November | 2014 | Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

Naked Aspens, image by Eric

1. Winter. It is officially here. There is snow on the ground and it is cold, cold, cold. It makes me want to hibernate, and I love how quiet it gets.

2. Migrating geese. When they fly overhead in large groups, they sound like giant honking bumblebees.

3. Warmth. After teaching yoga, cultivating my inner fire, a warm gooey bagel and writing date with the warmest friend. Later tonight, an interview with a warm-hearted teacher who will give my Buddhist name after I make my formal request to take vows.
4. Teaching yoga. I said to Eric as I was leaving this morning to go teach at Om Ananda, “You know what’s weird? I AM a yoga teacher. Isn’t that weird?” He said, “No. It’s kind of cool.”

5. These two, Sweet Sam and Ringo Blue.
Bonus joy: snow tires, training with Ringo, snuggling with Sam, laughing with Eric, taking a nap, eating good food that I cooked myself, reading, wool socks and warm slippers, the weekend.

1. Some things are both miserable and wonderful. My walk with my dogs this morning is a good example: 14 degrees, windy and snowing, so quiet. My glasses kept fogging up, I was wet and cold, and because the thermal shirt I wore is silky, it was slippery and kept catching on my coat and riding up over my belly like some nightmare winter crop top. The last trace of autumn lingered under the first blanket of snow, the gold still visible through the white. Other than having to stop and shake off the snow from time to time and wanting to go faster, the dogs acted like it was any other day.

2. Some things are old and worn but still precious. My baby blanket is a good example: the flannel is so soft, and it has a satin edge that I wore almost to disappearing rubbing it between my tiny fingers and against my cheek. My brother had one just like it, with a light blue background and white roses and the same white satin trim. His is in much better shape than mine. Our mom made them for us, at least that’s how I remember it, the story I’ve told myself about them — (is that right, Mom?).

3. I feel like I am finally returning to myself. Jilly Bean, Jello, Silly Jilly. Striped knee length overalls, pigtails, and bare feet. That little one knew exactly who she was. So precious and goofy and creative and smart and kind. I’ve denied and abandoned her, made her wait, told her to be quiet, broken promises, been such a bully. And yet, she is still right there, ready when I am to begin again, to forgive, to love with her whole heart.