Posts In: Uncategorized

Guide my feet

May 7, 2018

“Guide my feet, while I run this race.” The first year of mothering and studio ownership revealed my dark- deeper. My underbelly. My fears. My messiness. My grit. My shame. My pride. My place of grace. My resilience. My strength. My softness. My naivete. My wisdom.

I wouldn’t trade nothing for year one right now, and I ain’t turning around either- though.

I have to do this work. This work has to work.
I want to do this work. I feel called, inspired, loved, challenged, and sometimes on edge with this work. It is, in fact, actually, work.
.
I share the “full” studio pictures, and there are still days where there’s one, two, three students in class. Real life is this AND that. Not this or that. .
I share from an open hand often, and there are moments when I am gripping, tightened fist, closed.

Some days feel like walking through thick and unrelenting bush. Some days I am dancing in an open field, twirling forward.

All of the while, I sense my feet are being guide.

Sometimes it’s a fire walk to get to stream. Sometimes we crawl to what we think is the finish line, only to realize it’s the start. Sometimes the directions are wrong, and we get lost in order to find our way home. Many times we are standing, in front of the sign we are praying for, but can’t see it because the message isn’t often packaged or in shiny papers.

My feet have been guided to this place of knowing: It ain’t “this or that”. It’s this AND that.

Who Carries Mamas?

May 6, 2018

Who carries mamas?

Mamas carry people. Our bones expand. Our organs move. From the inside, and in the most intimate places, we make room for others to grow. We share blood, breath, and pulse. Create cords, new ecosystems called placentas.
We carry people in our bodies, completely.We take people in.

We pick people up and literally carry them across rooms, scary places, and real or make believe rivers. We carry lives. Whole lives on our hips and often walk long distances without pausing. There is no short cut to here. There is no break. No matter where we are in the room or world, we are listening for our child’s breath.

I looked at my mama yesterday, and I wondered. Who, who has carried this mama. Ever?
My God.

Restorative yoga is a practice of being held…
{Perhaps I’ll write about that in the context of mothering —soon} For today, mamas, who or what has carried you from the start of your mama-ing journey to now?

“extra” weight

September 13, 2016

page-header_almost-flying

I didn’t start where I am in that picture above. And I’m not there now.

That picture was 4 years ago. I gave birth to my son 5 months ago.

I am beginning again.

I went to my 2nd nonrestorative or yin class in almost 7 months yesterday.

My intention for the practice was this: to love up on all my “extra.”

In yesterday’s class I put my knees down for every plank.
Rested in child’s pose 5 times in one hour, and made room for my “extra” : skin, scars, pounds, and props.

Some days it’s easy. Some days it’s not. But I have to fight to love my “extra” and guard my eyes and mind against all the “21 day yoga shred plans and meditate your way toward a mini dress (and away from biscuits) madness” because I need my practice to be a safe and exploratory place as I feel my way through this new place called mother –hood- land.

And I’m fighting and working, y’all.
Not to get “back” in that pose or body.

But to move from feeling “extra” to this:

This is not extra.

This is me, whole.

Yoga Dreamin’

December 9, 2014

The other night I had this tripped out dream-
I was some place teachin yoga to like 500 people. That wasn’t NECESSARILY the scary part, just a part. Anyhow at one point I was walking around, giving instructions, tryna teach, and share what I came to share.

I looked around and noticed that folks had body parts hanging off and stuff oozing outta the body parts. I wondered when that started happening and why I was just noticing it.
Despite all of that, they were still flowin, movin, and jumpin in and out of poses. At some point, one side of the room broke out into a dance off of some kind!

Lawd!

There was a small core group in the center who just sat down and began to meditate, amidst all of the other noise.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted one woman going into wheel pose in a hella wild way. I could see her heart about to break and fall out of her chest. Mind you, this was not “shinin” out y’all, but breakin and fallin out!

That was it.
I yelled STOP as loud as I could!

Slowly, folks began to stop. I asked them to gather around the woman whose heart was about to fall out. I asked her did she want to work on the steps to get to the back bend, to support her body and heart, or just to be held where she was. She shrugged, rolled her eyes, and said “not really”.

We all sat there for a while. Some people laughed. Some people played with their hair or toes. Others looked away or reached for their phones to text, take pictures or otherwise capture, but not feel, the weight of the moment.

The “heart fallin” woman began to cry. First quietly, then loudly, then sobs filled the room from all directions.
Those meditating just sat. Their eyes were still closed. They cried silently.

Then I woke up. Just like that. No resolution inside the dream though it was quite the synthesis of ways I’ve practiced and been with myself. It called to mind what I have both witnessed and experienced as a student and teacher of yoga over the past 12 years.

Today I went to Gina Minyard’s  class and the closing message was essentially this:
“ Our practices have to be more powerful than our habits. Otherwise we are just stirring up our sh!t and sitting (asana-ing) all fancy like up. in. it that mess.

Dear Yoga peeps, come get me. Clearly, I/we need to talk!
ha!

Gratitude.

December 1, 2014

There were people here. They walked this land before it was called “country” “united” “states” or any other such possessive thing.
We sometimes remember them in feathers, magic, dreams, and flutes; they are so much more than that. We are all standing on their bones and shoulders.
For the Indigenous of this land, I am grateful.

There are folk who survived a passage called Middle. Who, when pressed down, rose up again, and again, and again. They still rise every morning, when I do. I hear their chants, stories, and prayers in trees and rivers, open fields, street corners, and church pews. The fabric of my being is woven from their blood.
For my Ancestors, I am grateful.

There is a man in our kitchen. He is cooking. He knows how to sew and grow green things. He can fix broken cars, doors, and hearts, to. His breath is my favorite song. For his love and partnership, I am grateful.

There is a short brown woman who can make a dollar out of two cents. She has Jesus on the mainline (all the time). She loved me before I existed. She can comb out the tangles in my hair and mind. For my mama, I am grateful.

There’s a lady who tucks my dreams under her heart and carries them everywhere. She used to let me steal her clothes and her cool back in high school. She taught me how to look fear square in the eyes and cuss fear and nem’ the f@ck out, then move on. For my big sister, I am grateful.

That’s a whole lotta words to say, I am grateful for what holds me: truth and love.

What are you grateful for?

In my life, many things have kept me up at night.

Lately, I stay awake long after the high moon to dream:
To walk through the hallways of my vision
To touch all of the images, ideas, and wild things there
To feel what I’m creating from the raw cells of my heart/soul
To taste the grit and sweetness of the day
To listen beneath the chatter of my noisy past
To see beyond what is in front of me
To sing gratitude for all this
To meditate on my purpose

And to bow to this simple question that rocked my life a few years ago, shifted the course of my journey then , and continues to drive me now:

“What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

Subscribe to our mailing list

Studio Updates & News

Subscribe to our mailing list

Sign-up to be the first to know about new retreats, trainings and classes.

* indicates required