The theme in yoga class: developing your own personal practice. She takes pride in her ability to practice her practice, to find her own space and pace.

Her teacher asks her to wiggle into each pose, until she finds the one that is hers, that fits.

A smile takes over her face as all the 'bad' decisions she's made over the past year and a half -- the misplanned vacations, the cat, the men, the house shopping -- are all clearly her wiggling through various life poses, trying to find one that fits her.

Another day in Eugene starting off with some chant and yoga with Donna followed by coffee, a muffin, and walk in the dog park with Daphne and Joey. It was cool and drizzly. The dog park is very social. We met folks from New Mexico, Arizona, as well as locals.

Later in the evening we met The Slug Queen of all Slug Queens, Queen Bananita Sluginsky, the first Russian-Western-Americna Slug Queen, arriving early for the First Friday ArtWalk in downtown Eugene. She let us use her large umbrella with a painted scene of sunshine and blooming fields as we decided what to do. She wore a wool green hat with a brooch and feather, an iridescent green coat that came to her calves to almost meet a pair of gold boots. The Artwalk inspired a festive, though a bit overcrowded, ambience in the various galleries. Overall, I was impressed with the skill and diversity of the art in Eugene. I can't remember any names, but there one one sculptor whose work was in several galleries (Evelyn someone), some interesting textile work, and a lot of photography/mixed media. We ended the evening with dinner at the Lotus Garden.

Later in the evening, I headed to the Vet's Club for some salsa dancing. It was upstairs in a ballroom that reminded me of the community center back in Chesterfield, New Jersey with arched ceilings, a small stage, and a large wood floor. An all purpose room. The disco ball and colored disco light added the high school dance effect. I was pleased that it did not take long for me to dance and that everyone was very friendly and welcoming. A few people even recognized me from the Meetup.com group and asked me to join in some Rueda. I kept up, though I am do not really know the patterns. The music was good, though there was a bit too much merengue for my taste and not enough cha cha cha.

Saturday Daphne and I went to visit her friends in Portland -- an Israeli family -- where we enjoyed an amazing brunch of Turkish/Jewish food thanks to their Turkish/Jewish friend/nanny. Yum. Not even the Turkish coffee could wake us up. Then, we met up with some friends from New College in Seattle. Dallas was a great host. As a bartender, he took on the burden of ordering drinks for us all night as well as did a great job rounding up the food at Rain, a delicious sushi restaurant in the hip neighborhood of Ballard (or maybe that was Wallingsford? Wallingham?). Hip? Why of course, because that is where we were dining. The next day, Kevin introduced Daphne and I to Senor Moose's creatively satisfying Mexican breakfasts, followed by a walk through the Ballard farmer's market and then a visit to Pike's Place Market. The rain started up just in time for a very long ride back to Eugene.

This morning, I got myself going early and was glad to be greeted with much sunshine for my long drive down to Sacramento. I arrived here around 7 p.m., checked into the hostel housed in an old historic mansion downtown. Downtown was most shutdown, though I did find McCormick and Schmick's open to satisfy my craving for beer and french fries. Tomorrow, I will get up early, grab coffee and a muffin and then catch a tour of the capital before heading home.

Home sweet home, how sweet it will be.

I forgot to tell you about Paradise. It is in Northern California, just outside Chico. Who knew.


My car bounced its way down the narrow, rocky, dusty road away from the ashram. i was sleep deprived and tired. I had almost a full tank of gas, but figured I would stop for coffee at the first place. Two hours later I was now craving that cup of coffee and thankful for the foresight to fill up just before getting to the ashram. Northern California has a certain beauty. I reminded me of where I grew up in New Jersey with is gentle rolling farms, farm houses dispersed miles apart, tractors on the side of the road. It was hot again and I kept hoping to see a general store. This, I mused, is why back in the day people just dropped in unannounced for a cup of coffee. I briefly fantasized about popping in on a quaint farm and being offered a cup of coffee from a blue tin pot, reheated on a gas stove. Oh, wait, that is my memory from Hungary.

Oroville. I assume it was named that from the gold rush era. A place to find the dream and wealth of gold. I found the golden arches of McDonalds: the promise of a bathroom and a cup of joe to help me continue on my journey to Eugene, Oregon. An hour later, It was a relief to see the Interstate 5. I longed for 'civilization.' Another insight into my self: I am a city girl.

I guess I should say, at this time, that, despite all my frustrations and criticisms of the Yoga Farm, I did get journey into myself I sought and learned much about my spiritual practice, my practice of life, and my inner workings. It challenged me and it was good. For now, I am not ready . .. rather I do not know how to write about ti more detail.

As I drove up the through California I kept waiting for the time I would stop to open my window and feel the coolness of autumn. Instead, i felt more like I headed again in to the desert. the land twas dry and brown and the didn't let up one bit. I wore long sleeves to shield my skin from the sun. I had images from McCormac's book, The Road. I don't know where it took place, but I imagined it here, going over hills and mountains on roads where nothing would exist for miles except occasional farm houses. Drought. Even when I got as far as Shasta National Forest, the distance between the water line of trees and the water was vast. The rest area overlooking a finger of the lake overlooked a dry dust bowl surrounded by trees. Immediately upon leaving the forest, it was like a time warp to the desert once again. I was thankful to see the forest as i drove through as I had a eerie feeling it would soon be gone.

I stopped frequently knowing Daphne would not be home until later anyway. I stopped in Ashland for an extended lunch, passing a diner where I argued with an old friend the last time I took this trip. Little I know at the time a few miles up the street was a lovely downtown and neighborhood with streets that catered to pedestrians.

I finally arrived in Eugene where the air was finally cool around 9 p.m. I entered Daphne's familiar house and felt like i arrived home. Her cat, Wishbone, greeted me with many meows and purrs. I actually knew Wishbone when he was first born to my house-mate's cat. He let me hold him as he purred. Instantly, I knew I had to reconsider adopting a cat.

The next morning we woke and headed to yoga with Donna a the fabulous Tamarck Wellness Center. I finally had the thoughtful, meditative yoga class I sought. She opened with a lovely meditation about humility, a short kirtan, and then guided us through a practice that comforted and healed. You could feel her passion for yoga and her compassion for others through the class. We then walked Joey in the dog park, headed home and rested before heading out to explore downtown (dinner, thrift shopping, coffee) and then to join her friends for 'girl's night' where we got to partake of chai, wine, and non-dairy ice cream.

Today, I was on my own and headed to downtown to find my favorite cafe where I wanted to work on my writing. Unfortunately it is now a bar. I had already dropped two hours into the parking meter so set out to find another cafe. I was dismayed to find downtown rather desolate. Once active and, from my memory, peppered with cafes and shops, most the store fronts had out of business or for lease signs. It reminded me of the reaches of this recession and how in some ways I think Los Angeles is a bit protected with the movie industry (which I know is suffering in its own way) and tourism. I ended up at Perugino, the cafe I went to the day before, which is lovely. It was the only place, it seemed, of activity. The personality of Eugene permeated the place, with the baristas singing behind the counter. When the softly playing "Lean on Me" suddenly stopped several of the customers took up the song without missing a beat, belting out the lyrics to lead all of us in the continuation of the song.

Good coffee, clean tables, and sing alongs are all reasons why I come back to Eugene (besides my dear hostess).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What lies before us and what lies behind us are small matters compared to what lies within us. And when we bring what is within out into the world, miracles happen." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

My car bounced its way down the narrow, rocky, dusty road away from the ashram. i was sleep deprived and tired. I had almost a full tank of gas, but figured I would stop for coffee at the first place. Two hours later I was now craving that cup of coffee and thankful for the foresight to fill up just before getting to the ashram. Northern California has a certain beauty. I reminded me of where I grew up in New Jersey with is gentle rolling farms, farm houses dispersed miles apart, tractors on the side of the road. It was hot again and I kept hoping to see a general store. This, I mused, is why back in the day people just dropped in unannounced for a cup of coffee. I briefly fantasized about popping in on a quaint farm and being offered a cup of coffee from a blue tin pot, reheated on a gas stove. Oh, wait, that is my memory from Hungary.

Oroville. I assume it was named that from the gold rush era. A place to find the dream and wealth of gold. I found the golden arches of McDonalds: the promise of a bathroom and a cup of joe to help me continue on my journey to Eugene, Oregon. An hour later, It was a relief to see the Interstate 5. I longed for 'civilization.' Another insight into my self: I am a city girl.

I guess I should say, at this time, that, despite all my frustrations and criticisms of the Yoga Farm, I did get journey into myself I sought and learned much about my spiritual practice, my practice of life, and my inner workings. It challenged me and it was good. For now, I am not ready . .. rather I do not know how to write about ti more detail.

As I drove up the through California I kept waiting for the time I would stop to open my window and feel the coolness of autumn. Instead, i felt more like I headed again in to the desert. the land twas dry and brown and the didn't let up one bit. I wore long sleeves to shield my skin from the sun. I had images from McCormac's book, The Road. I don't know where it took place, but I imagined it here, going over hills and mountains on roads where nothing would exist for miles except occasional farm houses. Drought. Even when I got as far as Shasta National Forest, the distance between the water line of trees and the water was vast. The rest area overlooking a finger of the lake overlooked a dry dust bowl surrounded by trees. Immediately upon leaving the forest, it was like a time warp to the desert once again. I was thankful to see the forest as i drove through as I had a eerie feeling it would soon be gone.

I stopped frequently knowing Daphne would not be home until later anyway. I stopped in Ashland for an extended lunch, passing a diner where I argued with an old friend the last time I took this trip. Little I know at the time a few miles up the street was a lovely downtown and neighborhood with streets that catered to pedestrians.

I finally arrived in Eugene where the air was finally cool around 9 p.m. I entered Daphne's familiar house and felt like i arrived home. Her cat, Wishbone, greeted me with many meows and purrs. I actually knew Wishbone when he was first born to my house-mate's cat. He let me hold him as he purred. Instantly, I knew I had to reconsider adopting a cat.

The next morning we woke and headed to yoga with Donna a the fabulous Tamarck Wellness Center. I finally had the thoughtful, meditative yoga class I sought. She opened with a lovely meditation about humility, a short kirtan, and then guided us through a practice that comforted and healed. You could feel her passion for yoga and her compassion for others through the class. We then walked Joey in the dog park, headed home and rested before heading out to explore downtown (dinner, thrift shopping, coffee) and then to join her friends for 'girl's night' where we got to partake of chai, wine, and non-dairy ice cream.

Today, I was on my own and headed to downtown to find my favorite cafe where I wanted to work on my writing. Unfortunately it is now a bar. I had already dropped two hours into the parking meter so set out to find another cafe. I was dismayed to find downtown rather desolate. Once active and, from my memory, peppered with cafes and shops, most the store fronts had out of business or for lease signs. It reminded me of the reaches of this recession and how in some ways I think Los Angeles is a bit protected with the movie industry (which I know is suffering in its own way) and tourism. I ended up at Perugino, the cafe I went to the day before, which is lovely. It was the only place, it seemed, of activity. The personality of Eugene permeated the place, with the baristas singing behind the counter. When the softly playing "Lean on Me" suddenly stopped several of the customers took up the song without missing a beat, belting out the lyrics to lead all of us in the continuation of the song.

Good coffee, clean tables, and sing alongs are all reasons why I come back to Eugene (besides my dear hostess).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What lies before us and what lies behind us are small matters compared to what lies within us. And when we bring what is within out into the world, miracles happen." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am about halfway through my trip, so I guess this a good time for an update and reflection. As usual when traveling, I am a bit in the on-the-go mode, so this will only be lightly edited. Besides, I know you all want details. Or maybe not.

The drive up to the Yoga Farm Ashram in Grass Valley, CA was fairly easy and smooth. Interstate 5 is a fairly empty road through nothing. My car's best feature is cruise control, so I did not need many stops. The most tedious part of the drive was the consistency of the heat, which I hoped and expected to lessen as I got closer to the Yoga Farm. It didn't. I arrived at the ashram at around 5 p.m. in a nice steaming 90 degree sun-searing afternoon. What I wanted most was to settle in a get a shower. Unfortunately, life on the ashram is a bit more like work camp and I would not get time to take a shower until past noon the next day.

I was unceremoniously given my keys to cabin number 4. After inquiring where it is, I drove my car up the hill to drop off my bags. The door named the cabin, Harmony, which was a small yet solid wooden structure with ample windows and screens, including triangular windows in the eaves the roof, filled to capacity with two sets of bunk-beds, a dress, and a semi-desk. I was lucky to have the cabin all to myself, though that also meant the lack of circulation left the heat amplified. I had just enough time to move my car to the lot and head over to the kitchen for dinner. After mumbling through a chant everyone knew but me, we ate. I was second in line and sat at a table in the shade alone. Everyone went in various directions and some groups congregated together. I ate in silence the delicious dishes of curries and veggies and soups, practicing being in the moment, until the woman who gave me my key earlier came over to ask if things were alright in my room. I really wanted a shower, but didn't say this as I was still trying to suss out the patterns and protocol of the ashram. She asked if I could help clean up in the kitchen. As I knew much of the ashram is supported by volunteers and karma yoga is one element of the program, I complied. I scooped food into plastic containers, dried dishes, and just when I thought I was done, I was given the tasks of mopping the floor. I had no idea the weight of large industrial mops and worked up another sweat to add to the driving in the heat all day. The only reward, as the bell rang for the mandatory sastang (mediation, kirtan and lessons -- 30 min each) and I realized I would not get my shower was the cup of ghee tea (black tea, water, milk, sugar and ghee) Nat offered.

The meditation was nice, though I had trouble quieting my mind and the kirtan started off on a marred note as the swami chastised Nat for saying something g (he asked someone to pass down a pile of kirtan books) while he was speaking. The swami, an older white man, told him, "Never speak while I am speaking as it draws attention away from me," in terse and condescending manner I felt unfit for a swami, or for anyone. It was a tone I might only use with my most disruptive and rude students after several interruptions. The kirtan eased this disruption a bit and the lesson had some interesting points about maya. Finally, we were released to go to bed, but only after being reminded that if we wanted to shower we need to get up before the 5:30 a.m. wake up call so the bathrooms can be free for those waking up. I went to bed and could not sleep. My mind raced and screamed unlike it has for years. Though my bed was comfortable and I was bone tired, my mind was agitated. I knew the ashram would be a challenge. That is why I went, but this . . . I woke to the 5:30 a.m. bell and "Om Namah Sivaya" rather than my 5 a.m. alarm that was supposed to allow me a shower. Now cold, I quickly dressed and headed down for the morning sastang.

Wrapped in blankets we had a short meditation then headed up to the Durga temple. I was actually happy to walk a bit and the temple is beautiful -- a small glass and wooden structure filled with an alter and just enough space for the swami from India and a young woman to sit inside. We sat on a deck to continue meditation as the Swami chanted beautifully. Animals clicked on dried twigs and wind blew gently. Swamisita, whom I would later learn is the director of this ashram, arrived. She ordered various residents to lead us in kirtan then made us all move so she could see us. Then the lesson was actually more of a business meeting. I realized i was one of two guests and everyone else was staff. I noticed a few staff missing and wondered how mandatory things really were. I began to sense some struggles and conflicts in the business. Swamisita did talk more about maya and how to find clarity, but in the end, it was more like a quiz than a lesson.

Later, when I talked to more staff members, I was a bit perplexed by the position of the staff and how the ashram is run, its purpose. Most of the staff members, except the Swamis, stated they were there because they were at a crossroads and needed somewhere to go for awhile. It felt more like a halfway house and the vibe among them more like camp counselors than an ashram.

I was anticipating the asana practice as I needed to move, to create internal warmth to open up my body after sitting in the car for hours. However, the practice was rigid and unwelcoming. I am not one to practice yoga in the morning, so it is always a bit difficult, but they practice a set sequence of 12 poses, none of which seem to have any variation. Between almost every pose they go into corpse pose, so just as my body is about to open, it cools down again. I was so tired, I also started to fall asleep. The breathing likewise, gave not room for growth or personal adjustment. We did everything to the teacher's count and breath. The teachers frequently corrected poses, but never expressed concern for comfort or safety. After losing balance in a difficult balancing pose, the teacher just paced up and down the room telling use what we should do when we feel ourselves losing balance and what we should not do (which is what I did). I felt unsafe and unsupported in my practice. I think it was at this point that I decided I need to leave early.

We ate another delicious meal. I dutifully served my karma yoga in the kitchen clean-up and finally had time for my shower! I hiked up to Siva Temple to call my friend in Eugene to see fi could arrive a day early. Then I sat in a hammock inn the heat, the refreshing clean of my shower already gone. I felt guilty for wanting to leave. I felt like a failure. I read on the deck next to the pond (advertised as a swimming lake, but not full of algae), then napped in the hammock, now in the shade waiting for a sign. The prior day's lesson was about instinct and intellect and the question of where does doubt come in was raised but not really answered. Was it my instinct or intellect that told me to leave? It felt right, good. I would let my friend decide: if she left a message, i would go.

It was back to asana practice, eat, clean (and another cup of ghee tea, my one joy) and sastang. This time there was another Swami who after the meditation complained how breathing should not be loud (probably me, because I've always been taught ujjai breathing, a practice that is audible) though no other instruction was offered. After the Kirtan, he then reprimanded people for using the books. Again, I felt targeted as I did use the book since I never chanted these chants and was also intrigued by the translations. Finally the lesson started and he said Swamisita instructed him to talk about diet and spices because the kitchen staff was making the food to spicy. Ironically, the kitchen staff was absent for a food ordering meeting. Moreover, while interesting, I once again felt like I was intruding on a family squabble. Is this the only way they could communicate, indirectly through sastang?

I returned to my room relieved to find a message welcoming to Eugene at any time. I packed my bags and slept well. I attended the morning events because, despite all, I wanted to practice my own discipline in meditation and practice of asanas. Nonetheless, it was a relief to drive away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,

but sometimes, I do,
and that sight becomes this art.

~~ Rumi

I am happy to eat my harsh words. Or at lest chew them up a bit. Today I got a call from my Principal to tell me there is a clause in our contract that allows for 'exchange' days for teachers at year around schools to take time off for conferences and professional development in their field of teaching. I was overjoyed. I am just getting to know this Principal and realized in his own reserved and impersonal way he intended to be supportive of this new venture in my life and career. As I finished the phone call, I the tension and fear of jeopardizing my job or my status at my job to pursue graduate school, as if balancing the two will not be taxing enough, melted out of my body like sweat pours out my skin in a hot sauna. I can do this, I truly believe, for the first time. As I celebrated with a fine dinner of black beans over yams and red wine, my only sadness was that I could not call my Mom to share this new victory and challenge. However, I wonder, at times, if she were still here if I would have had the courage to do this at all as I think it is through her illness and loss that I have developed a sensibility for writing and a new tolerance for risk.

Now, I am ready to relax and pamper myself a bit more. I am ready to go sit in the sauna on this cool September evening and to reconnect with my beloved Griffith Park hike tomorrow. I am ready to for all that is coming, for good things are to come.

I am happy to eat my harsh words. Or at lest chew them up a bit. Today I got a call from my Principal to tell me there is a clause in our contract that allows for 'exchange' days for teachers at year around schools to take time off for conferences and professional development in their field of teaching. I was overjoyed. I am just getting to know this Principal and realized in his own reserved and impersonal way he intended to be supportive of this new venture in my life and career. As I finished the phone call, I the tension and fear of jeaopordizing my job or my status at my job to pursue graduate school, as if balancing the two will not be taxing enough, melted out of my body like sweat pours out my skin in a hot sauna. I can do this, I truly believe, for the first time. As I celebrated with a fine dinner of black beans over yams and red wine, my only sadness was that I could not call my Mom to share this new victory and challenge. However, I wonder, at times, if she were still here if I would have had the courage to do this at all as I think it is through her illness and loss that I have developed a sensibility for writing and a new tolerance for risk.

Now, I am ready to relax and pamper myself a bit more. I am ready to go sit in the sauna on this cool September evening and to reconnect with my beloved Griffith Park hike tomorrow. I am ready to for all that is coming, for good things are to come.

Shedding the relentless monotony of bell schedules, grade cycles, and exams should be easy, right. Endless moments to just be in.

Being in the moment. What could be more in the moment than jury duty? The slow tick of the clock as you wait to be called and questioned (as if you committed the crime of simply being a citizen – though if you don’t speak English, this apparently exempts you from civic duty). I tried hard to not be bitter that teachers have to schedule jury duty during their vacations. Don’t I already give enough to the public good all the unpaid hours of lesson planning and grading? Two lessons and vindications were my reward: 1) I was intrigued how the judge admonished us with the same rules I set in my classroom and envied her the presence of a bailiff to enforce the rules for her (perhaps that should be included in No Child Left Behind) and 2) Despite the presence all the judges, lawyers, and law enforcement officers in the building, they could not prevent the elevators from being scratched and marked with tagging. Anyway, I made it all the way to being perspective juror number 12 before being sent home, which was far closer to being on a jury than I hope to see in a long time.

During my trial in patience and civic responsibility, I received the great news of being accepted into an MFA program. I was shocked and thrilled. Then the panic and stress set in. There are conflicts with my work schedule. There is the money issue (always, with education). There is the paperwork. Oh, and the conflict with work. You would think, as a teacher, working for an institute that is in service to education, that my employer would be willing to offer some flexibility as I pursue my own education (in a degree that is related to my field). You would think, that, sometime during the call with the Principal that he might say, “Hey, congratulations on getting in! I didn’t know you write poetry. We are honored to have someone who was able to get into such a prestigious program on our staff.” Ok, that might be a bit much, but I didn’t even get a terse congratulations. Instead, he thinks finals week is a bad time to miss class (Why? Because I can’t sit an watch my students write their essay or fill in multiple choice questions? It would be much better to miss class when I am giving actual instruction.) It is only 4 or 5 days. Maybe even three as my graduate program is willing to negotiate days missed. Thankfully, in an hour, I am meeting a friend for a beer. That will solve everything for a while.

Somewhere in this vacation is relaxation and fun. The fact that the new of the MFA acceptance has made me actually sit down and work on my writing. The road trip I am planning. The sleeping in. I really want to do this (grad school) but just want it to be easy. I probably should not have said anything and just called in sick. It would probably take them a semester or two to catch on to the pattern. Sometimes, I guess, being forthright and honest is not the best policy.

It is hard to believe, but I just watched a movie about me!!! Ok, it was a bit dramatized in parts: the smoking, the pills, the panic attack . . . but, my dearest friends will recognize many of my regular lines, particularly in the first half of the film. The second half, is, of course, the happy ending I am still preparing for . . . but it will come. And, no griping, because if you really, really know me, despite all my posturing and denying and protesting, you know I am a romantic comedy. Must be viewed with a bottle of red wine, for complete enjoyment, just like me.

Temporary Employement post some great awe-inpsiring videos of guitar playing. Last night, I had the privilege of seeing the Spanish Harlem Orchestra live. Both are reminders of the joy of music, especially when share through humans that have been blessed to demonstrate limitlessness of human creativity and bliss. I have been going to hear live salsa music at least once a week and am so lucky to live in LA, a city filled with many talented and gracious musicians (just check out some of my favorite bands on my friends list here on mpspace). However, last night, these guys really blew me away (no offense to the locals!). The solos just transported the dancers to another plane -- there was no thinking, no countiing, but just riding the wave of the music.

A bit of a side story, that may be humorous only to me (and to a few others who are privy to my general state of spaciness, which I like to think I disguise fairly well in most of my life). Moreover, it is a great example of the closeness and friendliness of the salsa world. Before the band played, a cha cha cha came on, one of my favorite dances though many of my favorite dancers don't really like it. So, there was a guy in his spiffy white cotton salsero shirt gooving to the cha cha cha. I asked him to dance; he was a fun, gracious dancer. I felt a bit humbled (and would have probably have not asked him if I had known) that he was the band's kick-ass trombonist, who played a solo I have no words to express and is a solo artist that has played at our local Granada: Jimmy Bosch! I know in Hollywood, land of the superstars, this may seem trite, but in my little world (in which I would probably not have recognized I was dancing with Brad Pitt, if he had been there), it was exciting to have danced with someone who is so amazingly talented, yet really, just like us. Somehow it makes me think about my choices (writing this rather than honing my 'real' writing for instance), and how, within each of us there is that capability for creativity beyond what we imagine ourselves capable.