I Have To Admit It's Getting Better

Very inspired and feeling loved. By none other than my OWN fuckin' self. Huh!

Getting ready to head out to meet up with my creative muse and dear friend, T. Lorae.

It's been a wild couple of weeks.

The screenplay competition deadlines are coming, May 1st being the first big one. June 1st being the next big one.  I'm 2/3 of the way through my third script, but I don't love it. At this point I'm just hanging in there to finish it. I write a scene or two every day, and I'm into the fifth sequence. So I'm gonna switch gears, put it aside, and rewrite my first script for the May deadline and then add my second script for the June.

Ya got that?

I am really looking forward to this:

http://homepractice.tumblr.com/events

WHAT:

“Everyday Yoga: Extraordinary Tools for Ordinary Life,” an all-day retreat 

WHO: 

RYTs  Liz Belile, Dr. Ellen Stansell, and Jenn Wooten

WHERE:

Casa de Luz,1701 Toomey Road, ATX 78704

WHEN:

Saturday, May 18, from 9 am to 6 pm.

HOW MUCH:

$99.00 (fully refundable until two weeks prior to the retreat) 

The Retreat is currently SOLD OUT. 

WHY:

As perfectly human yogis, teachers, creative types, and mothers of young children with busy schedules, we wanted to offer the kind of yoga workshop that WE wanted to see: a day of retreat for ordinary folk like ourselves. A retreat that affords time and space to not only to practice and commune, but to share process and explore yoga and community in a way that is rooted in the reality of our daily lives.

Utilizing our combined wisdom of yoga philosophy, experiential knowledge of the energy body, yoga therapy, writing and performance skills, musicianship, parenting wisdom and bodywork, we will be offering tools that make it easier to integrate yogic practices into every day.

Together, we’ve created a day of sharing, learning, practice and creative fun to inspire and reignite all our fires. You will leave well-resourced, with new ideas of how to celebrate being the yogi that you already are.

++++++++++

Let me explain a bit. We refer to this as "Everyday Yoga." We're not the first ones to use this phrase, I've found through the magic power of Google, and thank God for that. But for me it has a slightly different origin/meaning.

"Everyday Speech" is a phrase I heard while studying poetry. To wit: 

"Verse without formal meter or rhyme patterns. Free verse, instead, relies upon the natural rhythms of everyday speech. The American poet Walt Whitman was a pioneer of free verse (see Song of Myself). However, it was fellow Americans T.S.Eliot and Ezra Pound who are generally regarded as the major instigators of free verse in English. Free verse is particularly associated with both the imagist and modernist movements. See also vers libre."

Uncle Walt is the direct forefather to Les Beats. As is T.S. and Ol' Ez. But mostly: W squared. 

Now, Allen Ginsberg mentioned it in the context of his buddy Kerouac's work, insofar as Kerouac modeled his writing on jazz, which modeled its rhythms on...you got it. Everyday speech. The inherent, informal, unglamorous glam of language we use to just effing TAWK. 

It all comes from a kind of deep listening, an honoring of the patterns of existence. The humdrum of daily life. Think of the repetitive riffs in jazz, in conversation, in a yoga practice. In a steady breath. In a forgotten breath. In the everyday patterns of LIVING. The routines. And think of the irregularity of everyday life, the informal up and down of an hour, or an exchange. The challenge in yoga and in life is to follow Ol' Ez's advice and "make it new." Life isn't inherently meaningful, they say; it is WE who give it meaning. 

The Buddha adored contemplating everyday existence and "ordinary mind."  As a somewhat depressive (still brilliant, though) mama who can barely scrape through an entire day sometimes I am deeply grateful and thrilled to have so many opportunities to experience and energize THE MUNDANE. 

Sweep the fucking temple steps. Chop the wood. Carry the water.  BE the practice. Stop chasing the elusive perfect parenting practice; IT DOESN'T EXIST. The elusive "better yourself!" yoga practice; IT'S A GAME NO ONE CAN WIN. It's like believing that there's an end goal to the journey, so by the time you get there you're been so focused on the WIN you didn't even know you were on a path. 

Don't you know poetry ain't just a bunch of pretty words in a book? It's in your phone calls to your sweetheart. To the bank. It's in what you say to your babies, your friends, your parents, the cashier at the gas station.  Yoga ain't just the super-pretzel pose demo'ed in front of 1,000 people. It ain't the years spent in the ashram, only to rejoin boring ol' everyday life and be a shithead to your fellow humans. It's the grace of you in the now. The kindness in your eyes. The thoughts you have. The words you use. It's how you are and who you are in everything you do. 

Now get to work. 

AND OH! 

PS! 

I am hosting my (fourth?) annual MOTHER'S DAY READING EXTRAVAGANZA at BOOKWOMAN again this year! With a bevy of really, really good writers and badass mothers. And musicians. Our  theme is "BEAT MOMS" or "MAD MOMS."  Should be funny, smart, ranty and cool.

My Body, My Bullshit

Good Lord I've abandoned this long-form blog, haven't I?

Find me on facebook, where I can't stop writing, apparently.

I have been taking a screenwriting class since January. I have written one first draft of an entire feature, and the outline for my second feature, which I plan to finish in the next six weeks. I'm currently volunteering for the Austin Film Festival, reading screenplays entered into their screenwriting competition. I have to read 70 scripts by the end of this month. So far I've read 30.  Whew!  What's the point of this, you ask?

Well, I always wanted to be a screenwriter. I wrote my first script as my senior thesis in college. I debated going to film school, chose poetry school instead, for graduate work. After grad school I moved to LA with my playwright friend, who is now a tv and screenwriter. I loved LA and the whole Hollywood Game.  Unfortunately, like many, I got caught up in my own emotional dysfunction and alcoholism and blew SO. MANY. OPPORTUNITIES.  I also HAD so many opportunities, a really good and successful time overall. But then I moved back to Texas, and decided to pursue instead the Healing Arts. I'm pretty damn good at 'em too. But ultimately, my calling is elsewhere. Is it screenwriting? I don't know. But I need to find out.

Last Fall, as part of this year-long life-coaching program I am in called "Evolve," we did a bunch of work around "Your Best Year Yet," in which we wrote and processed around our deepest dreams. I came to realize that not only was winning and Oscar for screenwriting my deepest dream, but that actually, when it came down to it, I wasn't doing shit toward realizing my dream. Not one thing. Just fantasizing. So I looked up screenwriting workshops in Austin (and online; there are several good ones) and found the class I'm in now. I'm taking it for the third time, and plan to continue all Summer until I get this damned second script written! So at least I can say, as a mom, that I took heed when I spoke of living my dreams. I'm doing it. Not winning the Oscar, which would be okay I guess, but actually pursuing learning the art and craft of screenwriting and then getting off my ass and putting in the ungodly hours it takes to do it. Seriously...major butt power needed for this form!

So I say to parents, especially Moms, PURSUE YOUR HEART'S DEEPEST DESIRE AND YOUR WILDEST DREAM. Try it. Your kids will be so happy that you did. I decided that rather than resent my family for eating up my time, I would devote myself to pursuing my wildest dreams. Can you imagine? My kid is going to grow up knowing that I had the courage to pursue this crazy dream shit? And he may even grow up believing that he can pursue his own heart's deepest desires?  (In another entry, I'll relate how I actually grew up in a house with a parent who followed his passion and succeeded in realizing his wild dream, so I knew it was possible. And preferable.)

Oh, but there is still fine art.

Tonight, instead of going to my screenwriting class, I'll be reading with Spike Gillespie and her usual suspects from the Dick Monologues for a night whose theme is "My Body, My Bullshit." I only wish I had some material! (HA!)

I figure I'll recite "My Country, My Cunt" then read something short about my poop incontinence post partum.

Luckily that's no longer an issue.

My son will be FIVE in October. He has bloomed! He tells me all the time: "I love you Sweetie," and "Honey I love you." He tells me he's going to protect me, to which of course I say "Honey, you don't have to protect me, it's my job to protect you. But thank you." It is so awesome.

On the other hand, he often hits me and tells me how much he hates me, and wants to kill me, and wants me to die. We'll see a butterfly, and I'll say, "Oh! How pretty! Look at the yellow butterfly!" And he'll look at it then say "I want to smash it and kill it!"

Man, the life of the mother of a young child. Particularly a young son.

In some ways I admire his freedom to express his desires to crush, maim, destroy and kill things. I sublimate my anger instead. I think we'd all be a lot healthier if we could express our anger in a way that gets it out but doesn't harm anyone, really, and can be contained and expressed with a loving adult nearby to hear it and really play witness to it.

He's been going to occupational therapy since April? May? And for the most part, it's okay. He enjoys it. I observe every session. I've had a couple of problems with his therapist, which I mostly attribute to her not listening to me and to the practice being kind of a kid-mill. I've also overheard some really shitty, shaming words coming from some of the other therapists there, and I told on them. So I'm "that parent," maybe. But too bad. I think most of B's core strength issues are getting resolved, and it's been helpful for us as a family to work on giving him boundaries, chores, work, more outdoor and heavy play...really the usual stuff of childhood.

Anyway, this has been the VERY BEST way for me to procrastinate writing my stuff for tonight. So thank you for reading. And see you sooner than five months from now, I hope!

On the "How" and "Presence"

Obviously my anti-depressant has knocked a hole in my writing mojo-worker. Oh well. I'd rather not be homicidally angry all the time than blogging and writing great novels and screenplays and magazine articles and poems anyway.

So where does the anger go? Well, April was "Anger Appreciation Month" so I reveled in it some, giving it space and letting it know I knew it was there and all. May was "Fear Appreciation Month," and that has been so exciting I guess I'll continue it into June. Giving Anger and Fear acknowledgment, putting those swelling emotions into words is, for me at least, a way to relieve them. 

I recently spent some time with two of my most influential yoga teachers, Mary Keator and George Purvis. Out of a couple of long conversations I got a couple bits o' wisdom to share with you:

1) When talking with George about the crazy "yoga scene" and the energy of students and in classrooms these days, he said something really quite profound: that people seem to come to class because they want to "do" yoga, not to learn "how" to do yoga. Yes! "Do" vs "How." Not that there's anything wrong with that; it's just a very different vibe. There does seem to be a group fitness class mentality, which is cool, but the real work happens at home, in my opinion. In practice. There has undoubtedly been lots written about the distinctions between a) yoga CLASS and b) yoga WORKSHOPS and c) yoga INTENSIVES and d) yoga RETREATS and e) yoga HOME PRACTICE and f) yoga OFF THE MAT.  But I'll add my two cents, and take a look at it myself.

I remember when I was first learning to play guitar and bass, 24 years ago, my then-boyfriend was teaching me so I could play in his band. He taught me the difference between "rehearsal," which is what we did with the entire band, and "practice," which is what I did at home, on my own. (I made the mistake of saying we were going to "band practice.") And then of course, all of that was meant to serve the "performance."

So it is, I think, with home practice, classroom study, and _______. Group practice is another topic as well. I personally *want* and *need* my yoga teacher to single me out and give me adjustments and "corrections." To tell me to do more or less or whatever. In a big group class, like at my gym, the teacher never leaves the front of the room and therefore is never really observing and suggesting. Now don't get me wrong, I go through my phases where all I want is to hide out in the back and be anonymous so I can just get my sweat on, but that kind of class doesn't advance me in my understanding of yoga, necessarily.

Something I have realized lately is that I have a gift, as a teacher, of being able to SEE. I can truly see a tiny adjustment that needs to be made and I can work with that student quickly and effectively to change their pose, which then has the potential to change their life. I didn't realize that not all teachers can do this. I think it takes practice. I have always been keenly interested in John Friend's talk of "cultivating eagle vision," the practice of cultivating the ability to SEE both the big picture and the overall energy of a roomful of students and the details in the energy of the people as individuals right in front of you. Oh I love this. I recall a teacher training with Mary K, years ago, where we really focused on seeing the whole of a student, and sensitizing ourselves so we could pick up on old injuries, or the emotional state of the student. Now, it's a hard thing to do, because obviously the danger would be that we as teachers might project our shit onto our students. So it has to be practiced with great care and love, and not with a critical eye toward "correction" but more a loving eye, as John says, toward enhancing the shri or beauty that is already there.

Back to "doing" yoga in a class rather than "learning" yoga.

Yeah, I find that I want to impart teachings. And I want to learn how to do yoga. But sometimes I just want to exercise and show off.

Good to know.

On to Mary's wisdom.

2) As we were chatting with another old friend and longtime yoga practitioner, we were discussing George's comment, and how there was something troubling to all of us about the "yoga scene" and being part of a group that well, you just really don't feel all that much a part of. My friend's  comment was that she usually felt "invisible" in the group. So Mary asked her, "Is that okay with you, to feel invisible in a yoga class?" And her answer was, "Not really, but I just try to accept it." To which  Mary said, "Well, if it's not okay with you then you need to own that. Because yoga is not about being invisible. Yoga is PRESENCE." It's BEING HERE. NOW.

Doh!

So I've been contemplating that. The learning. The teaching. The imparting, the partaking. What it is to be SEEN. What it is to SEE. And the many ways in which we make others feel invisible, or stroke the egos of the more visible by putting them up in front of the others.

I got a funny look from a pretty young woman as I was sitting writing at the coffee shop tonight. It was kind of...sweet, I think. But I have been enjoying myself, knowing that when I was the pretty young woman glancing at the older woman in the coffee shop I felt sorry for her. Now I know, my day has come. And those pretty young things will all hopefully grow beautifully older, as I have, and their days are coming too.

Ah, wisdom.

There's more, like how I've been setting boundaries with my son. How I feel like I already have a teenager in the house, who says he's BORED. Says he doesn't want me, doesn't like me, doesn't need me. Hates his toys. Doesn't like his house. Wants to go home. Needs a new toy. And so on. I'm trying everything I know and feel, and still could not avoid a meltdown at the toy store tonight. But I was so hungry and needed to get home. And he was so eager for adventure, and wanted to stay stay stay and play with the smorgasbord of toys. So we couldn't compromise. And he cried, yelled out that I was hurting him, struck me repeatedly, sobbed his heart out and kicked at the doors as they closed behind us. So we sat on the ground in front of the store and talked about how I needed to go, how I had to cook dinner and eat, how he wasn't hungry, how he wasn't sleepy, how he really wanted to look at the dinosaurs, and so on and so forth.  I stayed calm and we talked, in the soaring Texas heat (101 tomorrow), on the hot sidewalk, in front of funky toy central, while his voice shook and his shoulders shook and I empathized and soothed and spoke honestly until finally we were able to get in the car, neither of us satisfied but resigned to the outcome.

My parenting guru says that this age is extra tricky. She says it's a good time to hire a sitter or have someone other than mom or dad come and take care of the basics, like bathing. Eating. Teethbrushing. Bedtime. Because these are the places where the battle lines get drawn, and where tired parents go crazy. I try to remember that whenever I'm getting bitten, when naked boy circles the room gleefully while I chase him down with a tiny pair of tightie whities, when he keens and clamps his jaws shut every time I get the toothbrush out.

I'm still worried about him. That he has such an intense need to know WHAT, WHEN, and WHERE. Always. Has to find ways to anchor or locate himself in space. His most heartbreaking complaint? "I'm LOST!"  And when he says it, he means it in the most profoundly poetic way. Like: "But if you don't sleep in the bed with me tonight I'll feel LOST." Or when he finally did give in and accept his fate at the toy store, he mournfully said, "I'm LOST." Oh it tugs at me!

But I'm hesitant to teach him all the specifics of how we mark time. I want him to experience the freedom of his childhood without the restrictions and regulations and false sense of linear reality that clocks and schedules and closing times, deadlines, and sunrises give us. At the same time, I want to show him the maps of the world, so he'll have a sense of where he is. Where he's going. A big picture for a small boy.

Okay, that's it for now.  I know, pictures must come soon.