly this time. Who was it? Where is that voice?
Belief – faith, even – is what resonates. Recalling bleeding retinas, her grandfather hadn’t warned her about looking into the sun. She assumed it was necessary to go into the light – to bathe in the rays of glorified nothingness.
To become who you truly are and imbibe power beyond form is what creates discernment. Just as the clouds scraped the rays from her skin, she exhaled. Guilt became an extension in the call directory of her thoughts; the number rarely dialed. This unwavering disregard for punishment along the gallows resulted in a sensation between her shoulder blades. What would she do with this new sense of freedom?
She put in place a policy of truth-seeking and truth-speaking that became the touchstone in her future conversations that always pierced into the essence of now. Ultimately, she was her own beneficiary and time an imagined jaded lover. She became provocative… pro-active. Gentle in her approach, the blending of creative energies was her offering.
Inspire me beyond illusion
In the space where
we are both seen
Taming the wild dream
Love into your vision
Let’s tie you up
in my apron strings
It was so much fun celebrating the two-year anniversary with The Mat Yoga Studio and all our students. At noon, I taught a fun class and this was the playlist. For those of you making a playlist at home, the class begins with Firecracker.
For the 6:30 Open Flow and Meditation classes, we brought in The Sound and the Meaning for a live music yoga class. If you haven’t done yoga to live music, you are missing something Uh-freaking-may-zeeeeeng!! Do you remember the first time you kissed someone? It is similar… filled with unfamiliar sensations and once finished, you REALLY want more.
Taylor says, “I still have a smile on face due to last night’s class. Practicing yoga between Trina’s style and live music was a memory made. Taking in the music while moving my body was extremely pleasurable and I feel blessed I was able to experience such….. Coolness.”
There you have it – she says it was cool…. besides our moms, not many people say that. We will take it! Gravy.
… and we decided live music + yoga is ALMOST as good as sex… almost.
Raindrops have marching orders
Falling in line.
All mistresses of the Infinite.
A yellow marker along the human experience.
Persephone dreamed of a man she had seen.
Sounds of a soul
The face, a cerulean hue.
A week ago, I was out walking and came across this pond. It seemed magical as I looked at it from the shore. It is as if the pond wanted to insulate itself with this covering… a security blanket adding an aura of solidarity, protecting the fragile and sensitive nature of the water.
Algae is the most basic natural food source in a pond and helps balance the entire ecosystem. If there was no algae, the food system would fall apart.
I think sometimes we feel that if we don’t have our blanket of security to distance us from true heart and spirit connection, we would fall apart. The truth is, we want to appear strong as a survival instinct. Beneath all the layers, we all just want to be loved.
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.
How do you explain a moment – a fleeting instant of purity from a magic wand hovering in the sky? You can’t. You can’t touch what it feels like to be connected. You simply can’t explain love… though we try. And, oh my, do I TRY. My senses take in an instant in time like a Polaroid that doesn’t produce a photo. I have this obsession with recording an instant with a camera – so I can convey the beauty I see – but the moment of experience is what arrests me. Look at a photo and see what I see but you can’t smell a sound or taste the air. You can’t feel the joy bubbling from my heart that I am here…. now… That life is filled with beauty in EVERY moment.
Sunday, one of my students brought this sweet suffering baby into the studio, trying to make his last moments as comfortable as possible. We gathered around him as he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to bring more air into his lungs. He was gripping to life.
This made me wonder what happened to bring him to this state. Chances are, he flew head-first into our windows and gave himself a concussion.
As everyone went into class, I took him outside and simply watched him breathe. As I centered into this experience of watching life struggle for life, I was reminded of how many times I have flown head-first into something… how many times I have given myself a concussion of sorts… how many times my perception of what is ahead of me has been skewed by my vision.
I thought about people in my life who are suffering and how much I want to help ease their pain.
I was certain these would be his last moments and I wanted to connect as deeply as I could. I began to breathe with him.
It is in these moments I am reminded of the incredible experience of being connected. Sometimes life gives us a concussion where we can’t connect as deeply as we want and we have to allow our loved ones to breathe with us.
Then I felt a sensation best described as a WHOOSH! as he lifted his head, came to his senses and flew up to the ledge near the window. As I celebrated his life, he flew off beyond the trees with a new lesson under his wings. I walked away from the studio inspired to spread my own wings and dance along the wind to my next life lesson. T h a n k y o u !
“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”
Vacillate in the contrast
white on white.
Black and white
Dark to light
Dive into grey.
Between fear and Faith
The cross between vision and expectation
Hang me there.
Lift the veil
Tears mourning Hope
Keep the change.
Sacrifice the mind
Fall in the well
A technicolor parachute
turns to grey dreams.
Alone in Creation
Banked on the river of Self Love, she splashes her face.
And then she asked of souls, “One? Two?”
Abiding Peace cleared the path in the foothills
Climb Mountain, offering life line
Stoking fire, undertaking flame.
River as perfume.
Self baptism, soak in wisdom.
Breathe in love
She asks, “Palm to palm as lovers touch, who is this?”
Then the roar came from Mountain’s core, “It’s me. It’s me.”
Mountain abides and answers her call.
Whispering in syncopated breaths, “It’s you. It’s you.”
I used to feel the ghost of people gone by.
Now my senses mate with the essence of me swallowing myself.
Raw, powerful devotion.
The sound of my body’s longing.
Goodbye to the good byes that don’t need a voice.
There is nothing wrong. There is nothing I need to fix. There is nothing I need to change. What’s up with that?
Don’t get me wrong, in the past, I could Zen myself out of any heartbreak or death but this moment is different in that I am aware of the surrender in the present moment. It is beautiful to sit in acceptance of how things are in this very moment… how things are different in this very moment.
I’ve danced between polarities of needing get to the root of my problems to denial of inner monologues as the seed of the tree of suffering from which I plucked the fruit. I am aware of the dichotomy that exists between my former and present selves. Beneath my faith that everything is exactly as it should be was always a fear that things would be better in my life ‘if only…’
Sitting on the balcony, chimes infuse my thoughts. The breeze is moist with Spring teasing us. Tapping on leaves, the rain is longing to be grounded. The rain knows it will change and accepts its fate. Do you suppose it ever wonders what the tree must feel like to be so deeply rooted to her mother?
Dancing in the rain… is there a greater goal in life? Freedom calls, at first, as a whisper then in a glorious thunder, erupts to a flow of love.
I want to be a sound… the creation of two objects expressing their connection. The vibration riding through space and gracing human ears as temporary as a first love, yet pulsing to infinity – to the heart of the universe.
Beyond the expression lies the desire to be. Then we desire to become one. Beyond the form lives the soundless.
I am that.
Live for the longing
Live for the longing
Live for the longing
Live for the longing
Live for the longing.
One of my greatest joys as a yoga teacher has been meeting new people in my Friday Silver Sneakers Yoga Stretch classes. My goal has been to help these seniors connect and experience their bodies in a new way. We have fun, we laugh, we stretch and we learn about yoga… what could be better??
I developed such a bond with each of these lovely people and I feel so lucky to know them. Their smiles have highlighted my life in a way I will always remember.
It is never easy to leave something you love and it is never easy to say goodbye. I will miss you!!!!
Psssst – there are some more photos Margie Woods Brown took in her blog.
We are listening to that voice inside our hearts that calls us to love and when we act from that place, we always feel better. Love is the best we can give and our highest calling. We all know we are capable of loving and deep down we know we can love all beings fully.
Forgiving is a choice. Forgiving lightens us mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. It aligns us with our highest self and unites us with our own infinite capacity.
Can you forgive every single person who has ever hurt you? Some people are easy to forgive because, on some level, we feel as though they earned it or deserve forgiveness, but then we have those people who wounded us so deeply we’ve been scarred. Because of the depth of the wounding, we feel it is our right, and even our duty to withhold forgiveness. It makes us feel in control, as we act as judge over someone’s moral behavior.
When we refuse to forgive someone who hurt us, we are the only ones carrying the burden. We are living each day, withholding love. Inside, we know we can act with more dignity and forgive people for their imperfections.
Where I find the practice of forgiveness most challenging and rewarding is when I practice forgiving myself. Hey, big surprise, I’m not perfect. However, there is still a voice inside my head that expects perfection, expects me to know everything, beats me up for not being good enough, etc… the list goes on and on. Aren’t we all that way?
Since we all have that voice inside our heads telling us we need to be perfect and the voice inside our hearts, telling us to love, we have a choice. In every breath we can choose to which voice we listen. That is powerful.
The things we struggle with on the yoga mat are the things we struggle with in our lives. When we approach our practice this month, let’s drop the armor and walk softly to our yoga mat and forgive. Forgive your body for being different than the person you are comparing yourself to. Forgive yourself for falling. Forgive the imperfections. Drop the judgment and open to love. See what happens.
Life is filled with endless opportunities to forgive ourselves and others; endless opportunities to feel better. I hope I see you on the mat so we can practice forgiveness and celebrate love together. Namaste.
Standing in my own shadow, reflected from the moon’s light on Eve’s eve of the full moon, I discovered I stand in my fear. Before this point of solid reflection along the path I walked tonight, I felt the importance of foundation. My lover took my hand as I reluctantly tread across lava graced by the presence of algae, making each step – hand-in-hand – something I questioned. Was this the right step to take? Am I going about this the right way? Is the lighting deceiving me? Fear after fear poured through my never-ending well of guessing to the second degree. I voiced my opinions and desire to be on solid ground – I spoke my truth. Then, in an instant we arrived to his destination and I stood in awe of the experience… standing on hardened lava, the waves rushed in and broke just beyond our vantage point. Fear had enveloped me along this path, like sand around my toes, I wanted to sift through the truth of it all. If water represents emotions, I learned that once I conquer the fear, another emotion will come to shore with a desire to be experienced. It is all the same as long as I don’t assign a label to the experience. I want to live more in the flow and watch how things come and go – they will and I have a choice.
My art studio is right off McKinney Ave in Dallas and I hear the trolleys go by every 20 minutes. The sound of the tracks rattling a bass line that knows no time and makes me grateful for now. I got a wild hair and decided to take the trolley to dinner while I reviewed a book on sacred sites around the world. I took my creative process outside and explored my neighborhood.
Some of the highlights:
- Leo, the trolley driver, let me know there are hardly any riders when it is raining and cold. I was one of 12, compared to a normal 200+, on Thursday.
- When light droplets of rain hit an already rain-blanketed surface, they explode like Independence Day.
- (from Delphi) Gaia is the Earth Goddess.
- Ultramarine is the pigment from a metamorphic rock from Afghanistan. That is my favorite blue. It means ‘beyond the sea.’
- The monks at Mount Athos in Greece live a disciplined and ordered life as they strive for perfection. Interesting that we still subscribe to the idea that perfection exists. Then, Like a Virgin by Madonna began to play over the sound system. Funny.
- Sri Pada in Sri Lanka is known as the butterfly mountain because you meet several as you ascend the steep 5,200 steps.
- I read my horoscope when I arrived back at my studio. It said to make travel plans now. 🙂
Don’t get me wrong… I feel grateful to be where I am. There is so much unrealized beauty in Dallas and it is a never-ending well of inspiration.
How do we resolve conflict? I’m practicing disengagement to find my stillness and center. When we are struggling with someone or a situation, perhaps it is best to look at the struggle within. Only in quiet integrity can we approach a situation with stillness, love, acceptance and patience. My mom used to sing to us, “Have patience, have patience, don’t be in such a hurry. When you get impatient, you only start to worry.” Amen, Momma. 🙂
Today, we started another yogic journey at Eastfield College. It is a great privilege to teach people who have never tried yoga because it is like watching a flower bloom… the beauty is beyond measure. The experience inspires awe. As a flower needs sunlight, we need conscious awareness of our bodies. It just takes some love to blossom. It really is all you need.
Yesterday, I asked my kiddos to create a yoga pose out of clay. At first, I gave each only one color of clay and 5 yoga poses to choose from. Essentially, I asked them to be creative and put them in a box, thus stripping away their creative license. Then, I gave them more colors and more poses to create their masterpiece and creativity flowed! We learned that inspiration comes more easily when there is freedom in the creation process.