Labor of Love

Stories from the Yogic Heart

Several years ago, I was contacted by Lisa Cherry—a woman feverish with a book idea.  I’ve been in that place before, and so we began a conversation.  She had been physically ill and credited much of her healing to an intensive yoga practice.  Her story resonated with me—as yoga helped me shift my life purpose from focusing on self-centered goals to learning to love and serve others.  We both agreed that the true power of yoga went far beyond reshaping our bodies—in our experience, yoga was a means to alter your entire perspective, your whole life. 

Fast forward several years and what seemed like hundreds of edits later.  Voila! The book, Stories from the Yogic Heart was published earlier this year and my essay, entitled, “Finding my Perfect Self,” was included in the anthology, amongst stories from yoga luminaries such as Sting, Russell Simmons, Sonny Rollins and Sharon Gannon.   

I was amazed at how many of the essays in the book focused on yoga as path to healing physical illness.  My story was focused on healing my psychological and spiritual dilemmas—but as someone who has rarely been sick or injured, I haven’t had much exposure to how to harness yoga to wrestle with disease or kick-start the healing process.  Those stories inspired me to continue my practice—so that I can utilize yogic breathing and asana to come to terms with aging, illness and physical death in future decades.

There were other stories that caught me off guard. Sharon Gannon—the co-founder of Jivamukti Yoga—wrote about how yoga had not only helped her recover from an injury, but also helped her realize that her aspirations for the world first had to take root in her body.  Yoga taught her that being an activist wasn’t about seeking revolution outside oneself.   So she began to practice her beliefs in her own body—living her values in the way she walked, ate, danced, slept and spoke. 

Zo Newell’s essay focused on how her introduction to yoga helped her survive hundreds of electroconvulsive (shock therapy) treatments as a teenager who was institutionalized by her parents.  Rather than becoming disembodied during this difficult period, yoga practice helped her stay in her body, and to preserve her equanimity in a situation where many others would simply lose their minds. 

Yet another story focused on how yoga practice helped a mother find hope after giving birth to a premature baby who weighed just over one pound! Her practice gave her the tools to bring peace into her body instead of giving in to her worst fears.  And it helped her connect with her sick child—so that she could send strong vibrations of love as her daughter struggled for her life in an incubator in the NICU.   Yoga was also the tool that helped her manage the vicarious suffering inevitably felt by parents of a special needs child during her tumultuous life.

By the time I finished the Stories from the Yogic Heart, I felt as though my personal story was rather ordinary.  Yoga had opened my mind and heart—but now I could see that it had the potential to do so much more.  The book was a reminder that at it’s best, yoga helps us to look deeply within .  We might not like what we find, but when we allow ourselves to see it—plainly, accurately—we can begin to work with it.  Healing begins when we turn towards, rather than away from, our dis- or un-ease.

As I reflected on the book, and my small contribution to it, I felt an overriding sense of hope.  My story ends with the realization that advanced yoga practice isn’t about holding complicated postures with our bodies—it’s about learning to harness the power of our hearts.  After reading nearly 30 essays that echoed the same theme, I could see how yoga would catalyze an important movement in human history--as millions of newly opened hearts cannot help but transform the world. 

 

To order a copy of the book, click on this link, email yogicheart@gmail.com or call 1-416-554-YOGA. 

How Children Heal

In last week’s post, I referenced the gradual but miraculous healing of an infant who was diagnosed with a hole in her heart and brain damage at birth.  Three years later, she was fully healed without any medical intervention.  The story inspired me to think more deeply about how we heal and about what we can teach our children about health and healing.

I found a fascinating reference to this topic in an out-of-print book called Healers on Healing, an anthology of short essays by healers from many medical and alternative fields. Doctors, psychologists, nurses, counselors, shamans and energy workers alike weighed in on the topic.  The common denominator in every piece was the notion that healing professionals don’t heal anyone—they remove obstacles or build confidence so that their patients could heal themselves.   It was humbling to be reminded that we heal our bodies, rather than chemotherapy or drugs or surgery.

But the stories of how children learned to heal were the most awe-inspiring.  In an essay by Patricia Norris—a therapist, researcher and biofeedback pioneer—she describes her first-hand experiences with children healing from cancer.  She writes,

“Children are naturally open, accepting, trusting, enthusiastic and nonjudgmental in their approach to healing.  They are in the process of learning everything: to walk, run, speak…how to handle their bodies, their language and culture.  If you say, ‘When you turn this knob, the TV will come on,’ they say, ‘okay’ and turn the knob.  Tell them that they can make their hands warm, that they can send more blood to their toes, or that they can send white bloods cells to fight their tumors and they say, ‘okay’ and do it.  One task (to a child) is the same as another.”

Norris goes on to tell a story about Garrett—a young boy with a brain tumor.  He quickly learned how to warm his hands, then his feet, and then any part of his body to which he turned his attention.   He then learned how to affect his heart rate and how to send blood or white cells to empower his immune system.  The use of biofeedback equipment proved that he learned to effectively regulate and heal his own body. 

Norris’ work also uncovered another important insight: A sick child feels much more empowered than a sick adult.  She gave an example of a child diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease—a debilitating cancer of the lymphatic system.  The child didn’t take on the role of “victim”—instead she felt capable of participating in her own recovery from the outset.  She knew that she wanted to live and marshaled her inner strength, courage and positivity to recover.  Once healed she told Norris, “The way I changed, even more than getting over the cancer, is that I like myself better now.”  How many adults are able to handle themselves with such maturity and confidence in the face of a deadly disease?

As I read Norris’ essay, I thought about the signals I’m sending my daughter Ayla about how to heal.  Do I take on the role of victim when afflicted with a mild cold—whining and complaining about my pain? Have I imprinted her with too many images of mama racing to the medicine cabinet for a pill when a headache strikes?  While those pictures may be true, I also know that I often take deep breaths or sit in a warm bath when I am in physical pain—but perhaps my self-healing actions are mostly hidden from view.  I want so much for Ayla to trust her intuition when she’s unwell and to trust in the miracle of the human body.  But in the short term, her views will reflect mine—and this presents me, and every parent, with a huge responsibility beyond feeding, clothing and educating our children.

When Ayla gets a boo-boo, I am quick to offer hugs, kisses and Band-Aids.  But what if I sat with her, after the tears subsided, and invited her to imagine her bruised toe getting better.  Or told her that her body could make itself better —a process we witnessed by checking on a cut every day and noticing the miracle of clotting and skin re-growth.

What I’m learning is that some of what we classify as miraculous healing need not be so mysterious.  The healing process is guided by our own attitude, intention and the support we receive from practitioners.   Healing is utterly natural, and human, when we learn to step into our wounds rather than turning ourselves away from them.

 

[Note: Patricia Norris' book called I Choose Life is out of print but available via this link. There aren't many mainstream sources of information about how children heal but feel free to send links or info to me and I'll repost.--Taz]

One Door Open

"And where we had thought to be all alone, we shall be with all the world."    Joseph Campbell

When we have a problem, we usually need to knock on a few doors to find a solution. A workplace problem might send us knocking on several doors: A career counselor, a self-help book, a new job, or an attitude adjustment.  For physical ailments there are different doors: doctors, herbalists, physical therapists, acupuncturists and so forth.  But every so often, we come across a problem that seems to have no apparent solution—no matter how many places or times we knock. 

A few months ago, I developed a painful physical condition.  Not life threatening, but certainly uncomfortable.  Some days I don’t notice it at all.  But there are days when it keeps me up at night—all night.  On those nights, when I can’t sleep or make it go away, I experience suffering.

Buddhism tells us that suffering is a universal condition.  And so is joy.  When we feel joyful, we en-joy it.  But we have a very different reaction to suffering.  When it appears, we start knocking on doors. 

For my pain, I knocked on all the typical doors—I visited several alternative medical practitioners and my family doctor.  I talked about it with my life coach.  I trolled the Internet—seeking kindred spirits in obscure chat rooms and answers by doctors and quacks alike.   But there was no apparent cause and no singular solution. 

A couple of nights ago, it returned.  I got in the shower. I applied a lotion.  I felt as though I were running down a corridor lined with doors, furiously trying every handle, and hoping just one would open.  And then I saw that there was one door open. It had been open all along.

I got on my meditation cushion and folded my legs.  Then I started to breathe mindfully.  The painful sensations didn’t go away but my reactions to them did.  With each inhale, I relaxed.  With each exhale, I created some distance from my pain.  After about fifteen minutes, I could calmly observe the painful sensations in my body.  They seemed smaller.  After half an hour, I was ready to go to sleep.  The pain was there, but alongside it was my total acceptance. I could endure the pain until it passed.

Learning to accept suffering is absolutely foreign in our western culture.  We want to fix pain.  And if we can’t make it go away, we want a diagnosis—an affirmation of our suffering. But in the east, suffering is everywhere and in full view.  Even a few days in India forces me to accept that suffering just is.  It just is.

This afternoon, I received an email message from a friend.  Her second born had been diagnosed with brain damage and a hole in her heart shortly after birth.  I can only imagine how many doors she and her husband knocked on in search of a cure.  There were none to be found.  But there was one door open.  They sat with their daughter through endless days and nights of pain, sleeplessness and discomfort.  They learned to bear witness to their daughter’s suffering. They offered love in return.  Three years later, their child has completely healed herself.  She was recently given a clean bill of health.  And she is developmentally on track with her peers.  There was enormous suffering.  And then one day, it was over.

Another friend recently described the emotional distance that she and her husband had to endure—for four years of their marriage—before one day, a shaft of light opened up in their relationship, enabling them to come together in a new way and love each other again. 

We knock on so many doors, for so many problems--our child isn't sleeping, our partner is distant, our boss is a tyrant.  But when we walk through the one door that is always open, we give ourselves a gift.  We reduce our suffering when we accept our pain.  But the real gift of acceptance is compassion.  Some of us suffer from a hole in the heart, others from a broken heart—but none of us is spared.  When we sit with our pain, it transforms us—it takes us out of the corridor of self and into the temple of humanity. 

In our new "green" world, we so often talk about being interconnected.  Recycling is one way to feel part of something larger.  But as I'm learning, an even more powerful path to experiencing one-ness is to sit with our joy, and our suffering, and to allow it to open our hearts.

My (Perpetual) 30-Day Cleanse

It all started with a croissant.  Not just any old croissant, but a buttery, warm, flaky croissant filled with one long, dark smear of chocolate.  After your first great pastry, or coffee, or plate of sashimi, it’s hard not to be passionate about food.  And although I complained bitterly when I was disappointed with an order of pastry/coffee/ sashimi that was supposed to be great, there is at least some sweetness—some reward—to mediocre indulgence.  Bitterness, I imagined, is when you can’t eat those foods at all. 

Last November, I experienced several outbreaks of facial hives—a story best told by my last blog post.  During the first outbreak, a neighbor took one look at my face and swore that I had a food allergy.  She recounted having similar symptoms and said that they disappeared after starting an Elimination Diet—nutritional parlance for eliminating foods that often cause allergies, such as wheat, dairy, caffeine and alcohol.  In some circles, Elimination Diets are also called a Cleanse.  I couldn’t tell who was more horrified—she, at the sight of my face, or me, at the thought of giving up wheat.  She loaned me a book—a bible of Naturopathic Medicine—and I took it home and cried all over it.

Some months later, I learned that my rashes were caused by emotional, rather than dietary issues.  In my desperate state, I took her advice and started an Elimination Diet the next day.  She had suggested 90 days—I hoped to make it through a week.

Initially, I ate broccoli for breakfast, salad for lunch and tofu for dinner while thoughts of freshly baked bread, artisanal cheese and cupcakes danced in my head.  And what about the high-end espresso machine I had just purchased?  Should I kick it to the curb to demonstrate my commitment to the Cleanse?

Major life changes are hard to bear—but even more so when you don’t have any guides to help you surmount the daily challenges of forging ahead rather than falling back on old patterns.  Raw food enthusiasts and vitamin-junkies are far too devoted to their way of life to understand the loss that an ordinary person feels when they have to give up the comfort and pleasure of wine and cheese, or coffee and pastry. 

But in my desire to “save face,” I decided to give it a go.  I kept a journal.  Having gone vegetarian a decade earlier, I was not altogether unfamiliar with the road ahead.  But even so, each day of the first 30 days brought a new challenge—how to make it through lunch without a sandwich or how to dine out without succumbing to a basket of freshly baked bread and butter.  Empty fridge moments at the house required large stores of nuts and dried fruit as back-up.  But to my surprise, I actually felt satiated and energized by simple meals such as a breakfast of tea, nuts and dried blueberries.

I became a regular at the local health food store and began to make replacements for my home kitchen: organic rye bread (the dark, German, thinly sliced “brot”) replaced croissants, fresh bread, wraps and roti; brown rice pasta and quinoa rather than penne, spaghetti, farfalle and couscous; soy milk substituted for whole milk, cream and yogurt.  Then, to make use of all the new ingredients, I started to read new cookbooks and experiment with radically new recipes.  Despite longing for a croissant every now and again, the Cleanse was starting to feel exciting, as though I had embarked upon a food adventure.  

After about a month of experimentation, filled with unexpected successes (homemade kitchari) and equally unanticipated failures (rice flour cookies), I settled into a new pattern of eating.  A green smoothie, a handful of vitamins and a boiled egg for breakfast, a protein-topped salad for lunch and something rich and scrumptious for dinner—poached fish with mashed potatoes, tofu curries with rice, shrimp pad thai topped with wok-fried veggies or a steaming bowl of vegetarian chili.  Dinners ended with herbal tea and chocolate, or a slice of flourless torte.

It took 60 days to reach a place of culinary joy again.  To wake up each day without feeling deprived—when food had for so long been a primary source of pleasure in my life.  In the past, when I felt bad, I often went to food first.  But the Cleanse forced me to part ways with many old eating habits.  And the shake-up had many benefits. After 5 days of skull-crushing headaches related to caffeine withdrawal, I felt really, really good.  And, I ceased to swing from caffeine-high to caffeine-low throughout the day.  My sugar dips and dives also disappeared completely.  It felt eerily calm inside my skin once I was free from my various food addictions. 

I also began to feel lighter and freer.  Part of it was the weight loss—I lost about 10 pounds in the first month—but there was something else too.  Until dinnertime, I ate for fuel, not bliss.  I ate less, and more consistently, so my body didn’t have to work overtime to break down my meals.  Which left me feeling incredibly…unburdened.  And strong.  Ready to take on the world.

Overarching all of the physical benefits of the Cleanse, I also sensed that my body was speaking to me via the rashes and hives—and asking me to take pause. I knew that I needed to stop living and eating as though I were still 20 years old—it was time for me to reconsider what I ought to be putting into my body.  The answers were loud and clear: My body wanted healthy foods in smaller portions, good quality vitamins, lots of water and fewer abusive foods like caffeine, alcohol, fast food and processed sugar.  While I work well under pressure, I wanted to be ahead of the curve with my health—after all, who wants to wait around for disease to force a radical change in diet and lifestyle?

Most of my stories have happy endings and this one is no exception. I don’t have any food allergies—so technically, I can return to my old way of eating anytime.  But I don’t want to.  I decided to re-introduce wine after 30 days—and those 2 or 3 glasses a week are like liquid heaven.  And when I really, really want to eat a croissant, I do.  But the Clenase has taught me to give my body what it needs, not what I crave while walking past a bakery.  On bad days, when I slip into my old habit of emotional eating, it only takes a day or so to remember that solace can be found in places other than my plate.  A short walk in the snow, a good book or 20 minutes on my meditation cushion can leave me feeling satiated for a long, long while. 

To read more about cleansing your body and changing your relationship to food, try:

-Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth

-Oprah's 21-day Cleanse blog

-The Elimination Diet Cookbook

-Naturopathic medicine blog by Christina Youngren