ᚺ ice seed reflected in my poems preserving, if read, a blip; but nonetheless melts past these Needs abruptly and incessantly sprouting in the next hot minute. #impatience: a turn which cuts us off at the pass a reversal of circumstances a new vista right around the corner I am lost in the flurries of my mind watching little seeds of dark knowing and hope grow in the precipitation which follows Dawn
I feel better, more in myself, than in previous years. Always afraid to say my #adrenalfatigue is more manageable…more anything really. I don’t speak of this diagnosis much, only when I noticed (which is all the time) how many of my coworkers and women friends have similar experiences with the big three: #pain, #fatigue, and #mindfog. We fight these literally all day at work, and, maybe like me, at home, too, through motherhood and menopause. I’m lucky I found a clinic using hormone therapy (properly) and alternative modalities which support my quality of life. My voice grew stronger here with medication helping restore brain function (for the most part) and medical staff letting me repeat (because I didn’t think I had been heard) my list of imbalances. Shackle the last 5 years to the pandemic, school during a pandemic in a State of Denial (Florida, you suck!) and hybrid learning platforms and online conferencing 7 hours/day (I’ve mentioned this before because its really, really not healthy).
Currently, my voice grows stronger because I listen to it. When this first happened, something changed. No words to describe this other than I #awakened (at least to myself), and discovered even through the worst pain (whether its a loved one or yourself) some way to be safe to do what had to be done because there was no other choice or the other choices were equally abysmal. To me, this is #strength, and 2020 (and this year) have gifted me multiple #irresistiblecircumstances from which to #practice embodying it in the #goodwork of school and home.
Eventually, from the surety of knowing I have #strength to lift, hold, and carry so much, I also know the potential of other aspects of my strength: those of injury, ego, hardness, rigidity, destination fixation, and self-destruction Strength can happen so fast; it’s a beautiful thing to see in others, especially when you have felt it in your own body. As I plan my last April class with a focus on #strength, I begin here–searching my notebooks, poems, journals–a collection of words, and ruminating while I dance or make dinner (or both), allowing my Day to unfold as it needs to, so certain I am I am #strongenough to use the seeds of #strength for work and study in the evenings, now that I feel better.
heil ok sæ
poems, music, movement, trance gift of words to express this dance
Tonight after school I sit down to writing and schoolwork, establishing a new routine. I attempted this morning, but I think evenings will work better, just before bed, maybe to empty out my brain and start fresh again tomorrow. I also tried something different to create the space of evening flow in order to reflect upon my day’s #practice and work, and plan for tomorrow. I struggle though here. Words flow easily in the quiet of the morning, after a healthy and lengthy pranayama session and #practice. My body feels embodied and open, my mind is fresh and excited by the day’s possibilities, and there is a sweetness which lures me out of bed almost every day at 4:20.
I reflect on the processes tonight, using this time to sketch some notes, finishing up some slides for school, and upload Sunday’s live yoga session to YouTube. After a whole year of “hybrid” learning, I have a long list of skills which would come in handy both on the yoga mat and off, which is really what this blog was created for. Reflection, and some dreaming.
Sunday’s class focused on #strength. I am familiar with #strength, even built my resume on this. I can lift heavy things and I can hold heavy loads, and I hope I inspire others to do the same. I also believe that #practice is essential for growth, and so I do so every day, even when I know I am out of balance. This is a class for days like those–ones where I have low energy and fatigue, pain, disordered or scattered thinking, and NO TIME. I start by asking myself what I am willing to do to restore #balance. Strength work is beneficial in this way.
This is a 60-minute #practice for days where you seek #strength using some of those “weird” things yogini and yogi do to regain, rebalance, and ground–the ability to do this, in my mind, is a part of #strength (but more to come on that in later days). In this practice, I tap into the sensory experience (the feeling of my body in itself and in the environment) while rooting and using physicality in familiar poses.
In this way, we explore the subtleties of #strength 5 enumerated, but integrated ways: 1) in pressing into the Earth and holding the moment (as in a #handstand), 2) variations of breathwork with mudra and mantra, 3) through movement (as that of sun salutation), a strong arm meditation (this one for focus), and in deep and purposeful release.
Love gently guides us
And we can guide #Love
Love softly whispers
#whatis is made of:
To touch on the #
As #hashtag makes so
Captures the #moment
Of just #lettinggohttps://www.instagram.com/earthmother1yoga/
I’m not going to lie (mostly because I rarely do, and when I do, it’s only to myself). I’ve been working like crazy, trying to figure out what good teaching is supposed to look like without counting the loss and the immeasurable digital brain dings we absorb in the 7.5 hours of “hybrid” learning. The sheer amount of data transferring from one live conference to the quick switcheroo in what you call that thing while combatting #adrenalfatigue and, well, you know, the pandemic. And I’m not going to lie. I’ve been pretty depressed. And, as a friend suggested, maybe that was the lie I told myself. Lies always have a kernel of #truth in them; lies which build #strength within tissues and sinew.
I could outline some reasons for depression, which is the work of #practice, and I do this, but mostly what examining my emotions through a slow process of #meditation and #self-study and #movement gifted me was #clarity. This came mostly through yoga, and when in #pain or darkest night, asking myself what could I do? So, #gratitude that this is the depth of my despair, which manifests itself in my #earthmother worry and puts me at odds with seeing any #irresistiblecircumstances in the State of Education. So, it’s time to get busy.
Our #irresistiblefutures depends on more than just #perspective, which is a delight to work with and learn #collaboration and make #connections. In truth, I draw inspiration from others’ #perspectives but for true #equinimity to bring #balance to the world, we still must take actions to make beautiful, new #realities. This includes examining our motives and deep #shadowwork, which can be triggering for those in clinical depression, and requires help. You are not alone.
For those of us, who teach, we truly walk in the past and future through our words and actions. This blog was created (or morphed) out of yoga #practices which I explored as my day-to-day struggles to do #goodwork of being a mother, wife, and teacher. I learned some things, but change happens. We need future #teachers and #lightworkers and #yogawitches.
And so here it is: Spells and Such (coming soon) – #loveisall #loveislove #safeschools
You belong to the Air
always pointing there
Howling at my doors
Your winds of warTiwaz fragment 4-12-21
This has been a fragmented school year. The familiar routines still feel uncomfortable. The ringing of bells off and on, picking up students (and teachers) in unexpected places. So many, many hurry-ups and whoopses and much profanity and bold ennui. We practice words we never knew until a year ago but they don’t help us learn. Well, maybe some of us knew the educational jargon before, but memory has been another fragmentation, and of this I write in some kind of long-awaited space, which defies education altogether. The existence of words can make them so. And each morning I study these, like some ancient map or unread dusty book (there are many this year). Literacy and learning fragmented by new words and new Science and (even) here in America, new Civics.
The nonexistence of someone’s beliefs fragment us; it can’t be done or had to be done yesterday. School language is rough and sputtering–fragmented–throughout the day until great intentions need a nap (by lunch time). Fragments of learning evidenced everywhere in my classroom closet full of 17 years of children’s books and classics and hands-on activities. But like some great wall, which may never really be built except what already exists in our nation’s head, beliefs give us comfort, a neat and tidy border from which to cross or turn and go another way. I can almost taste it in the Air. Change. For better or worse. We’ll be writing about it forever, maybe with a little humor.
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.The Destruction of Sennacherib, Lord Byron
I wish to purge and be light again. It’s time. The long fragmented year (and a half) is coming to an end; I wish to read and remember, and empty myself of fragments, writing kennings and highlighting that something can be done, has been done, will be done, about the struggles here–in this space and time of pandemic–in its nonexistence which dictates we must push on through testing, and Saturday school, and special programs to help the learning lag and mind fragmented by impossibilities and directives (ad infinitum). I wish to regroup and find a way back to what I remember, but memories are fragmented, too.
I toyed with words early on, abandoning this blog and my journals, to add big sweeping strokes of color and narratives, upon my backyard fence. Meadow and swamp grass grow through the boards now, speckled with paint of last Spring. Reminders everywhere on my return Home from school where here hours grow and grow and grow, fragmented. And after the inevitable fight for normalcy, what will remain? Testing? Old ways of doing school? Memories? And is my stamina and strength so fragmented as not to be taped together with duct tape, my pandemic friend for fences, computers, and chargers for our learning?
Here now fragmentation gives us imperfect organizational cell called public education, splitting off into new life without mention of what worked in the old one, tidied up by memorandum of understanding and PDFs covering i-cloud assignments and on-the-spot withitness. Here exists fragmentation of all that is real: budget, time, students, teachers, learning, reading, words. Our books piled high and in misuse and border control. I miss just reading, and I know the students do, also, but…
The hour is late, and I have some fragments to sweep up and out the door and into my car so I can drive away, never really knowing what the Day is until it’s over. I wake to sleep and sleep to wake, fragmented from myself and dreams. And writing my blog has that same deja vu; a chance for irresistible circumstances to collapse in its own silence and return to unknowing and unknown as a pleasure. I’ll leave the fragments of incompleteness and ubiquity to my memory.