The Sadness Meridian

Mine was obviously out of balance the last week. Perhaps most of this year.

 Know what I’m talking about?

 The energetic channel for sadness is the lung/large intestine meridian pair, mostly the lung: the interface between you and the outside world. It resides in the upper body and finds balance through the breath. Of course. Postures that open the chest and arms help release blocks there. Even forward folds with a focus on expanding the back of your ribs, relaxing the neck and shoulders, can help open this channel. Makes sense, right? The breath is our first and last interaction with the outside world. And it’s easy to shorten it when things don’t feel so great. Sadness and grief knock the air from your happy existence. They take the joy away. It’s the excuse to not go anywhere, let go of healthy habits and blend moodily into a backdrop of ennui and self-absorption. It’s all about me. The world is a wasteland. It can become a trap as sadness makes it easier to say, “I’m too sad about it all to do anything.”

 That’s not where joy, change or bliss reside.

 They live in the moment when we start again, the moment of balance in our lung meridian that brings confidence and clarity, even, deep inhales and exhales. Despite the pain and grief, if we stay a little longer with our feel good habits we can let go of what doesn’t feel so good. Staying longer means sitting with whatever it is and consciously letting go – on and off the mat. Letting business as usual, like the negativity and hopelessness associated with sadness, take the back seat.

 That’s when I give myself permission to seek those things that make my life blissful. “Been writing,” I answer when someone asks where I've been. Long  moments in supported yoga poses help me fully let go. Or methodically moving through a familiar flow, no thinking, just moving, frees me. I bike to the beach, soaked in seaweed but still magnificent if you lift your gaze toward the horizon and open your heart and lungs. Looking upward, standing tall lets you see that the sun still sparkles on the waves. The world has not crumbled. There is still loads to love and to save. I retreat to the woods to find peace even if I cry as I breathe in the green. Or I simply bike for a favorite coffee, steaming hot, a friendly face serving me. I breathe in humanity rushing by. Perhaps I smile at one or two. I connect. With people. With nature. With the world.

 Connection helps us find us again.

 Ask yourself, what postures bring you joy? How can you open your chest and lead with the breath into the day. Most often, it’s small daily miracles that bring us back and allow us to exhale. A deep sigh is medicine. Repeating it, focusing on the breath we may find sadness passing, or at least diminishing. In its place enters gratitude and a deep appreciation that life is a miracle. So, inhale deeply. Sigh it out slowly. Let sadness and grief leave the body to replace them with gratitude and the energy to be the change we need in the world. Try it and tell me how it goes.

When Practice Doesn't Make Perfect

They say practice makes perfect. I’m not so sure.

 Yeah, this time was smoother. But that’s ‘cause the vet came to the house. And yes, I’ve done this before. But perfect? They say it’s painless, like falling asleep. That’s for the patient. I’m wide awake and it hurts like hell.

 Uma was a dog I’d found a home for in what seems another lifetime. Born on Tulum beach, I brought her to my friend as a puppy with her brother. They were adorable. But they’d only take Uma. She lived with them for 2 or 3 years, in this lovely boutique hotel called Playa Selva. It started as camping but the owner married a Swiss woman and she helped him build actual buildings, put in electricity and create a sanctuary for people who wanted to hear the waves and walk the beach while having a bed and a hammock, not only the latter.

 Eventually, schools, violence and a search for higher standards led them back to Europe. She convinced me I could improve my standards too - with a job. I managed her hotel for 2 plus years. Part of the job was managing Uma. At least I saw it that way. So when I managed Playa Selva, I gave Uma security, health, comfort and love. But, used to being with a family, she hated being alone. Every night she tunneled out of the nice corral we built her and I’d come to work in the morning to find her cozy home empty.

 She’d run to meet me, lean dark body a streak of black against the cream colored sand as she nearly flew over the small rise in the dune to find me making coffee in the communal kitchen. We’d walk the beach, meet the guests and she’d follow me through my day. Until at night once again, we’d try the security thing. I’d sit with her for awhile as my own dogs waited at home and I’d ask her to wait for me ‘til morning. She found it impossible.

 One morning as I hugged her good morning, a screaming man came over the dune, blocked my office door holding a spear fishing harpoon over his head and screamed, “I’m going to kill you and your dog if she ever comes to my hotel again.” Uma hid behind me, a petulant and obviously guilty child. Surprising myself, I stood, told him he’d do no such thing and demanded he leave the property. More surprising, he obeyed, similarly petulant and guilty.

 I knew Uma was a bully and picked fights with small dogs or dogs as pretty as she but not as strong. His was a lovely Dalmation and I was sure Uma beat her up. I patted her head and her brown eyes told me, “not that badly.”

 She had a boyfriend called Jimmy who’d come and play about every day around 5 pm. They’d play like crazy. Between bouts, she’d run to me breathless, covered in his slimy saliva and sweat as if to say, “This is the best,” before she ran back for a chest butt.

 One time guests at the neighbor’s camp site who’s owner had never married a Swiss woman, were grilling chicken for a party. Stoned and playing drums as they turned the prize birds over, Uma decided to take one and run. She came through the property as I was meeting a new guest, bird in mouth, with a dreadlocked, skinny guy running after her. Uma was fast. But as she stopped to enjoy her feast, the hippie caught her, ripped the bird from her mouth and ran back to throw it back on the grill.

 This was her kleptomaniac phase. The next time it was provolone cheese from another resident of the camp. He swore Uma had stolen it. I defended her and told him to search. He never found it. A week later, I dug it up, transplanting a beach lily. Life went on and for a while, we routinely found buried treasures.

 Then everything changed. The beach became “nicer”. People wanted the properties, often without paying. Visitors wanted more. So did the owners. Suddenly cool guests, clean rooms and clean water weren’t enough. The former chill vibe became daily calls asking for more and more. I was renting my own places, teaching yoga all over the beach, missing my own dogs, my cats and my life. Something had to go.

 It was Playa Selva. “I’m leaving and I’m taking your dog,” made it three dogs at my house. When I moved in with Alex – a relationship “that never should have happened” or perhaps it was meant to be -  there were four dogs. Uma had a gang.

 But, we were in town, a huge adjustment. Small consolation was an immense garden and down the road was the jungle where now it’s a maze of oversized condos and luxury hotels. For six years I made it work. And when I left Alex, the hardest thing to leave was Uma and my other rescue, Deco. By that time we were two. I had escorted the other three as they moved to the other side. Like I said, I’ve been practicing. And that’s not to mention the ones before I moved to Mexico.

 I tried taking them when I moved out. But small spaces aren’t their best. So I made a deal. They’d stay in Alex’s amazing garden with room to run and dig and chase birds and I’d visit. It seemed fair. Until his relationship didn’t like me coming and going. They took my key and my dogs. The cruelty never stopped stinging. I hadn’t seen Uma for over a year when Alex needed help and asked me to feed them. “It’s only once a day now,” he instructed, “and here’s how we do it.” Anything to see her again. I spent a wonderfully happy week visiting them every day. Then it stopped. He came back. I wasn’t needed.

 A few months later, on the full moon, Uma visited my dreams. The next day I asked Alex, “Can I come visit Uma?” He’d been meaning to tell me she was fading. “She’s old,” he reminded me. “So are we,” I reminded him.

 She hobbled out to see me. So skinny, so weak. So fast. But she gave me that dog hug, rubbing her head into my belly as I sat and scratched behind her ears. She still loved me. I so loved her. I told Alex I’d take care of everything. He’d known I would. Yesterday, he let me in again and as Uma got comfortable on the blanket I’d given her a decade ago, I sat next to her. She put her head on my knee. I stroked her quietly as the Doctor put the needles in and Uma left.

 They say practice makes perfect. I don’t feel it’s perfect at all. 

All Endings are Beginnings….

Summer is my favorite season.  The whirligig of high summer energy leaves me hot and exhausted, pushing me to get things done. But with all that heat, there is surrender. Some days you just cannot. It’s as if my body, in tune with the earth, knows that the intense power of July is short lived. I need to ride it’s wave into the full season.

When August comes around, my energy stabilizes, cools down. I’m in the curl of summer’s wave and enjoying it. The peak growing season transitions imperceptively to harvest.  Colors blend green into yellow.  Seeds and pods bear fruit and nuts and vegetables. It’s a time of abundance and generosity, celebration and sharing.  The sun bears down with healing warmth, tempered by the now cooling air.  

It’s the extravagant part of the cycle of life. The energetic bright yang gives way to the dark reclusive yin.  An ending turning toward harvest and hibernation to insure a new beginning.  

The traditional Chinese and Taoist culture celebrate a 5th season within the summer season. Late summer, August 5 through the fall Equinox, September 21, is dedicated to singing and feasting on the fruits of our labor.  Bathsheba Monk and I invite you to sing and feast your senses with us. Please welcome and join our inaugural issue of Paradise Found: an on-line celebration of the miracle of life and it’s seasons using all media—stories, poems, pictures, video and audio.

Our first issue will acknowledge late summer and document this 5th season’s yang as it transitions to fall and winter’s yin: yellow, sweet, abundant, singing.  The last hurrah before the rains and snow come. Send your ideas, your stories, your art and observations for submission to 2bmonk@gmail.com by July 30.

In the subject line please include “Paradise Found Submission.” No submittal fee required. Just a willingness to remember that we have not been cast from Paradise.  We've simply forgotten how it’s right in front of us. Let's remember again by sharing our ideas on the miracle that is life: Paradise Found. 

Into the Day

The crow called me from bed the past few mornings, screaming “Into the day. Into the day.”

 So I followed his advice. I slipped my feet from the bed to the cool floor and saw the moon setting as the sun rose from the other window. He called again and I climbed the stairs to the rooftop. A masterpiece of color surrounded me as the moon faded into the rising sun, shades of red pink and orange extending into the blue sky of dawn. A flurry of birds flew overhead; grakles, chatting lively. I touched the leaf of the palm tree that reaches for the sun a little higher each morning. The small hornets nest growing just inside began to buzz as the miniaturely fierce insects awakened too. I don’t dare touch them but there is a bird who will. Not the crow. Some other fearless creature looking for sustenance amidst the sting.

 Regardless, if I’m careful, we can all share the space. There is so much. Space all around, regardless if my neighbor’s are building more, higher, bigger. There is space to put my feet into grass, no matter how small the patch, to stick my nose into a flower, regardless with whom I share it, to lift my gaze and find the moon sinking into the dawn of this new day that my friend the crow has called me to witness. I’ll leave unsalted peanuts and an unpaired earring on my altar to invite him to stay next time he calls to remind me, “It’s not paradise lost. You’ve just forgotten to notice the masterpiece that is life.”

 Take the time to hear the crow’s call and follow it. That cry leads to a renewed sense of magic in the everyday. Because, everyday is magic.

Let’s preserve it and document the magic and beauty all around us. We can share it through photos, essays, drawings and paintings. Launching in October, I’ll be compiling expressions of the beauty in the everyday with my dear friend Bathsheba Monk, CEO Blue Heron Bookworks. We’ll call it Paradise Found and the 5 yearly issues will help us take that first step in coming home to our magnificence: awareness that it’s right in front of us. Contact me for details on submissions. It’s going to be stellar.

If you can’t wait and you’re feeling less than inspired, we can help with yoga, meditation and present moment awareness. These practices cultivate a sense of connectedness to all living beings that lifts your gaze toward the magic that is today. To help, I’m hosting long weekend retreats all June at Tribal Tulum with Ricardo Castro. I’m offering a disconnect month or two at my casita in the Mayan village. And if you dare to plan ahead, save the date for our Yoga and Writing retreat October 29th to November 3rd, 2025. All great ways to settle into the miracle that is you.

Waiting for Eggs

I’m sitting at my friends’ kitchen table with coffee watching the foggy morning moistly move forward. I think she’s oversleeping but I’m not sure what to do about it. I made noise, made coffee and I wait for sounds of her in the house. It’s not that different with her husband not here. It’s been a month since he died. So crazy how in a minute he’s gone.

She’s got photos of him everywhere. I like it. I still hear his voice in the morning of our mornings together. “Eggs!” he’d scream coming down the stairs and then he’d yell, “Coffee!” Not demanding them but joyfully exclaiming to the world that he was going to make them. I often wondered if they’d had mad sex before to make him so vibrant, exuberant and hungry. I never asked, just laughed and received the kiss on the crown of my head as he’d walk by to start his process, the smell of lavender wafting over me from the oils he was sure were curing his every ailment. He’d start breaking eggs, slamming plates and pots, exclaiming over it all, creating a breakfast festival.  

Now the house is quiet, his wife escaped me for her meeting, not sleeping in for grief. But slipping past me as I wrote, an inability to rally the same enthusiasm for coffee and eggs. Perhaps she never had it. Perhaps she indulged his boisterous mornings. But I sit here as always, a guest at their table and I hear his cacophony in my memories. I feel the exuberance of a life well lived in the walls and in the way the grey spring day wafts over the magnolias in the far neighbor’s lawn. The table is as it’s always been. The miniature tiger, dog, cat and full sized dragonfly under glass, the fruit bowl full next to the withering orchid, the rosemary next to the artisanal gin we sipped over stories the night before. I listen to the clock ticking sipping coffee from my antique cup that reminds me of old diners and I vow to treat the day with a boisterous reverence as I continue to live a ilfe well lived with my friend in the air around me. I let him inspire me as always: to head into each day with a cacophony that exclaims life as the gift and the burden we are privileged to carry. And I wait for my eggs.

Repair is a Radical Act

I read this awhile ago, before the resistance movement. Isn’t that what we’re experiencing? Resisting the urge to scream, to shout, to check the news, to get so caught up in it all that we forget the beauty and resilience all around us? Are we resisting the urge to pretend our small actions don’t matter? The calls to representatives, cancelling on-line accounts, shopping local, being just a little bit kinder, listening to the bird’s songs and each others’.

That’s where repair comes in. Like when my dear friend Diana came by to take 5 different colors of thread on a needle with an especially large eye to cross-stitch small holes my cat had massaged into my favorite sheets. Now rainbow colors fill where her claws had been. The sheets are uniquely mine, a work of art, the memory of a morning spent creating and laughing. I don’t want orneed new. That’s a radical act in a consumer culture.

What if we could cross stitch the threads of our being? Repair those small or large holes in our hearts, in our psyche. Those small digs that have made us feel less than amazing? Can we cross stitch over those with multicolored thread? We can. Through yoga, self-expression like writing, painting, planting a garden, painting a wall. Stillness and meditation heal places where the claws have been. Choosing to take care of ourselves and each other cross stitches the fabric of our communities. Practicing random acts of kindness extends the pattern so we can repair and radicalize our lives gently, without starting a war.

Let’s practice peace in our yoga. At Tribal Tulum, we’ll start with a new schedule in April that includes more ways to repair. We’re adding some wonderful meditations, yoga philosophy discussions, new classes and some special events from teachers you probably weren’t aware were so diverse. We’ll sing and be still together as we radically expand our abilities and recognize new abilities in others. We create community where before there was only acquaintance. We heal ourselves, repairing past damage. We change the world using repair as a radical act.

April 1st we’ll start with an 8 am meditation. The same one we do when you retreat here. Think about starting that again with me and start the process to repair yourself and our world, one breath at a time. The new schedule is on the website and here if you prefer.

Crushing Overwhelm

With all the craziness in the world, it’s hard to feel you make any difference. So many people, places and things need help. I want to buy at the right places, use my dollars to make change. I want to voice my concerns, call my political representatives. I want to save the world, stop plastic and human trafficking, clean the ocean, write my next Eco Woman novel. I want to create community, see that group of friends, host that workshop, write that email, make that facetime call. I want to use alternative medicine, heal myself, not trust the doctor.

Then there’s my chosen reality: I can’t manage, get frustrated, let my power fade and do little at all.

Or I choose my mat and begin. I practice yoga. That makes everything more manageable and reminds me I’m connected. My practice takes me from that place of panic and stress to the place where I know, step by step, I can be the change I want to see in the world. I AM the change I want to see in the world.

So if you are feeling overwhelmed, welcome. But here are 3 steps that will crush it.

1.     Get to your mat. – at home or at a studio or join me here in Tulum if you can escape for even a weekend. Mexico’s all over the news. Perhaps you want to get to know her.

2.     Take a second and stop. Right now. Sit and take 24 deep breaths – it takes about 2 minutes. See if you can stay focused on only the breath.

3.     Move a little. You know the poses – 3 to 5 sun salutations. If that’s all you have time for, its enough. If you have time for more, wonderful. But, remind yourself, what you do is enough.

Bonus – write that on a piece of paper – a sticky note, a receipt – “What I do is enough. I am enough. I am.” Put it somewhere you can see it.

Second bonus – be joyful in your day as you take the small steps in your personal resistance. Joyfully shop second hand, joyfully drop the Amazon and facebook accounts, joyfully shop local. Joy is your birthright and your purpose.

 That’s it. Every day. Let me know how it works for you.

 If you have the time and resources, join us for our yoga and writing retreat, March 13 to 18. There is still a space left. Digging deeply into you and expressing it in writing is powerful. It can change your world. And remember, your world is the world.

 If you need more time to plan, we have a wonderful yoga and dive retreat in May with South Oregon Dive Club. See the world with a different lens when you combine yoga and diving. I’ll throw a little yoga and writing in there too.

Stay happy. Find your bliss and resist.

Trusting Ourselves

I shifted into park and looked around. No one else on this shady side street between two relatively vacant lots. I wondered why. The other streets were packed making this empty one lonely. I searched for no parking signs, yellow paint on a non-existent curb. I found none, so congratulated myself, took the key and got out.

As I stepped from the car, a scruffy, broken booted man walked into the intersection to see who I was. His hair was tousled and when I said buenas tardes, he nodded and his half smile showed only a few teeth. “Think it’s ok to park here?” I asked. He nodded and told me “si, you’re fine.” I felt better and walked to the café for breakfast before going back to work.

But I shook my head and wondered why the testimony of a guy who looked like he’s probably never owned or even parked a car gave me such comfort? And I realized over coffee and eggs how deeply my social conditioning ran. Not for judging him by his appearance, but for not trusting myself to know that people didn’t park on that street because it was farther away. Maybe they’re afraid of side streets. That’s their social conditioning. Mine is to trust a man. I’ve been trained, regardless of life proof to the contrary, that men know better. Especially when it comes to parking or moving or other manly endeavors.

So many reasons for this. But it begs the question, how do we shift to trusting ourselves? If experience doesn’t work, how do we get back to trusting us? If all my degrees and studies don’t help me feel confident that I at least know where to park, how will I ever get there? We’ve all made mistakes and poor choices. That doesn’t mean we have to continue. And it certainly doesn’t mean we have to trust someone else to make choices for us.

Pema Chodrun talks about shenpa, the thought pattern, mostly negative, that works its way into your mind so that you follow it and act on it habitually. Her experience shows it’s something you can let go of with practice. Yoga and meditation work into those places where you doubt yourself. These practices let you open up to your own inner wisdom. It’s about catching yourself, waiting until you have a look and assess what works best for you. In my example, it’s catching myself before I ask for outward validation, letting buenas tardes be enough.

The power of pause, cultivating acceptance of negative thought patterns and what Pema calls, “less noble” human traits, are ways to unravel feelings of self distrust and negativity. Take a moment to pause right now. Take 9 deep breaths. Notice your shoulders relax and your jaw soften and ask yourself what you might instead ask a toothless, ragged man. Listen to the answer and remind yourself: you know.

We’ll practice asking those questions, feeling into them and listening to ourselves in our Yoga and Writing retreat, March 13 to 18, 2025. Join us to practice going deeply into the realm of self acceptance and trust. We’ll explore the stories we are and the ones we tell ourselves with yoga, writing, some fairy tales and magic. Join us March 13 to 18 at Tribal Tulum, Tulum, Mexico.

Be the Rainbow

I rode my bike past workers rolling warm tortillas around eggs, lathering them with salsa and pushing them into their mouths mid sentence as they stood on the corner waiting for cement block to arrive. I called, “Buen provecho”. A chorus of gracias followed as I pedaled toward a young woman walking towards me. I called, “Buenos días”. “Buen día” she replied, lifting her head and smiling.

It’s nice to be acknowledged. Here in Mexico, we do it a lot. And it changes everything about the moment: makes you smile, lifts your spirits, lets you see a different side of people, generally the smiley side. It gives you this feeling that everything’s ok and that you matter.

If you’ve ever spent much time alone, or especially travelled alone, you may have felt lonely at some point. It happens. We feel a little invisible or small. But when you settle into the grocery store line or your seat on the bus and someone acknowledges your mere presence, it feels better.

Maya Angelou said, "Be the rainbow in someone’s day.” It’s not so difficult to do. All you have to do is perhaps say, “Buen provecho.” Try it – once or twice in your day, say hello to someone you don’t know. You can be selective but make eye contact and say hi. Or good morning, or good afternoon. Or buen provecho.

 They might just smile back. You might just create a connection. And that might make all the difference to you and the other person.

Why live a creative life anyway?

Because that’s where we find our bliss. And you don’t need to be Picasso to make your life creative. You only need to give yourself permission.

Permission to wear purple and red. Permission to add that touch of cinnamon or chocolate to your coffee. Permission to dye those stained white towels Caribbean blue.

We are creative beings. But most of us have beaten our creative urges into the dark spaces of our bodies and souls. That inner critic who says your ideas are crap, that inner coach who says you’ll never make the majors, that trusted figure who tells you artists starve, they all tried to beat the artist into submission.

But that doesn’t happen. The artist in you just goes deeper inside and is hanging out there, perhaps enjoying the downtime, preparing ideas to burst to the surface in what might seem awkward moments since you’ve not been listening. That urge to paint one wall a different color. The moment you burst into dance on the subway. The skip in your step to the music in the park. Right? That time you bought those floral pants. Or that one coffee cup that doesn’t match anything but makes you smile.

“But it doesn’t go,” or “they’ll think I’m weird,” you tell yourself and put on the solid grays and grab the cup that matched the white plates. And the inner artist, buried deep inside, gives you the finger and waits for the next opportunity to inspire you.

Let’s set the inner artist free. Our yoga and writing retreat March 13 to 18 will coax our inner artist to the surface. Yoga frees the tight bonds that hold the creative spirit in check. Writing helps you express those ideas: off the mind, on the paper. Take 5 nights and 6 days to work deeply into the crevices where we’ve stashed our muse and gently draw him/her/them out. We’ll learn to write about normal things in a very creative way and we’ll see the artist in the every day. We’ll even publish an anthology of our work.

Join author and publisher Bathsheba Monk, Iyengar yoga teacher and writer Lisa Towson and me, Joanne Fanny Barry, entrepreneur, author and yoga teacher for an amazing 5 night 6 day retreat at Tribal Tulum in Tulum, Mexico. Why not live a more creative life? Set yourself free.

Contact me for details, itinerary and pricing soon as space is limited.

In Between

Let’s talk about the “in between” time from Christmas to New Year to even January 6th. It’s a time of non-productivity that can be uncomfortable. You don’t get sooooo much accomplished. You miss your workouts. You miss your deadlines, literally and figuratively. You miss your creative projects, your meditations, your healthy meals, your good night’s sleep. And that feels weird.

Everything shifts as we move through the holidays. We’re forced to live in the spaces in between. It’s challenging for anyone who likes routine and feeling they’re moving forward every day with something to work on, something to focus on, a space to plan a creative outlet like creating a story and making it marvelous.

 Perhaps you’ve had that experience too?

“Each inhale is a birth, each exhale a death,” says Thich Nhat Hanh. I add, “we live in the spaces in between”. So here I sit as the sun is just peeking over the horizon wishing I were working on Eco Woman’s next big adventure. But I’m in the space in between so I’ll feel the discomfort and let it go. Sit with coffee in the morning and journal, or doodle or simply be with the warm cup in my hand and notice. I’ll notice and trust the process. It’s my only way out of that unnerving feeling that there’s nothing left to do. I’ll trust that I’ll sell a load of books, that I’ll market it well, that my retreat will sell out and I will get the chance to move into my next project: Eco Woman 3. I’ll trust I’ll take the right steps after this in between time and I’ll let myself enjoy it knowing that the in-between times are more worthwhile than you think. Let them guide you to noticing where to go next.

And look for my books, Eco Woman: Transformation and Initiation on Amazon.

Save the date for my Yoga and Writing Retreat at Tribal Tulum, March 13 to 18.

Join me for Yin Yoga here Sundays at 10am and other classes as I announce them on instagram.

And finally, keep Christmas going in your life like the Whos down in Who-ville, singing, holding hands, loving and caring for each other for the whole year regardless what comes down the chimney into those spaces in between. Let yourself live there.