Prana Pages

Last week, I met with a client at her home in Denver. The client was nervous about how I might receive her newly adopted dog who greeted me clumsily with a slobbery face and big paws on my shoulders. The mixed breed two-year-old pup was awkward, sloppy, and giddy. The spots on his back vibrated with his tail as an expression of exuberance for life. As I wiped the doggy kisses from my cheek, I felt the giggles inside me remind me of my own toddler days.

When my client told me her dog’s name, Edgar, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, and the dog leapt onto his hind legs to lick me on the mouth. My grandfather (who was born on April Fool’s Day) was named Edgar, and was once described to me as the biggest prangster to ever roam the earth. I gave the pup a scratch behind the ears and said, “Hi Grandpa.”

A week later, I recounted my encounter with Edgar the dog to my mother and shared a few memories about her father. She reminded me of two other significant Edgars from my life. Edgar Allen Poe,’s stories kept me awake under the covers with a flashlight in middle school. It was while reading The Tell-Tale Heart in seventh grade that I remember thinking I wanted to be a writer who could create physical reactions from words like he did. Edgar Cayce’s books inspired studies in metaphysics, psychic awareness, and spirituality. Reading Cayce’s descriptions of auras was the first time I realized I wasn’t alone in my strange ability to see colors.

Were Poe and Cayce prangster’s as well? I’m sure they had their share of fun in life. But somehow, in death, all of them have wriggled their way into my life and left a lasting impression, dog slobber, beating hearts, psychedelic aura colors and all.

As a child growing up in Unity South Church in the late 1980s, I was always confused when my non-Unity friends spoke of giving something up for Lent. Most of them gave up the obvious candy or pop, some were challenged by their parents to give up fighting with their siblings, still others joked about giving up homework.

I never gave up anything.

Not that I didn’t pay attention in Sunday School. I knew that Lent was forty days (my friends had their countdowns). I knew that Noah spent forty days on the ark during the flood, Moses spent forty days on the Mount, Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness fasting and being tempted by Satan. I knew the stories.

I just couldn’t get myself to believe in a God that required me to suffer through floods, hunger, and temptations for forty days. It didn’t make sense to me.

Many years later, my yoga teacher published a book titled 40 Days to a Personal Revolution. He told me that “it takes twenty days to break old habits and twenty more days to solidify new habits.” So, I started the program in July, committing to six weeks of yoga practice, meditation, journaling, mindful eating, and self reflection, thinking that in forty days I’d know what habits I had broken and which I had solidified.

I never gave Lent or Easter a thought until the last day of the program when I realized that I had given something up for forty days. I had given up my fears, my anxieties, my angers, and my frustrations. Through forty days of wilderness on my yoga mat, I experienced my own sort of Lent in the summer, and I didn’t have to sacrifice my love of Snickers bars in the process! Finally, at 30 years old, I understood Lent.

So this year, as we near the end of the forty days of Lent, I can’t help but reflect on the power forty. They say “life begins at forty.” (I wouldn’t know, I’m not there yet). I do know this, that forty days of a commitment to anything results in a pretty powerful resurrection of something.

With the rest of the world, I seem to have gotten myself into the vampire mood.  Yes, I picked up the Twilight series recently, and am making my way through high school again, wondering why I would want to relive the experience literally.  I’ve even tasted a little of the short short episodes of 30 Days of Night on hulu.com for some online television viewing pleasure.  What I didn’t realize, perhaps until it was too late, like Bella in Twilight, that vampires are all around me.  They just don’t come in the stereotypical shapes and forms I pictured when reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula in college.

Instead of hearing “I want to suck your blood,” I’m noticing the potential for energy drainage abound.  These little parasites come in many shapes and sizes.  They are quite deceptive.  On the surface, they are quite cute, enticing actually.  They start off simple, like a game of Pathwords on Facebook, or a polite greeting in the grocery store.  But they evolve and develop quickly into time-eaters and energy suckers that waste away hours trying to get the best score or somehow the friend you greeted at the market has you unloading her UHaul into her new apartment four floors up.  Energetically, their auras look like playful little fairies, or fun gnomes.  But once they gain access, they remove their cloaks and reveal their true nature, and they look like the results of a leech mating with an octopus in a bog.

Energy vampires attach themselves to their human hosts, and with each suckle, they grow, until much of the human form takes on the qualities of the critter.  People playing host to these creatures begin to behave like the parasites, draining the energy of all around them, in many ways.  Some of them are time eaters, others prefer happiness as their delicacy, and still others enjoy a good flavor of motivation.  Whatever their tastes, they leave their hosts feeling exhausted, famished, sluggish, and sad.  People who have been infected by energy vampires are masters of games like misery loves company, more please, there’s never enough time, can you do me another favor, or the most deceitful your life is so grand - can I have some? We’ve all experienced these encounters…the person who starts a conversation with you and you can’t figure out how to get out, or the person who asks for a small favor which turns into a huge affair, or the person who somehow convinces you to give away your talent and service to them for free.  Like all things, energy needs to operate on a level of exchange, so whenever a vampire takes, they must leave something in its place.  Thus, when we are drained by a vampire, we are left with all things toxic:  negativity, anger, shame, blame, sadness, exhaustion, fear, hunger, thirst, frustration, and so much more.

The bottom line of these energy vampires is that they operate out of scarcity, and they cannot survive alone.  They do not understand the concept of inner power, and lack the ability to access it, so they search out those who have power, and pirate the energy for their own use.  They are masters at splicing cable wires and overloading electrical sockets. More often than not, we end up blowing the fuse, tripping the circuit, or running out of gas as a means of extraction, but then they just wait long enough for you to refuel and they return for more.  Extraction is not the solution, as Bella knows from her love with Edward, once you go vampire - you can never go back.

The only solution therein lies in prevention.

The only way to prevent the drainage of energy is to realize and affirm the power of the source.  The source of energy does not lie in some circuit box or come from some far off windmill or oil well.  The true source of energy exists on the spiritual realm, on the meta-physical level, somewhere inside our guts.  It is a simple knowing.  Once we know that the source is never-ending, that it cannot be drained, we shift the paradigm into a different realm of being, one of abundance and power.  We all have it inside us.  A simple affirmation and belief in that affirmation can totally change the entire scenario from scarcity to abundance.

I am all I need, and all I need is within me.

The great news is that the power of this source is more contagious than the vampires themselves.  Once infected with the virus of positive thinking and powerful being, one can inspire, motivate, infect, and expel the same energy to all those around them with little to no effort.

In 2007, a Fire year, we burned.  Passions were high, anger erupted, and the heat rose.  Americans fumed when Don Imus’ racial slurs made the headlines.  Barry Bonds suffered a similar fate when his world record talents were revealed to be a result of illegal drug use resulting in bigger meaner headlines than his successes.  James Frey experienced anger face to face when America’s favorite talk show host released her ire at him on national television.   The emotion inside one man in 2007 was too much to contain, and so it exploded in massacre at Virginia Tech on April 16, 2007.  When Seung-Hui Cho killed 32 people and wounded many others before committing suicide, the deadliest shooting incident by a single gunman in  United States history, the country mourned and wondered how such anger and hatred can exist.  Taking a moment, we all could recall our own personal experiences of Fire in 2007.

In 2008, a Nature Year, we changed.  Transformation became inevitable.  As the mortgage crisis worsened, gas and food prices rose, and the stock market fell, Americans everywhere found themselves facing major changes in lifestyle.  The scandals of 2007 were just an appetizer to the big business scandals (i.e. Tom Petters) revealed in 2008 that forced thousands of people out of jobs or into new ways of living.  At the same time, environmental awareness took a huge bump with the popularity of the Toyota Prius and other hybrid vehicles, and “going green” became a household term and corporate buzzword alike.  Unable to find sure footing in patterns of the past, Americans craved the message of Hope and Change from Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton alike.

And now, we step into 2009, a Mineral Year. The wisdom of this year lies in our bones, in the stones of the earth, in all that is not burned in the fire, changed by the nature, or washed away in the flood.  In The Healing Wisdom of Africa, Malidoma Some’ describes the element of mineral as “the storage place of memory, the principle of creativity, resources, stories, and symbolism. . . it is the elemental energy that allows us to remember, to communicate with one another, to express our feelings. . .to remember our origins and purpose in this life.”    Thus, Some’ ponders that perhaps the turbulence we experience is a result of forgetting who we are and what our life purpose is.   2009 is about remembering, tapping into the wisdom in our teeth and our bones, and remembering what is inside the marrow of our being, and then communicating and expressing that to the world.

The first time I “flipped my dog” was at Baptiste Teacher Training Bootcamp Level 2 in 2006.  I had no idea what Baron meant when he said to drop my upper leg to the floor.  I couldn’t see where it was supposed to go.  I couldn’t control what happened to my hands, and they were my BASE!  And then, one of the many loving assistants decided to “help” me flip my dog right into wheel pose…what the heck was that, cuz it didn’t feel like love at the time!  I fell flat on my back, the assistant laughed, and said “falling is learning.”  I wanted to slap her because I didn’t feel like laughing, and I certainly didn’t feel like I was learning anything.

“If you wobble, smile.  If you fall, laugh,” is a quote from my favorite podcast instructor, Phil Urso.  I hear his voice in my head now everytime I flip my dog.  I may not always turn completely into wheel, and it’s taken a long time to find a place of control in that place between down dog and flip dog. Transition is not easy. Change takes time. And, the process is often messy.  The challenge lies in the ability to find calm in the “in-betweens,” to breathe through the awkwardness, laugh at the fallings, and learn from the failures.

This morning, I crashed out of Peacock Feather Pose.  It was the first time I tried the pose in the middle of the room without the security blanket wall behind my feet.  Ironically, I didn’t go to the wall because I wanted to see if I could manage the pose without it.  Instead, I didn’t go to the wall because I was just too lazy to move my mat!  So, I set up my base, took a deep breath, and kicked my legs up.  For just a moment, I hovered in stillness, until I realized what I was doing, and I laughed BEFORE I came crashing to the floor.  My neck cracked.  My shoulders cracked.  My back cracked.  My hips cracked.  I think I even popped my knees!  When I crawled back to child’s pose and took a deep breath I realized that instead of feeling defeated and weak, I actually felt like I had experienced a 30 minute chiropractic appointment in a matter of seconds.

As I look outside at the first snow dustings of the season and contemplate the changes that have occurred this year, I am in awe. I have fallen a lot in the last year, sometimes with the assistance of some external force, other times at the cause of my own hand. And sometimes I take a little while to laugh, dust myself off, and get back up. The truth is, when I think about change, real change, I always grimace at the thought of the pain that comes with it.  Transition is scary.  And change hurts!  I remember vividly how my back felt the day after my down-dog/flip-dog/wheel crash.  But, as I realize how much I have changed since December 2007, somehow the pain is all worth it.

The bare trees of winter outside mimic to me how I wish I could embrace change.  Every year, they shed their leaves, bare their souls in the dead of winter, expose themselves in the coldest of elements.  When other creatures I crawling into dens to hibernate through the dead season, the trees take off their masks.  I can learn from both the trees and the hibernating creatures each winter. I realize that I can crawl inside myself and from that place, bare the marrow of my bones to the world. Once I find what is inside, no matter how uncomfortable it is to shed the masks, no matter how long it takes to remove the layers, becoming vulnerable and exposed, is promising and profound.

We have a family of minks living in the ponds near our house.  I stop to watch them nearly every day on my morning walk while my dog checks her “pee-mail” around the marshland.  On most days, I get a glimpse of one of these furry creatures swimming across the pond, but occasionally I’m lucky enough to see two or three of them circling their territory.  And, a few rare times, I’ve been witness to them scurrying across my walking path.  I’ve become fascinated by my new furry friends, studying their behavior.

Early last week I watched as a lone mink patrolled his pond only to find he was sharing the water with a  duck.  At first, I thought they were playing with each other, swimming in circles around each other, but then the mink gained on the duck and bit it in the hind feathers.  The duck flew a few feet away and shook it off like nothing had happened.  Disturbed by his failure, the mink took a lap around the pond and returned to the duck.  Determined to get his message across, he bit again.  The duck flew away, and the mink strutted around the whole pond proud as a football player after a touchdown.  The next day, the duck was back, with friends. Six ducks played with each other, sometimes chasing each other across the pond, almost running across the water instead of swimming.  The mink was there too, but rather overwhelmed, I imagine, as he kept to one corner of the pond.  By day three, the mink had recruited help as well, but the duck had even more friends, over a dozen.  The two minks swam through the clusters of ducks as if to say, “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” while the ducks swam happily, ignoring the minks entirely.

Now, my daily morning walks have become a highlight of my day. I had to restructure my morning routine as my walks are now lasting upwards of an hour over the usual fifteen minutes previously required to get my dog to “do her business” before breakfast.  I’ve found that I want to get up earlier to make more time for my “mink watch” and I’m less reluctant to leave the cocoon of my bed, even on these brisk autumn days when the sun has still not risen.  So this morning, I donned my raincoat and galoshes and braved the colder weather, anxious for the next installment of my mink/duck soap opera only to find that the rain that would’ve kept me inside in the past had sent the minks into their dens and the ducks to who knows where.  I stood at the bank of the pond while my dog took cover under the shelter of a tree.  I simply enjoyed the rain on my face, watching the ripples of the water as fascinated as I had been by the drama of the minks and the ducks.

I enjoyed a cup of tea over the crossword puzzle an hour later, still shivering from my morning adventure.  While contemplating the clue “Chicken Soup Founder”  I heard the voice of a friend and client, Lois, inside my head.  Lois has been living with Lou Gehrig’s disease for the better part of a year.  The disease has progressed to the point now where Lois requires round the clock care from a devoted hospice nurse as she and her family prepare for her transition.  Lois told me, “This disease has been the biggest blessing of my life.  These last months I have had the opportunity to feel the wind on my face and appreciate it as I never have in my life.”  I realized in that moment, penning CANFIELD into little boxes, that I didn’t miss the minks and the ducks on my walk this morning, that I CAN make my own FIELD of adventure in which to play.

Recently, coming out of a sweaty yoga class, I walked to a nearby convenience store to get a drink.  A homeless man was standing outside the entrance selling a newspaper publication consisting of poetry and articles written by the homeless, telling their stories.  I handed the man the change from my purchase, a couple dollars at the most, and initiated a conversation about his experiences on the street.

His name was Al.  He confessed that he had lived much of the last decade addicted to crack, and was now clean and sober for eighteen months, living in a halfway house trying to find an employer who would give him a chance at a full-time job.  Although challenged, troubled, and so very scared, he had hope.  His eyes were sad, yet serene.  He educated me about the efforts of the non-profit organization that published the newspaper he was selling.  And much to my surprise, he asked me about my yoga mat.  I could see in his kind eyes that he was genuinely interested in what I had to say about yoga,.  For fifteen minutes, I made a new friend.  As I walked to my car, I felt that my life had been made richer from the fifteen minute encounter with Al, the homeless man.

Just over a week later, I was invited to dinner at a yacht club in Rhode Island, dining on fresh seasfood and $50 bottles of wine with friends  overlooking the ocean and beautiful sunset. A sat next to a Wall Street stock broker who educated me about the implications of the governmental $700 billion buy out of the mortgage crisis.  When he asked me about reading auras, he was every bit as interested, with his own piercing and penetrating eyes, as Al the homeless man was about yoga.  The stories I shared with my new Wall Street stockbroker friend, David, were just as inspiring as the moments shared with Al the homeless man.    Over the course of the week between my meeting with Al and my dinner with David, I traveled from home to home in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut to teach yoga to private clients.  Every single encounter with each client was just as rich and fulfilling as my encounter with Al on the street and David at the yacht club.

So yesterday morning, as I swiped my credit card at the gas pump, for the first time in months I found myself not lamenting the high cost of fuel, but rather counting the rich blessings in my life and able to see the forest through the trees of abundance.  Autumn is a time of change.  The seeds we have planted and sown throughout the year are blossoming into abundant fruit and nourishment.  The crisp smell of the air and the bright colors of changing leaves are symbolic of the vivid diversity in our world, and all that change has to offer.

As we step towards our next presidential election, I find that this year I am not lamenting the negative campaigns or caught up in the tabloid dramas presented about the candidates.  Rather, I cannot help but find myself rejoicing that this year, the election is as vibrant as the fall colors with the history making selection between a man of Kenyan descent for president, or a woman homegrown from the often forgotten state of Alaska for vice-president.   I realized through my own recent experiences with the richness of human connection that I can feel the shifts of energy underneath my feet.  I can smell the flavors of the New Earth described so eloquently by Eckhart Tolle forming beneath my tongue.   And regardless of who is elected into office, this world is evolving to a place where human connection is the true abundance.

Now is the time to recognize the blessings that go unacknowledged.  Now is the time to honor the presence of abundance and flow of life beneath our skin.  Now is the time to give offering to the Universe as we plant the seeds of abundance for the evolution that is inevitable in our very near future.

I seem to have been caught in some sort of Customer Service abyss. First I decided that I needed to upgrade my cell phone and the service plan. Then, I discovered glitches in my life insurance policy and mortgage loan that needed attention. After over a week of playing the telephone customer service game, I thought I had become a master of the automated voice messaging systems and telephone menu options. But, my mind was frazzled, my spirit was somewhat broken, and I was wondering why I had started the game in the first place.

Upgrading my cell phone service plan was relatively painless. After a couple days of telephone menu options, I changed my perspective and went to the store where I was able to talk with someone in person.

Dealing with the mortgage loan and the life insurance company were a little different. After I thought maybe I was developing carpal tunnel syndrome from the menu option game, I found my way through the maze to real people, only to play the transfer to another department game. I learned why patience is so virtuous.

Thus far in this customer service game, I had developed an ability to change my perspective in situations, and deepened my capacity for patience. I’d even developed somewhat of an appreciation for scratchy renditions of Pachelbel Canon in D.

Then, I had to call the IRS.

And all the rules changed beneath my fingers poised above the telephone keypad. What I wanted didn’t matter. My story had no validity. What my CPA said might as well have been some scripture written in Sanskrit.

Turns out, I needed the extra cell phone minutes to cover the time I would spend on hold with the IRS. The glitch in my mortgage loan needed to be adjusted in order to satisfy the demands of the IRS. When the IRS transferred me for the sixth time to a different department two hours into the phone call, I realized the value of owning life insurance.

At the precise moment I was listening to a recording from the IRS saying “We’re sorry, we cannot address your inquiry at this time, please call back” (after over two hours, I was suddenly disconnected), my brother texted me a photo of last night’s breathtaking sunset in Maui.

Sometimes, the transformation I have in mind for myself doesn’t match the timeline, format, structure, or plan of Divine Order.

Sometimes, I cannot control what happens around me, no matter how much I beg, plead, yell, scream, sigh, bargain, and cry.

Sometimes, I cannot understand the grand scheme of things until everything is said and done.

Hindsight is always 20/20.

But, with perfect vision, I now offer gratitude to Verizon Wireless, Washington Mutual Bank, Thrivent Financial Services, and even the IRS (with a little help from my brother) for teaching me to let go of control, find a little patience, look at things from a different perspective, and step back and look at the big picture. All will eventually fall into place as it needs to at its right and perfect time.