Musical Meditation

First signs of winter in Wyoming. Photo: Whitney McNees

November 9, 2011

I’ve never been very good at meditating. Whatever “good at meditating” means anyway. However, on this trip, I seem to be finding all kinds of unique ways of meditating that work for me.

We’ve all had it happen to us. We hear a song that brings us back to a moment, but how often do you sit and listen to the song all the way through and remain in that moment? I think it’s safe to say
that most of us in our busy lives zoom briefly back to that first drive with all of your friends packed into your car. What about the song that you listened to right before your college athletic team won league championships? How long do we really give ourselves to relish in these nostalgic feelings before snapping back to what we were doing?

It happened to me today. I had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of a massage from Mat's sister Jennie. While on the table I suddenly heard the soft sweet sounds of George Winston on the piano. I was brought back to New Jersey, sitting on my dad’s lap by the fire with hot chocolate, a snow-covered backyard, and the smell of mom’s chili and cornbread permeating the entire house. Instead of having to zip back to the present, I was able to lie there and remain in my childhood for the entire song. The next time you hear one of these tunes, I highly recommend remaining in whatever time warp it brings you to for as long as you can.

I don’t get to see my dad too often these days. Next time I do, I’ll be sure to get mom's chili and cornbread recipe, sit down on a snowy day with dad and listen to Mr. Winston tickle the keys of the piano.

Sensory Meditation

November 7, 2011

We spent the night in the Airstream at Indian Springs Hot Springs in Colorado.  On this brisk, wintery morning we woke up refreshed and eager to move our bodies in the hills.  Our friends, First Ascent athletes Lysney Dyer and Chris Coulter joined Mati and I set off on foot into the rolling forest.  The sky swirled gray in the distance, but for the time being we were underneath blue.  When we reached the top of the ridgeline we had set our sights on, we decided to sit for a while. 

It had been a chattery, high-energy walk to the top and I wasn’t sure if I’d really be able to just slow down and meditate.  Then again, I thought, there’s nothing wrong with seeing what would happen. 

My first observation was that I didn’t want to close my eyes, so I kept them wide open.  As I took in the sights surrounding me I quickly fell into a sort of sensory meditation.  I saw the gray sky creeping over the peaks closer to us.  The golden grasses dancing in the breeze.  Naked trees stripped of their crispy leaves.  Suddenly I tuned into the soft breeze on my face and was immediately pulled from sight to touch.  Closing my eyes, I felt the cool, hard earth beneath me. I was transformed into a vehicle through which sound was heightened.  What a commotion at first!  The distant gunshots of hunters.  A jet plane flying hundreds of humans off to some exotic place. It quieted down to the echoing call of a vulture through the valley, a woodpecker in a nearby tree behind me, and a cluster of small birds singing to each other.  I felt myself being able to pinpoint exactly where these sounds were coming from.  Then silence.  The quiet of it all prompted me to inhale deeply.  So deeply that my lungs and the insides of my nostrils froze, filling me up with energy and vitality.  I could smell the all-familiar decay of leaves and the inherent snow that swelled in the clouds above.  It smelled in a way that I could taste the seasons changing. 

Everything I experience through each sense permeated through me to my very core. Once again I was reminded that you never really know what your experience with any branch of yoga will bring-and to trust that your senses will always guide you to peace and rejuvenation.

Photos by Mathew Gershater

A long "ralk" on the beach...

Photos by: Mathew Gershater

October 28, 2011

After a long night of entertaining the eclectic nature of downtown Eugene, OR, Mati, Lel, and I were more than ready to take off for the coast.  We drove west into the night until we hit the water whose waves would sing us to sleep. 

This day has been one of the best.  I grew up near the ocean, where the saltwater, seagulls, pelicans, and waves will forever hold a dear place in my heart.  Mati and I set off to the beach where I was excited to find a few pieces of sand dollars that I planned to take home.  Mati brought up the belief that sand dollar pieces bring bad luck.  I hung my head superstitiously and reluctantly put them back as he assured me we would find a whole one. 

A short while later I decided to go for a run along the water line.  I’ve been having some knee pain lately, and wasn’t sure running in the sand would be the best idea, but I went for it anyway because my days running along the beach are few and far between. 

I gave myself the goal of running to the end of the beach where the cliffside met the sand and sea.  It was a magical kind of run with springs trickling from the hillsides, and faces of giants carved into the sandstone walls.  My knee began to hurt about 400 yards from the cliff.  Convincing myself that I should at least reach my goal I began to "ralk" (that’s a run walk combo that I’m really good at now).  About 100 yards out I didn’t think I could make it anymore until I looked down to find a perfectly intact, 4 inch in diameter sand dollar.  I bent down to pick it up, and when I lifted my gaze to the oh so close cliff wall I saw that there was a cave.  I limped my way to the cave and the first thing I saw was another perfect sand dollar propped up on a rock as though someone had placed it there just for me to find. 

 After a short sit in the mossy cave that dripped sea water from the top, I decided to take with me the sand dollar that was in the cave, and replace it with the first one I picked up for someone else to discover. 

As I walked out of the cave, I discovered that the sand in the area was littered with full sand dollars-I just had to take my time and open my eyes and heart.  Thanking my knee for the slow down, I began the long "ralk" back to the Airstream to share the story with my friends.