A Little Less Light

Body resting on the floor.
Almost half covered in the earth, like being partially buried in warm sand.
Eyes slowly open and see the prayer flags directly above, bathed in light.
The light coming through the window illuminates the back of the flags as the front of them stay semi-shaded.
Noticing that the light has bleached the back of the material, it looks weather worn and faded.
The part that gets more shade looks richer and the shades of red, yellow and blue really show up.

The back of the flags look like they have grown tired from too much light. They look like they are at the end of their life, exhausted from the shine.
The darkness and diffused light that the back of the squares have received has kept them well, they look closer to being alive.

Love
Lydia

Our marriage happened last weekend.
Here are some of the quiet moments.

Stepping into a circle of rocks carried to the cedar alcove by family and friends.
We slide out of our shoes to enter the sphere.

Bare feet, blades of grass intertwine underneath our soles/souls? like lightly closed eyelashes. The earth meets our feet, allowing our roots to grow 9 feet deep and incline towards each other.

Not even a breeze, gale force love. Long beams of light.

"I do"

I promise to see the mystery in you each day.

Close enough to smell each other. Feeling the warm smile of mothers and fathers wrapping a supportive cloak around our backs, that we can lean into.

Toaist Tadasana. Taking lessons from the trees. Feeling the shine of the unapologetic daisies. Learning how to stand together.

"Yoga is not standing on your head--Yoga is standing on your own two feet."

From this day forward, I want to live in the flow with you.

Lydia

Treasures Untold.

Lying in summer sunshine,
so far from my home.
I am beginning to feel like this whole life is a dream.

I can't remember what life was like before Finn.
and, I can only imagine what it will be like when he is gone.



Garden discovery walks.
Each morning we stroll through the green carpet,
waking from the oblivion of another sleepless night.
Reading Basho's simple journal on the porch
At this pace, I have time to watch the flowers grow.



To watch a baby,
is to look into the eyes of the earth -
to find moment after moment of perfection.
Life as it is,
in an imperfect world.



Perhaps this is reality?
raw emotion
and true love
in every breath.



Everyone has gone from the porch.
Only the two of us remain,
mother and son.
And, the wise sounds of the wind blowing through the trees.

You are still here,
like an oasis of love, awake for another day.
And, i think?
you will still be here even when you are gone.
For you are greater then time.



Looking inside,
it feels like the world is racing
and spinning all around me.
Often out of control.
So much has happened in the short time i have been gone.
Forever has passed.

Looking outside,
these eyes are gazing and open
flowers bloom,
slowly beside the lake, and then die.
So much has happened in the short time i have been here.
The world looks different everyday.



Every moment that i smile
and he smiles back at me,
there is an instant where the future doesn't exist.



Imprint your soft smile on my heart,
so that when i am quiet on the inside,
years from now
we can smile together at the trees.



I can feel him sharing with me from inside his cocoon.
'One day there will again be innocent joy'
without knowing why?
or how?
or what is going on?
Because, everyday Finn whispers secrets to me with his eyes.
and, I believe him.



thx endlessly to everyone for all the love and support.
lv sarah scotty finn and chinook

A Photo Essay

Amidst so many moments of sadness
there are jewels of joy
intense deep love, immediacy
eye contact -
and then stillness.



Red cardinals
painted with morning sunshine,
living in a lakeside fairytale.
Here we are for a while,
beside our families
dancing in and out of sadness
flowing in and out of bliss.
Maybe not all stories have happy endings?
Perhaps all stories have happy endings?



grey days
driving south through rain and smog
sitting between two boys,
a warm wind and a sleeping beauty.
Staring in the mirror,
connecting with the soft blue eyes of a papa.
In my heart we are a family,
lost in this wide open flat space.
Missing the cedars,
loving each other.



A few moments to myself,
staring at an inverted horizon across the lake.
Upside down on the dock,
new perspectives,
but the truth is still the same.



Living beside this lake for a while,
our simple life fits this place.
Endless open space for the warm wind to blow,
and calm waters shelter us from stormy minds:
as we paddle our canoe.



Hand creases.
Foot prints.
Molded forever in black paint
stored with birch bark
signed with the initials of a baby.
F.R.E.



The trilliums are gone,
another cycle goes round
another year of life and death on the forest floor.
The innocent beauty of death
stares at me through the eyes of the forest,
year after year.
Yet, nothing prepares us for the death of a child.



Old friends gather,
memories of half a lifetime.
I am amazed, yet again,
by the ability for one short life to inspire love,
to bring out the best in people.
Near and far.

Without a word,
without knowing,
barely two months from the womb,
this son of mine is teaching us how to live.



Sitting again, wrapped in a koala bear
breathing heavily on my chest.
Bodies touch.
I kiss his sweet forehead
and watch again as little Finn finds his way to sleep.

with lv.
Sarah (Scotty, Finn and Chinook too)

The Play of Light

Something traumatic has happened in the life of my best friend. I feel stuck in time and space, like I am living two lives. Who is in this body?

Someone has taken over and is dealing with the interfacing of this body and the tasks that need to be done.

Some of me is standing still, watching things whiz zoom and buzz by.

I completely embodied the still being today for a short time. For the first time in a few weeks I noticed the way that the light streams through the studio window and dances with the dust. It was almost like that moment lasted for an eternity. It was like the silence was an entire musical piece. There were so many layers upon layers of delicate sound that made a symphony of silence. I could feel the warmth of the sun. Bird sounding through the open window. Curtain blowing in the wind caught in the periphery.



Oh yeah. Enter here, I thought. This moment is all right.

Oh yeah. There doesn't have to be any meaningless meaning.

Oh yeah. I thought. Just love.

Lydia

Sirsasana Series

Here is a short sirsasana series sped up. Usually I take 5 long deep belly breaths in each asana. Please let me know if it is too fast. The standing series video is still a work in progress right now.



I like this headstand series so much. It is strong but calming. Stirha and sukha.
I am still working on many aspects of it.

Salamba Sirsasana 1 (headstand)

Parivritta sirsasana

Parivritta Eka Pada Sirsasana (I take my front leg a little too far forward in this one in the video, the heels are supposed to be the same height. I can get a good perspective on it when I do it in front of a full length mirror. Very helpful for shoudler alignment too!)

Parsva Eka Pada Sirsasana (one leg down and out to the side)

Eka Pada Sirsasana (one legged headstand)

Urdhva Padmasana in Sirsasana (lotus)

Parivritta Urdhva Padmasana in Sirsasana (twisted lotus)

Pindasana in Sirsasana

Prasarita Padottanasana in Sirsasana

Baddha Konasana in Sirsasana

Vajra Sirsasana (legs in thunderbolt)

Parivritta Vajra Sirsasana (twisted legs in thunderbolt)

Salamba Sirsasana 2 (tripod)

Mukta Hasta Sirsasana (straight arms on backs of hands)

(Variation on the thumbs)

Urdhva Dandasana (pike)


It is amazing to practice and feel and see where the body is holding and ever so gently... love it. Love is to let something be exactly as it is and to give open support for what ever arises for it. If the support is there the undoing of old habit patterns can start to happen.

Where is the body bright?

Dull?

Where does the grief hide in there... the pain?

Where do your parents live in your body?

Where do you store memory?

Where is the most liberated place?

Can you send the breath to all these places?

Can you trust your body?

Can you trust your life?

I have found that a profoundly intricate part of the physical practice is to observe how you treat yourself. This can be an amazing way to observe how you treat others. Also, how you trust yourself. Sometimes a teacher will give you advice on how to move your body, but do you check in and really ask yourself if that will work for you?

My ongoing question right now is - how do you trust your life?

Somehow and sometimes there is the feeling... when you are really quiet... of knowing how. It may not happen all the time, but with practice and the intention of self study, it starts to inform us.

Chidananada Rupa Sivo Ham Sivo Ham can be translated to -
I am the open spaciousness of the mind.

I hope you are all steadily on your way...

Love,
Lydia





ay

Hand Mudras

Hand Mudras. They may not look like much, but we ceaselessly use our digits, and it feels so good to give them some appreciation and a gentle stretch. Plus, your lung, small and large intestine, pericardium and triple warmer meridian all end in your finger tips.
We do this series often. This little practice is very practical. You can take it anywhere - waiting on a bus, at the airport, in the cue at the market...
This is most of the series, there are a few more that are not shown. Many of the mudras come from the Salt Spring Centre of Yoga and they are compiled in a special way by Gioia Irwin.

Standing Series

Hello Friends.
The video last posted is being updated. My teacher asked me to slow the video down so it is easier to see the essence of the practice.
This is a theme that keeps coming up these days. The feeling of having so many things to do, so many scheduled events, moving out of my home, planning a wedding, planning work... planning a life. The challenge is to keep the stillness underneath all of the twirl and whirl of the moving world. Having a practice to slide into has been so fundamental. And the practice is sometimes just stopping and smoothing out the mind. Four deep breaths and a feeling that all the activity... doesn't mean anything at all?
I am amazed at the mind's ability to say... "ah hah! This must be important!" over and over again.

In the mean time,
here is a poem I like.

WHEN I AM AMONG TREES

by Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,”
they say, “and you, too, have come
into the world to do this, to go easy,
to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Lone Bird

photos by Sonnie and Lydia
Dedicated to the human spirit