Let me not count the numerous ways that my life has changed, though allow an attempt to explain the after picture on the energetic level. Aside from the obvious physical challenges and hormonal emotions and mental stress, I’ve discovered another arena of transfiguration from my own yoga rabbi triplet-mom experience. Mostly the triplet parent life altogether was a big quake that took everything apart and left me shaky. I knew from the beginning, by finally being pregnant and all, and with three little dots appearing in my uterus, that my life had become extraordinary. What I could not have verbalized until now, and doubtfully so, is the pervasive alteration of my self from the cellular level on to the energetic system.
For one, my life turned inwards. Slowly at first, then I became overcome with protecting the lives inside me. To be clear I wasn’t obsessive, just responsible, and triplet pregnancies are really so on the verge that they require vigilance. It might seem strange, with twin pregnancies so common and not seeming so foreign, but when you add a third or more fetus, even the miraculous nature of pregnancy and childbirth gets pushed beyond its limit. As my OB repeatedly said, and I repeatedly write, the body was not designed for this. Not yours, not mine, not even Octomom who claims that it was all so easy. The sensations I reported were different than other pregnancies and harder to address over the phone, so the doctor wanted a call and visit anytime anything unusual was occurring. That was actually all of the freakin’ time, and I used my discernment (resistance vs. fear) to figure out what merited a call. I had regular appointments every two weeks anyway, then every week, usually with an ultrasound to peek into that dormitory of a womb that was puffing up like a blowfish up inside me. Inwards I turned, to these souls – to guard them with fierce love-, and it demanded tight boundaries blocking out negativity that could so easily do damage.
The belly, about where the baby borrows space, is the center of self-knowing, of the gut, of intuition. Energetically, according to the chakra system and according to the sefirot, it is the place where all is held in balance, including self-esteem and confidence. Much more should be said about this, which chakras are involved, the kabbalistic parallels too– another time though. I’ve been searching for writing about how that identity center changes during pregnancy and in the absence of another expert I have developed my own theory. This is in progress, and my first attempt at explaining my thoughts about this process.
In pregnancy the identity center gets displaced, replaced in a sense by the fetus that literally takes center stage. The woman’s own energetic self becomes layered with this other being, competing for blood, nutrients, energy and space. These factors are all limited so finding a balance demands a great deal on the whole person; physically, mentally, emotionally, in regards to time, space, thought, movement, energy intake, etc. There is a narrow market for real estate in the body, and the growing baby not only protrudes outward but pushes inward, rearranging the interior arrangement of vital organs, even growing up into the ribs and lungs taking up airspace. Yes, the uterus has amazing capabilities for accommodating its baby, for reckoning nutrients and hydration, but I don’t think it is designed to communicate and makes nice with the bladder, the kidneys, the lungs, the vagina, the stomach nor the intestines nor legs or feet. The rest of the body gets drawn in unwittingly and can be gracious or cranky. With multiple pregnancies, of course the pace is faster and the changes more radical; the demands multiply exponentially and push every boundary to the breaking point. Understanding the physical pressures is the beginning. Then consider the energy centers that provide a woman’s sense of self, knowing truth, holding soul strength. What happens when the center of identity and intuition is pushed aside? Where does it go? How does it mutate and adapt to nurture the child and the mother-baby bond? With complete merging of identify, how does the identity-intuition center of the woman ultimately respond with resilience so she can be herself again? Once the organs and energy centers have been forever changed (and blessed with this relationship), can the self and soul certainty ever return? How long does this rebound take after the womb has been emptied and the baby begins a life outside of the mother’s body?
Today is the 13th day of the Omer.
This is Part One; Part Two should arrive tomorrow.
Please share your responses, thoughts, and your own experiences in the comment section below.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
The Sun Has Come Out
Laughter so forceful I couldn’t even speak, surely the sun has come out. It was naptime and I put on the iPod music that has been lulling my girls to sleep for nearly three years. Sat down on the floor to help E get her jammies on (a habit from the days when we had to zip up footies backwards to be sure diapers would stay on) and noticed that the song playing was not from Classical Music for Babies but was Alicia Keys. The girls noticed too, I knew because they spontaneously started dancing.Sometimes I get anxious for that moment of closing the door to heads down, though today I enjoyed the moment and watched my girls dance. At first they were jumping, then jump spinning, then freestyle. They were all enjoying themselves, totally feeling the music and moving to their own beat. Especially so was E, who looked like she was ice skating. Words cannot fully describe the expression on her face that caused me to break out in laughter, first silent, trying to hide my face, then uncontrollably loud and shaking. They all hovered in, thinking that I was crying.
E was spinning very, very (l’at l’at) slowly with her face lifted gracefully upwards. Her eyes drooped half closed and her placid expression seemed to come from another realm. She spun to the low guardrail of her bed and did some complicated, seemed-like-choreographed move while holding the bars. Again and again her body moved in an amazing beautiful sequence. Then, she spun back out, still with that trance-like expression. Her hands reached for mine and we swayed together, arms extended straight out like sleep walkers. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and kept her chin high, face lifted towards the heavens, with her eyes half closed, looking nowhere. In the moment I watched her, looking kind of strange. Loving how she was in her own place, not knowing exactly where that was, I was so amused. Her countenance was so funny looking, perhaps deep, mystical, perhaps goofy or aloof, but just odd and unlike her usual expressions.
I looked down and smiled, then up again to resume our dance. Then I turned my head to try to get my husband’s attention but I couldn’t even speak and mostly didn’t want to ruin the moment. Eventually my smile turned into silent shaking, then audible laughter. Long and deep laughter.
How awesome is it that the song playing at that moment was “I am Superwoman”, a personal favorite that somehow dropped off my iTunes. Somewhere in that trance induced hysterics a click of clarity appeared and I thought to myself “I am laughing.” It felt good, this whole body laughter, so much so that I just had to commemorate it in writing. The sun was shining on me, filling my heart with blessing, taking over to heal me in ways that I cannot do myself. Three girls in jammies dancing, one in a mystic dervish moment, and me watching, joining the dance, and being returned to wholeness.
Baruch Atah/Brucha At Yah Eloheinu Ruach HaOlam haMatir Assurim. Blesssed are You, Source of Soul, who frees the imprisoned, who releases me from mental, emotional, and spiritual slavery to know the joy of dance and whole body laughter. Let us dance and laugh together to revelation, complete illumination. Amen.
Today is the 12th day of the Omer.
Dear readers, please share your comments with me and others who visit the OOCC. Look at the bottom of this post where it says “0 comments” (or maybe another number!), and click right on that to bring up your comment box.
Watch Superwoman video.
(Image above courtesy of people-clipart.com)
Friday, April 29, 2011
Lost Count - of # of surprises!
I can’t count the number of surprises I’ve had the past few days. After an hour or so of post-bedtime giggling, I went into the girls’ room to tell them to go to sleep. I found two girls in one crib, and the other still in her crib alone. I turned on my heels and ran down the hall to find my husband, who informed me that he had not moved anyone from their own bedtime spot. Sometimes we do let them “fall asleep” together or just play together for a while before separating them into their own cribs.
Turning on my heels again I hurried back to the room. N and E had that “cat-ate-the-bird” grin on their faces. Puzzled, I asked: “N, how did you get in there? Show us (by then, my husband was right behind me) how you did it.” She hesitated, then I assured her that its ok. In a blur of a half second she bounded over the side of the crib and landed feet on the floor. Surprise, kid on the loose!
Again I closed the door to three girls in three separate cribs. The squeaking and laughter didn’t stop, so eventually I opened that door once again. Surprise! All three girls were in ONE crib. Now I knew we had two flying monkeys.
Another time, I opened that door to find two little figures busy as bees in the dark. One was handing a toy over the crib to the one sister who hadn’t left her perch. Surprise! They are bold in their rebellion. With as little emotion as possible, I plopped them back in their cribs and repeated the mantra. The short version is “stay in your crib!” I’m in trouble now.
The next morning I awoke to sounds of a toy stroller rolling past my bedroom door. The mischief continues.
Last night they all woke up one at a time just when I was ready to go to sleep. First I brought H into bed with us and she was snug as a bug in a rug. When the other two started crying I knew I was doomed. They never go back to sleep when I go in to comfort them, and sure enough after a long while of making nice, rubbing backs, and holding tightly, they resumed crying when I pulled back my hand. All three girls joined us in bed, jogging for space, squirming and fighting over which one got more of me. Little E was on my chest, head heavy and hard into my chin. H made a pillow of her blanked on my left shoulder and rubbed her thumb sucking cheek against mine, and N bent herself over on my legs (until she found her favorite sleeping place on top of her Abba). When this sweet picture inevitably turned into elbows in the face I brought each girl back to her crib and let them cry it out. This morning E appeared at my feet.
At the moment they are napping and N and E are in their very own beds, converted this morning from cribs by yours truly. Instead of surprise on my face -as has become so frequent- I unlocked the door after fun with the Allen wrench to a bewildered N. Surprise! You have your own bed, no more crib. She stared, face as confused as I was to discover she could fly into her sisters’ crib. A smile began as she approached her bed yet she didn’t know what to do. I encouraged her to try it out, taught her how to (properly) get in and out, and repeated the mantra “you stay in your bed until we get you out.”
As usual, I let my children tell me when they’re ready for change and it happens before I feel ready. I tucked them in for nap in the “new” beds after a little more work on the next crib conversion and a late lunch of rice pasta with olive oil. H was a bit sad that she’s still in a crib, and I was a bit sad to look back into the room at big girl beds. They showed me that it was time to say goodbye to baby cribs and they surprised me with their tremendous wisdom. I am the one who has to catch up, who feels rushed to the next stage. Potty training was the same way. And eating with utensils, And eating solid foods. Each time, the girls (usually one at a time) told me they wanted to try something new. I let them experiment and gave some pointers. These girls are awesome. They are resilient, adventurous, caring, smart and so darn gorgeous. They constantly surprise me.
Today I had the joyous opportunity to surprise them, to show them what they were seeking with the crib climbing mischief flying monkey behavior. I heard their call, and responded to their need, even though it was outside my comfort zone. Frightened and awed by the way they are claiming their freedom, I will find clever ways to create boundaries for their (God willing safe) exploration. Conversely, I hope to break through my own constricting boundaries with the same brave, bold, confident and natural movement toward freedom.
for you: if you could fly, where would you go? what would you leave behind? who are your teachers?
Tonight will be 10+1 days of the Omer. Shabbat Shalom!
Turning on my heels again I hurried back to the room. N and E had that “cat-ate-the-bird” grin on their faces. Puzzled, I asked: “N, how did you get in there? Show us (by then, my husband was right behind me) how you did it.” She hesitated, then I assured her that its ok. In a blur of a half second she bounded over the side of the crib and landed feet on the floor. Surprise, kid on the loose!
Again I closed the door to three girls in three separate cribs. The squeaking and laughter didn’t stop, so eventually I opened that door once again. Surprise! All three girls were in ONE crib. Now I knew we had two flying monkeys.
Another time, I opened that door to find two little figures busy as bees in the dark. One was handing a toy over the crib to the one sister who hadn’t left her perch. Surprise! They are bold in their rebellion. With as little emotion as possible, I plopped them back in their cribs and repeated the mantra. The short version is “stay in your crib!” I’m in trouble now.
The next morning I awoke to sounds of a toy stroller rolling past my bedroom door. The mischief continues.
Last night they all woke up one at a time just when I was ready to go to sleep. First I brought H into bed with us and she was snug as a bug in a rug. When the other two started crying I knew I was doomed. They never go back to sleep when I go in to comfort them, and sure enough after a long while of making nice, rubbing backs, and holding tightly, they resumed crying when I pulled back my hand. All three girls joined us in bed, jogging for space, squirming and fighting over which one got more of me. Little E was on my chest, head heavy and hard into my chin. H made a pillow of her blanked on my left shoulder and rubbed her thumb sucking cheek against mine, and N bent herself over on my legs (until she found her favorite sleeping place on top of her Abba). When this sweet picture inevitably turned into elbows in the face I brought each girl back to her crib and let them cry it out. This morning E appeared at my feet.
At the moment they are napping and N and E are in their very own beds, converted this morning from cribs by yours truly. Instead of surprise on my face -as has become so frequent- I unlocked the door after fun with the Allen wrench to a bewildered N. Surprise! You have your own bed, no more crib. She stared, face as confused as I was to discover she could fly into her sisters’ crib. A smile began as she approached her bed yet she didn’t know what to do. I encouraged her to try it out, taught her how to (properly) get in and out, and repeated the mantra “you stay in your bed until we get you out.”
As usual, I let my children tell me when they’re ready for change and it happens before I feel ready. I tucked them in for nap in the “new” beds after a little more work on the next crib conversion and a late lunch of rice pasta with olive oil. H was a bit sad that she’s still in a crib, and I was a bit sad to look back into the room at big girl beds. They showed me that it was time to say goodbye to baby cribs and they surprised me with their tremendous wisdom. I am the one who has to catch up, who feels rushed to the next stage. Potty training was the same way. And eating with utensils, And eating solid foods. Each time, the girls (usually one at a time) told me they wanted to try something new. I let them experiment and gave some pointers. These girls are awesome. They are resilient, adventurous, caring, smart and so darn gorgeous. They constantly surprise me.
Today I had the joyous opportunity to surprise them, to show them what they were seeking with the crib climbing mischief flying monkey behavior. I heard their call, and responded to their need, even though it was outside my comfort zone. Frightened and awed by the way they are claiming their freedom, I will find clever ways to create boundaries for their (God willing safe) exploration. Conversely, I hope to break through my own constricting boundaries with the same brave, bold, confident and natural movement toward freedom.
for you: if you could fly, where would you go? what would you leave behind? who are your teachers?
Tonight will be 10+1 days of the Omer. Shabbat Shalom!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Minus Seventy-Seven
Help me get clear about this: am I total failure? Or just a partial failure? It’s one thing when you start out strong and eventually run out of steam. But this year I started out super late the first night, already empty, tired, with only my aspirations for a meaningful daily Omer writing practice on the fumes of resolve. Counting even with the blessing is something I have managed to do each night, and maybe I should celebrate that accomplishment for its own merit. Instead, I berate myself for failing to fulfill my promise to write and post each night the OOCC. On the topic of that internal critic, I’m realizing the irony of choosing the topic “Counting to Clarity” when at times I can barely form sentences and often I just want to be quiet.
When a friend noticed that I had lost some weight a few months back I acknowledged it saying “finally my body is starting to come back, and depending on if I use actual pre-pregnancy weight or my during fertility treatment weight, I only have 30-40 more pounds to go”. That’s how I see it- how far I am from my goal, from looking and God willing feeling, like myself. The subtlety there is that from the inside I am forever changed and the larger sizes and overstretched skin doesn’t even begin to reveal the story.
For months I could tell you I have thirty more pounds to lose to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight, and the last time I was pregnant was over 2 ½ (or now closer to 3) years ago. And you might think, my goodness, isn’t that a lot? Many women don’t even gain that much weight for the pregnancy, much less take three years to lose it. Or maybe you would be more compassionate and understanding about the way that pregnancy totally changes a body physically and chemically, how there is no time to care for yourself with a newborn or toddler, how most new mothers struggle with self care and losing weight they have gained while expecting or even after baby comes home.
But then that friend turned the tables and asked how much I’d lost. It sounded so much different when I heard myself say that I’d lost seventy pounds. That is huge. How big I was loomed even bigger when I pictured dropping that much weight. The remaining fraction seemed smaller and less significant compared to the majority of pounds that were already behind me. I still had thirty more to go to the number on my driver’s license (130), though in reality I used to be 135, and after bloating from months of fertility treatments I was 145 before finally getting that BFP (big fat positive)! As an act of motherly love, as all mothers do, I sacrificed my body for my babies. Following expert advice I gained a ton of weight for the sake of my triplets. 235 was where I stopped counting, having gained over one hundred pounds.
And now I’ve lost seventy-seven pounds and don’t want to take credit for it as an accomplishment. It feels more like something that just happened, thankfully, luckily, blessedly. As deliberately as I wanted to get pregnant and then to gain lots of weight for my extreme pregnancy, I have no idea why getting pregnant with good old S-E-X didn’t work for us, nor do I know why it took so long to lose weight, or why it finally started happening. From the doctor’s office I updated facebook with my happy news (down seven more for a total of seventy-seven pounds gone!) and love that friends are celebrating with me. Alongside the congratulatory comments (to which I still want to say “but there’s still 23 lbs more!”) are questions about my secret to weight loss.
The secret revealed to me today is the importance of celebrating and sharing our celebratory moments. Just as for sure I have shared my pain and insanity, I have tried to share my sweetness, joy and laughter. I absolutely love that people feel healing from seeing pictures and videos and status updates from the triplet toddler show that is my life. That sharing has been deliberate, and I revel in my girls. Celebrating them is not the same as appreciating myself, and that is a challenge for me. Though clarity itself still seems far away, I am counting on its eventual arrival and will do my part by trying to replace negative perception with positive self -commentary. As certain as tonight is the tenth night of the Omer, I have succeeded in counting each night this year, and tonight I am contributing to OOCC. As of today, I am seventy-seven pounds lighter than I was in June 2008, and today I celebrate my success. Today I seek healing for myself and offer my story for service.
For your comments:
What are you celebrating? What success can we celebrate with you?
When a friend noticed that I had lost some weight a few months back I acknowledged it saying “finally my body is starting to come back, and depending on if I use actual pre-pregnancy weight or my during fertility treatment weight, I only have 30-40 more pounds to go”. That’s how I see it- how far I am from my goal, from looking and God willing feeling, like myself. The subtlety there is that from the inside I am forever changed and the larger sizes and overstretched skin doesn’t even begin to reveal the story.
For months I could tell you I have thirty more pounds to lose to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight, and the last time I was pregnant was over 2 ½ (or now closer to 3) years ago. And you might think, my goodness, isn’t that a lot? Many women don’t even gain that much weight for the pregnancy, much less take three years to lose it. Or maybe you would be more compassionate and understanding about the way that pregnancy totally changes a body physically and chemically, how there is no time to care for yourself with a newborn or toddler, how most new mothers struggle with self care and losing weight they have gained while expecting or even after baby comes home.
But then that friend turned the tables and asked how much I’d lost. It sounded so much different when I heard myself say that I’d lost seventy pounds. That is huge. How big I was loomed even bigger when I pictured dropping that much weight. The remaining fraction seemed smaller and less significant compared to the majority of pounds that were already behind me. I still had thirty more to go to the number on my driver’s license (130), though in reality I used to be 135, and after bloating from months of fertility treatments I was 145 before finally getting that BFP (big fat positive)! As an act of motherly love, as all mothers do, I sacrificed my body for my babies. Following expert advice I gained a ton of weight for the sake of my triplets. 235 was where I stopped counting, having gained over one hundred pounds.
And now I’ve lost seventy-seven pounds and don’t want to take credit for it as an accomplishment. It feels more like something that just happened, thankfully, luckily, blessedly. As deliberately as I wanted to get pregnant and then to gain lots of weight for my extreme pregnancy, I have no idea why getting pregnant with good old S-E-X didn’t work for us, nor do I know why it took so long to lose weight, or why it finally started happening. From the doctor’s office I updated facebook with my happy news (down seven more for a total of seventy-seven pounds gone!) and love that friends are celebrating with me. Alongside the congratulatory comments (to which I still want to say “but there’s still 23 lbs more!”) are questions about my secret to weight loss.
The secret revealed to me today is the importance of celebrating and sharing our celebratory moments. Just as for sure I have shared my pain and insanity, I have tried to share my sweetness, joy and laughter. I absolutely love that people feel healing from seeing pictures and videos and status updates from the triplet toddler show that is my life. That sharing has been deliberate, and I revel in my girls. Celebrating them is not the same as appreciating myself, and that is a challenge for me. Though clarity itself still seems far away, I am counting on its eventual arrival and will do my part by trying to replace negative perception with positive self -commentary. As certain as tonight is the tenth night of the Omer, I have succeeded in counting each night this year, and tonight I am contributing to OOCC. As of today, I am seventy-seven pounds lighter than I was in June 2008, and today I celebrate my success. Today I seek healing for myself and offer my story for service.
For your comments:
What are you celebrating? What success can we celebrate with you?
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Off the Mat, Up to the Table
Today is the 5th Day of the Omer!
Shavua tov and Chag Sameach! Though Seders are over, we're back to the table for the festive end to Passover.
Enjoy this piece I wrote for LA Yoga and Ayurveda Magazine - "Off the Mat, Up to the Table".
:: April 2007 Volume 6/Number 3
Off the Mat, Up to the Table
Experiencing Jewish Yoga.
By Rabbi Heather Altman
Passing food, chattering, singing, laughing and perhaps even arguing may not be quite the image of contemplative tranquility that one imagines for spiritual practice. Yet spiritual growth occurs in the midst of community just as in the solitude on our yoga mats.
As a rabbi and yoga teacher, for me, yoga is a method for reclaiming the embodied Jewish traditions. The Jewish calendar celebrates a cycle of spiritual holidays that feature tangible opportunities for marrying personal spiritual growth with nudging from a lively extended family.
Sitting down for the annual Passover seder is like stepping back on the mat for yoga practice; cumulative experiences of familiarity, probing and deepening take each diner to a unique place. Attention on breath teaches us that our inhalation relates to intentional intake. The ritualistic actions of the seder unite intention and practice the moment we place a taste on our lips.
The Passover seder is a ritual reenactment of the Israelites’ exodus from slavery in Egypt to the promise of arrival in Israel. The seder is a kinesthetic experience that headlines freedom, and this journey from slavery to liberation is a central theme repeated daily in Jewish prayer and practice. Gratitude for redemption from oppression permeates our lives each and every day.
Through this annual community-based celebration of freedom, we are compelled to examine our inner lives and clean house (both literally and spiritually) of anything fermenting within our bodies, minds and souls. The eight-day lifestyle change recalls an intense yoga retreat with pranayama (attention to and control of the breath), detoxification, spiritual inventory and returning to the basics of asana (posture).
"Through each breath and each bite we enact the ultimate intention of yoga and Jewish spiritual practice: creating unity, fostering a deep internal connection, and freeing each soul to act with love, compassion and service."When communities of Jews worldwide gather for the Passover seder, we expect to participate in traditional family rituals with symbolic foods and a retelling of the ancient journey from slavery in Egypt. We may anticipate overeating, quarreling with a cranky uncle and playing games. Together we will imagine, as generations before us have done, that we ourselves were slaves in Egypt. We may relate these feelings to the enslavement we experience enmeshed in addictions, family expectations, financial burdens or political disillusionment. We eat matzoh, the unleavened bread of affliction that symbolizes humility and the necessity of rushing to freedom. We eat raw horseradish and remember the bitterness of oppression, and charoset (a mixture of apples and walnuts) reminiscent of the bricks our ancestors built while enslaved by Pharoah.
We pause to meditate on the symbolism of food, eating and sharing a meal, and connection or lack thereof between nourishment and healthy body image. At a deeper level, we create a spiritual community in a wholly embodied experience.
One expression of this spiritual journey involves facing personal challenge. Every excursion on the mat provides the opportunity to breathe; this is akin to the challenges faced at a community table, especially with family where you may be tempted to stuff feelings or become numb through imbibing wine. The enticements of a full table may create other gastronomic allurements. Through the ritual meal, you may face your own spiritual heritage, and it may feel foreign and irrelevant. True freedom is not wandering off on your own, freedom is distinct from escape in that it involves journeying within roots and relationship in sacred community.
I experienced a specific entré in this journey when I led a Passover seder in a maximum security women’s prison. The Jewish inmates were serving life sentences, and yet they looked forward each year to celebrating a freedom that they surrendered in criminal acts. One woman taught me that it was only within prison where she found freedom of thought. That is precisely the spiritual practice of Passover.
Through each breath and each bite we enact the ultimate intention of both yoga and Jewish spiritual practice: creating unity, fostering a deep internal connection, and freeing each soul to act with love, compassion and service. In both traditions, these pursuits require partnership with others via our family and community as well as partnership with the divine.
In the midst of matzoh ball soup, traditions and heated discussions, we are called to struggle, claim our souls and connect to our whole mishpacha (family). Our personal seeking can engender great rewards; the deepest spiritual development ripens with creation of sangha, yogic spiritual community or kehilla, Hebrew conscious interconnected community. This meal may involve surprising dining partners as we break matzoh in a raucous spiritual learning community, moving through ritual together, sharing breath, intention, song and joy.
Shavua tov and Chag Sameach! Though Seders are over, we're back to the table for the festive end to Passover.
Enjoy this piece I wrote for LA Yoga and Ayurveda Magazine - "Off the Mat, Up to the Table".
:: April 2007 Volume 6/Number 3
Off the Mat, Up to the Table
Experiencing Jewish Yoga.
By Rabbi Heather Altman
Passing food, chattering, singing, laughing and perhaps even arguing may not be quite the image of contemplative tranquility that one imagines for spiritual practice. Yet spiritual growth occurs in the midst of community just as in the solitude on our yoga mats.
As a rabbi and yoga teacher, for me, yoga is a method for reclaiming the embodied Jewish traditions. The Jewish calendar celebrates a cycle of spiritual holidays that feature tangible opportunities for marrying personal spiritual growth with nudging from a lively extended family.
Sitting down for the annual Passover seder is like stepping back on the mat for yoga practice; cumulative experiences of familiarity, probing and deepening take each diner to a unique place. Attention on breath teaches us that our inhalation relates to intentional intake. The ritualistic actions of the seder unite intention and practice the moment we place a taste on our lips.
The Passover seder is a ritual reenactment of the Israelites’ exodus from slavery in Egypt to the promise of arrival in Israel. The seder is a kinesthetic experience that headlines freedom, and this journey from slavery to liberation is a central theme repeated daily in Jewish prayer and practice. Gratitude for redemption from oppression permeates our lives each and every day.
Through this annual community-based celebration of freedom, we are compelled to examine our inner lives and clean house (both literally and spiritually) of anything fermenting within our bodies, minds and souls. The eight-day lifestyle change recalls an intense yoga retreat with pranayama (attention to and control of the breath), detoxification, spiritual inventory and returning to the basics of asana (posture).
"Through each breath and each bite we enact the ultimate intention of yoga and Jewish spiritual practice: creating unity, fostering a deep internal connection, and freeing each soul to act with love, compassion and service."When communities of Jews worldwide gather for the Passover seder, we expect to participate in traditional family rituals with symbolic foods and a retelling of the ancient journey from slavery in Egypt. We may anticipate overeating, quarreling with a cranky uncle and playing games. Together we will imagine, as generations before us have done, that we ourselves were slaves in Egypt. We may relate these feelings to the enslavement we experience enmeshed in addictions, family expectations, financial burdens or political disillusionment. We eat matzoh, the unleavened bread of affliction that symbolizes humility and the necessity of rushing to freedom. We eat raw horseradish and remember the bitterness of oppression, and charoset (a mixture of apples and walnuts) reminiscent of the bricks our ancestors built while enslaved by Pharoah.
We pause to meditate on the symbolism of food, eating and sharing a meal, and connection or lack thereof between nourishment and healthy body image. At a deeper level, we create a spiritual community in a wholly embodied experience.
One expression of this spiritual journey involves facing personal challenge. Every excursion on the mat provides the opportunity to breathe; this is akin to the challenges faced at a community table, especially with family where you may be tempted to stuff feelings or become numb through imbibing wine. The enticements of a full table may create other gastronomic allurements. Through the ritual meal, you may face your own spiritual heritage, and it may feel foreign and irrelevant. True freedom is not wandering off on your own, freedom is distinct from escape in that it involves journeying within roots and relationship in sacred community.
I experienced a specific entré in this journey when I led a Passover seder in a maximum security women’s prison. The Jewish inmates were serving life sentences, and yet they looked forward each year to celebrating a freedom that they surrendered in criminal acts. One woman taught me that it was only within prison where she found freedom of thought. That is precisely the spiritual practice of Passover.
Through each breath and each bite we enact the ultimate intention of both yoga and Jewish spiritual practice: creating unity, fostering a deep internal connection, and freeing each soul to act with love, compassion and service. In both traditions, these pursuits require partnership with others via our family and community as well as partnership with the divine.
In the midst of matzoh ball soup, traditions and heated discussions, we are called to struggle, claim our souls and connect to our whole mishpacha (family). Our personal seeking can engender great rewards; the deepest spiritual development ripens with creation of sangha, yogic spiritual community or kehilla, Hebrew conscious interconnected community. This meal may involve surprising dining partners as we break matzoh in a raucous spiritual learning community, moving through ritual together, sharing breath, intention, song and joy.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Four Step Shabbat Personal Practices
Today is day three of the Omer, add one and you have the day that begins tonight (Friday night April 22).
I only just managed to post day #3 and will do a different format for this Shabbat Omer counting. Four step personal spiritual practices follow!
Tefilla Yoga
[If you live in or near Chicago, join me tomorrow morning for Tefilla Yoga. The practice will be supportive to bodies who've been exposed to harsh matzoh, late nights, and changing schedules, travel and tiredness. Expect some enjoyable embodiment and restorative poses. 8:00-9:30 am @ Anshe Emet, 3751 N Broadway Chicago]
Do these practice all together or at different times of the night/day.
1. Shabbat Shalom! Light Shabbat candles. Cover your eyes and say the bracha for Shabbat candlelighting. Keep your eyes covered and add personal blessings. Talk to God, ask for what you need, then for blessings for those in your life. Include those who love and support you who are easy to bless, and also people who may not give you what you need, but still need your blessings. May Divine light illuminate your Shabbat, care for you, bring you rest and support.
2. Find a spot to sit. Notice your posture and allow yourself to sit up tall, shoulders wide and down, chest open. Notice your breath. Shift into breathing in through your nostrils deep into your lungs, slowly - generously. Exhale slowly and fully through your nostrils. Repeat for a total of four cycles, breathing in the gift of life, divine breath moving your soul in and through your body. *You may want to sit in front of your Shabbat candles, gazing at the flames dancing.
3. Find open wall space and bring a pillow or blanket. Sit on the floor (or pillow/blanket) really close to the wall, with one hip next to wall, knees bent. Slide onto the floor on your side, roll onto your back, and put your legs up the wall. Adjust the pillow/blanket under your hips. Let yourself settle in here, giving your feet and legs a break. Relax your jaw and neck. Pay attention to how you feel, notice what changes over the next four (or so) minutes. *You may want to first cleanse and exfoliate your face and hands, and apply a mask to your face. Relax into this pose as the mask removes impurities from your skin. Remember to moisturize afterwards.
4. Lay on your back in Shabbatsana. Slide your shoulders down away from your ears, neck long, face relaxed. Let your body be heavy, feel yourself held and supported. Four is the number of Imahot, the Mothers. Invoke the mothers in your life, sources of life, nourishment, nurturing, wisdom. They may be alive in the world now, or no longer, your family or not, female or male. Feel them holding you, blessing you. Remember what a miracle you are, just for being born, for the strength of your soul residing in your body. Realize that with all your talents and accomplishments, your soul is on this Omer journey, moving from constraint to freedom, from burden to joy. Notice where you feel clouded or heavy and where you feel bright and light. Celebrate both. Count the Omer. Tonight is the fourth night of the Omer.
I only just managed to post day #3 and will do a different format for this Shabbat Omer counting. Four step personal spiritual practices follow!
Tefilla Yoga
[If you live in or near Chicago, join me tomorrow morning for Tefilla Yoga. The practice will be supportive to bodies who've been exposed to harsh matzoh, late nights, and changing schedules, travel and tiredness. Expect some enjoyable embodiment and restorative poses. 8:00-9:30 am @ Anshe Emet, 3751 N Broadway Chicago]
Do these practice all together or at different times of the night/day.
1. Shabbat Shalom! Light Shabbat candles. Cover your eyes and say the bracha for Shabbat candlelighting. Keep your eyes covered and add personal blessings. Talk to God, ask for what you need, then for blessings for those in your life. Include those who love and support you who are easy to bless, and also people who may not give you what you need, but still need your blessings. May Divine light illuminate your Shabbat, care for you, bring you rest and support.
2. Find a spot to sit. Notice your posture and allow yourself to sit up tall, shoulders wide and down, chest open. Notice your breath. Shift into breathing in through your nostrils deep into your lungs, slowly - generously. Exhale slowly and fully through your nostrils. Repeat for a total of four cycles, breathing in the gift of life, divine breath moving your soul in and through your body. *You may want to sit in front of your Shabbat candles, gazing at the flames dancing.
3. Find open wall space and bring a pillow or blanket. Sit on the floor (or pillow/blanket) really close to the wall, with one hip next to wall, knees bent. Slide onto the floor on your side, roll onto your back, and put your legs up the wall. Adjust the pillow/blanket under your hips. Let yourself settle in here, giving your feet and legs a break. Relax your jaw and neck. Pay attention to how you feel, notice what changes over the next four (or so) minutes. *You may want to first cleanse and exfoliate your face and hands, and apply a mask to your face. Relax into this pose as the mask removes impurities from your skin. Remember to moisturize afterwards.
4. Lay on your back in Shabbatsana. Slide your shoulders down away from your ears, neck long, face relaxed. Let your body be heavy, feel yourself held and supported. Four is the number of Imahot, the Mothers. Invoke the mothers in your life, sources of life, nourishment, nurturing, wisdom. They may be alive in the world now, or no longer, your family or not, female or male. Feel them holding you, blessing you. Remember what a miracle you are, just for being born, for the strength of your soul residing in your body. Realize that with all your talents and accomplishments, your soul is on this Omer journey, moving from constraint to freedom, from burden to joy. Notice where you feel clouded or heavy and where you feel bright and light. Celebrate both. Count the Omer. Tonight is the fourth night of the Omer.
Favorite Number
written last night: Tonight I think I can count three seconds before I pass out from exhaustion. Long hours driving with late Seder nights and kids coming into our bed crying were one thing. An overly ambitious "vacation" day today was what did me in. [fall into sleep]
written today about yesterday: In three days, we drove 5 hours to Michigan, had 2 Seders, moved from the original hotel that was filthy and falling apart to a nice clean hotel, and drove back to Chicago. The earliest I got to sleep each of those three nights was midnight, and as is normal on family road trips I didn't get any quiet time alone, not even in the bathroom folks. After a fun filled family fest and a relatively quiet late late night drive home, I woke up in my own bed. With an out-of-town friend visiting Chicago and no Gan for the girls, I decided to take everyone to a museum. Decisions made on lack of sleep don't usually turn out well. Nevertheless, we made it a full day, beyond what I can usually expect of myself. We started at the Museum of Science and Industry and watched the chickies hatch, put on three diapers for nap time in the car ride to pick Haley up from school in Indiana (and back), then went to Navy Pier. Haley wanted and got a hair wrap and the little girls found sparkly little purses that I was happy to get as a souvenir. Three purses - one pink, one purple, one black. We had lunch in the car, a noise melt down in the museum, one minor accident in the store. It was six pm by the time we got home, all cranky and hungry. The three little girls were in bed by eight, and by then I could barely move. I did manage to say the bracha and count the third day of the Omer.
"Today is the third night of the Omer", and as you know, I'm always counting threes. It has become my number. If I ever played a team sport (those of you who know me well are laughing now) I would have the number three on my jersey. Even though I have four girls, the triplet three trumps everything. You've heard this before, I've thought it before, these three souls leave an imprint of three on everything in my world. I'll leave it at that for now. The third day of the Omer is ending and Shabbat is coming soon. I pray that Shabbat brings us rest we all need after an exhausting week - and that once the tiredness recedes we will see the beauty of the holiday experience.
written today about yesterday: In three days, we drove 5 hours to Michigan, had 2 Seders, moved from the original hotel that was filthy and falling apart to a nice clean hotel, and drove back to Chicago. The earliest I got to sleep each of those three nights was midnight, and as is normal on family road trips I didn't get any quiet time alone, not even in the bathroom folks. After a fun filled family fest and a relatively quiet late late night drive home, I woke up in my own bed. With an out-of-town friend visiting Chicago and no Gan for the girls, I decided to take everyone to a museum. Decisions made on lack of sleep don't usually turn out well. Nevertheless, we made it a full day, beyond what I can usually expect of myself. We started at the Museum of Science and Industry and watched the chickies hatch, put on three diapers for nap time in the car ride to pick Haley up from school in Indiana (and back), then went to Navy Pier. Haley wanted and got a hair wrap and the little girls found sparkly little purses that I was happy to get as a souvenir. Three purses - one pink, one purple, one black. We had lunch in the car, a noise melt down in the museum, one minor accident in the store. It was six pm by the time we got home, all cranky and hungry. The three little girls were in bed by eight, and by then I could barely move. I did manage to say the bracha and count the third day of the Omer.
"Today is the third night of the Omer", and as you know, I'm always counting threes. It has become my number. If I ever played a team sport (those of you who know me well are laughing now) I would have the number three on my jersey. Even though I have four girls, the triplet three trumps everything. You've heard this before, I've thought it before, these three souls leave an imprint of three on everything in my world. I'll leave it at that for now. The third day of the Omer is ending and Shabbat is coming soon. I pray that Shabbat brings us rest we all need after an exhausting week - and that once the tiredness recedes we will see the beauty of the holiday experience.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Nearly blew it before it began
I nearly blew it. Close to midnight, moments after zipping and locking up the little girls (triplets under 3 years old up way too late for the second night in a row) in their portable tent beds (we highly recommend the Peapod) I suddenly whispered to my closed-eyed husband. Startling him out of falling asleep in the hotel bed, I quietly recited the bracha and counted the first night of the Omer. After almost completely forgetting, I wanted a witness, though not too reliable in his slumber, to hear me announce the first night.
(The girls are excited to ride the hotel luggage cart, which they call "shopping cart", and to stay up super late for Passover Seders.)
It's usually counted at the Seder table, that is if you actually do the whole Seder from start to finish. There were young adult years when Seders were that generous luxurious time for exploration and late night singing of that last "next year in Jerusalem." But not here, our Seder order ended with the festive meal, as many families do from lack of interest in the whole exacting deal. Seder actually means "order" and there are 14 steps this at home table ritual. Full of symbolism, interesting objects and foods, the telling of the Haggadah includes stories, laws and songs all intended to elicit discussion. Even guised as "traditional" and viewed by attendees as way too long, these Seders did not complete the order nor fulfill it in more than the most basic reading. Not to say that it wasn't a great way to connect with family nor anything but an amazing feat of a feast. The meal was delicious and the sixty plus family members were wonderful company. The children demonstrated their beautiful singing voices, showed off their day school education in Hebrew fluency and song familiarity and were adorable - including my 2 year olds who each sang the beginning of Ma Nishtana. The Passover production was impressive for its scale, efficacy, beauty and carrying out of traditions. That said, of the four cups, we only poured two. Elijah and Miriam were both ignored, and I felt their absence. And of other steps skipped, we neglected to count the Omer.
I married into a large family that actually has a family club that meets monthly and for annual events in the Detroit suburbs where most still reside. They have enormous pots and pans for mass cooking and everything else needed to make a special and elegant holiday. The aunt and uncle who host Passover actually built their house to accomodate the huge crowd. The Seder takes place in the elegant living room, that more resembles a hotel lobby. Coming from my own family with our own (different) traditions and as a rabbi who has thought lots about my ideal Seder experience (and led some good ones), I can offer a commentary full of compliments and constructive criticism, but for tonight my only comment is this. We didn't count the Omer. How many of you counted the Omer together at Seder last night?
To be fair to the leader, I myself didn't even think about completing the Seder. I was too busy trying to catch up with the cousins and listen out for cries of my children, the new inductees to the basement mayhem.
So tired from the cleaning and kashering and cooking and setting and serving, sometime we lose sight of the spiritual cycle. The big day takes so much out of us, we totally or nearly forget that it is a kick off event, not the end itself. Just like wedding planning it consumes as much time as the engagement allows, preparing for the relationship of marriage is usually neglected. Immersing in the preparation is its own process, and also part of a bigger picture. Pause for an aha moment - that's the story of my with baby triplets. Diapering, feeding, cleaning, dressing the children - it doesn't leave freedom to think, to read, to evaluate. I suppose no matter how little prep we do, those next stages will arrive (God willing) for us to find ourselves in bed counting the Omer seconds before sleep - or having that intimate conversation - or envisioning the children with their own families.
The girls were so wired even at midnight that after jumping on the bed and running around the room I just forced them into their Peapods and locked the zipper (with twist ties - did I ever tell you how they trashed the hotel room in Memphis?) Efforts at crying lasted less then thirty seconds, then they were too tired to try. One second of silence was followed by a wimper from E, then came 2 seconds of silence. I was counting the space in between the crying when I realized that I hadn't counted the first night of the Omer!
More than just counting, before we actually count the day of the Omer (out of 49, listed by days and weeks), we say a bracha (blessing). If you remember to count the Omer at night (when the "day" begins on Jewish time) you begin with the blessing. If you don't count until the next day, then you can't say the blessing. Admittedly I'll be happy if I count to 49 night or day, though I'd love to get all the blessings in. Blessings are special, they are blessings after all.
Tonight I said the bracha in the dark somewhere between Detroit and Chicago, using Omer Counter 2.0 on my iPhone. By then I was sitting in the way back, between Haley and N. One girl wanted me to help her sleep and the other needed me once she awoke.
Earlier in the ride it had been really quiet. I had nothing more to say to the driver and I realized that it was a good time for a talk with myself. I led myself in a little internal Seder of my own. I started with some venting, then went a bit deeper into a section that regrettably was edited out of our Seders, before I bored myself and was ready to eat some chocolate. The Four Children is a section of the telling that I've always loved in text and through numerous artistic depictions. There are four archetypes of children that can be seen as four different types of religious experience, four learning styles, four personalities, or four family roles. In discussing them we try to identify ourselves and get to hear our families thoughts about our self perception. I love that the archetype with which we identify most can change from year to year. I have been the Hacham, the wise child, immersed in Torah Study, fascinated with laws and traditions. I have been the Rasha in more recent years; the one who feels apart from tradition and questions the value of organized religion. For me being the Rasha was questioning faith or feeling mired in struggle without relief that. The all consuming life changing triplet pregnancy and parenthood also casts me as the Tam, the simple one who doesn't know what to ask - or who is indifferent to the answer. Sometimes the thread holding us in the tribe is very thin.
My realization tonight is that this year I relate to the One Who Cannot Ask. In some ways I've lost my voice. Different than when I was younger and learned how my voice had been taken away, then worked on taking it back, now something different is happening. I'm not clear on it all yet, which I remind myself is why the theme of the Omer is "Counting to Clarity". There's no Haggadah that tells me what I'm supposed to say to the world, no written curriculum for my spiritual development and no job description that's a role written for me. I know who I am and, at the same time, I don't know. I don't know what is to come and where I should be so vocal, or where I should listen for guidance. I'm not clear how to let spirit guide me and also act responsibly to my family's financial needs. I am both articulate and also inarticulate. I am both gifted with unique talents and expertise and also need variety and flexibility. I both want to honor what I'm meant to bring to the world and also have some balance and enjoyment. I am both clear about what I stand for and unclear about where my next step will lead.
Thankfully, I have this counting and the season that leads to clarity. One day at at time, I will bless the path from narrowly defined dark enslaved places to the free and clear and bright illuminated destination.
Tonight/today is the second day of the Omer.
For you: what was missing from your Seder experience that you want to include in your self-led Seder? What traditions/patterns in your life work? which don't work for you?
(The girls are excited to ride the hotel luggage cart, which they call "shopping cart", and to stay up super late for Passover Seders.)
It's usually counted at the Seder table, that is if you actually do the whole Seder from start to finish. There were young adult years when Seders were that generous luxurious time for exploration and late night singing of that last "next year in Jerusalem." But not here, our Seder order ended with the festive meal, as many families do from lack of interest in the whole exacting deal. Seder actually means "order" and there are 14 steps this at home table ritual. Full of symbolism, interesting objects and foods, the telling of the Haggadah includes stories, laws and songs all intended to elicit discussion. Even guised as "traditional" and viewed by attendees as way too long, these Seders did not complete the order nor fulfill it in more than the most basic reading. Not to say that it wasn't a great way to connect with family nor anything but an amazing feat of a feast. The meal was delicious and the sixty plus family members were wonderful company. The children demonstrated their beautiful singing voices, showed off their day school education in Hebrew fluency and song familiarity and were adorable - including my 2 year olds who each sang the beginning of Ma Nishtana. The Passover production was impressive for its scale, efficacy, beauty and carrying out of traditions. That said, of the four cups, we only poured two. Elijah and Miriam were both ignored, and I felt their absence. And of other steps skipped, we neglected to count the Omer.
I married into a large family that actually has a family club that meets monthly and for annual events in the Detroit suburbs where most still reside. They have enormous pots and pans for mass cooking and everything else needed to make a special and elegant holiday. The aunt and uncle who host Passover actually built their house to accomodate the huge crowd. The Seder takes place in the elegant living room, that more resembles a hotel lobby. Coming from my own family with our own (different) traditions and as a rabbi who has thought lots about my ideal Seder experience (and led some good ones), I can offer a commentary full of compliments and constructive criticism, but for tonight my only comment is this. We didn't count the Omer. How many of you counted the Omer together at Seder last night?
To be fair to the leader, I myself didn't even think about completing the Seder. I was too busy trying to catch up with the cousins and listen out for cries of my children, the new inductees to the basement mayhem.
So tired from the cleaning and kashering and cooking and setting and serving, sometime we lose sight of the spiritual cycle. The big day takes so much out of us, we totally or nearly forget that it is a kick off event, not the end itself. Just like wedding planning it consumes as much time as the engagement allows, preparing for the relationship of marriage is usually neglected. Immersing in the preparation is its own process, and also part of a bigger picture. Pause for an aha moment - that's the story of my with baby triplets. Diapering, feeding, cleaning, dressing the children - it doesn't leave freedom to think, to read, to evaluate. I suppose no matter how little prep we do, those next stages will arrive (God willing) for us to find ourselves in bed counting the Omer seconds before sleep - or having that intimate conversation - or envisioning the children with their own families.
The girls were so wired even at midnight that after jumping on the bed and running around the room I just forced them into their Peapods and locked the zipper (with twist ties - did I ever tell you how they trashed the hotel room in Memphis?) Efforts at crying lasted less then thirty seconds, then they were too tired to try. One second of silence was followed by a wimper from E, then came 2 seconds of silence. I was counting the space in between the crying when I realized that I hadn't counted the first night of the Omer!
More than just counting, before we actually count the day of the Omer (out of 49, listed by days and weeks), we say a bracha (blessing). If you remember to count the Omer at night (when the "day" begins on Jewish time) you begin with the blessing. If you don't count until the next day, then you can't say the blessing. Admittedly I'll be happy if I count to 49 night or day, though I'd love to get all the blessings in. Blessings are special, they are blessings after all.
Tonight I said the bracha in the dark somewhere between Detroit and Chicago, using Omer Counter 2.0 on my iPhone. By then I was sitting in the way back, between Haley and N. One girl wanted me to help her sleep and the other needed me once she awoke.
Earlier in the ride it had been really quiet. I had nothing more to say to the driver and I realized that it was a good time for a talk with myself. I led myself in a little internal Seder of my own. I started with some venting, then went a bit deeper into a section that regrettably was edited out of our Seders, before I bored myself and was ready to eat some chocolate. The Four Children is a section of the telling that I've always loved in text and through numerous artistic depictions. There are four archetypes of children that can be seen as four different types of religious experience, four learning styles, four personalities, or four family roles. In discussing them we try to identify ourselves and get to hear our families thoughts about our self perception. I love that the archetype with which we identify most can change from year to year. I have been the Hacham, the wise child, immersed in Torah Study, fascinated with laws and traditions. I have been the Rasha in more recent years; the one who feels apart from tradition and questions the value of organized religion. For me being the Rasha was questioning faith or feeling mired in struggle without relief that. The all consuming life changing triplet pregnancy and parenthood also casts me as the Tam, the simple one who doesn't know what to ask - or who is indifferent to the answer. Sometimes the thread holding us in the tribe is very thin.
My realization tonight is that this year I relate to the One Who Cannot Ask. In some ways I've lost my voice. Different than when I was younger and learned how my voice had been taken away, then worked on taking it back, now something different is happening. I'm not clear on it all yet, which I remind myself is why the theme of the Omer is "Counting to Clarity". There's no Haggadah that tells me what I'm supposed to say to the world, no written curriculum for my spiritual development and no job description that's a role written for me. I know who I am and, at the same time, I don't know. I don't know what is to come and where I should be so vocal, or where I should listen for guidance. I'm not clear how to let spirit guide me and also act responsibly to my family's financial needs. I am both articulate and also inarticulate. I am both gifted with unique talents and expertise and also need variety and flexibility. I both want to honor what I'm meant to bring to the world and also have some balance and enjoyment. I am both clear about what I stand for and unclear about where my next step will lead.
Thankfully, I have this counting and the season that leads to clarity. One day at at time, I will bless the path from narrowly defined dark enslaved places to the free and clear and bright illuminated destination.
Tonight/today is the second day of the Omer.
For you: what was missing from your Seder experience that you want to include in your self-led Seder? What traditions/patterns in your life work? which don't work for you?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Counting to Clarity (for Tues pm April 19)
The counting begins on the second night of Passover, usually at the Seder itself. I won't post on the holiday days or on Shabbat, so for those days I will (do my best to) write in advance.
Counting to Clarity
My mind starts spinning when I think about Passover’s past and all the momentous moments marked in my life by this holiday. When I steady myself I realize I’ve been hit with a ton of awareness. It’s like Passover itself is a psycho-spiritual reality show and I am the contestants and viewers all.
Senior year of High School Passover arrived right after my Dad became paralyzed and we had Seder in the hospital; it was far from the idyllic feast from years past. Here’s where everything exploded. I encountered existential pain and confusion, and said goodbye to the illusion of coming from a “normal” family. On my own as never before while my mom cared for my dad, without advanced coping skills, I found myself lost. Trauma set off a serious need for re-ordering life that would take years to unfold – and some self medicating to deal until I found the help I needed. Freshman year of college I fell deeper into stuffing my feelings with food and then started to see how I had been compulsively overeating to blur my feelings. My first clean days were during Passover. The religious focus on food was a nice excuse for changing habits. Beyond avoiding chametz, I delved into self awareness, seeking, searching, listening, learning, reading, writing, working it out. For me Passover is my birthday, the anniversary of setting out on my soul’s path of healing.
In the metaphor that life is a spiral, I have a seam at Passover. Year to year, as time spirals onward, Passover bleeps loud and a line of serious life changing events forms. The rest of the year between, I submerge back into cloudiness, unaware even that I’m anticipating a certain surge of soul development. Not that I’m completely blurry at all other times, but markedly less aware of the change that is brewing.
The season stirs up the soul cycle. Spring-into-summer sun light shines first gently then bright, as opposed to the cloud cover and short dark days of winter. The spiritual cycle known as the dark night of the soul demonstrates that our soul lives can go underground to an obscure, opaque place where we can’t perceive them; that is the dark night. When dawn comes, our spiritual journey comes into our sight line again. My soul cycle seems to match the Jewish calendar’s Omer counting that begins with Pesach.
Passover is only the beginning, the first steps out of the darkness. The Omer is seven sets of seven days, each one leading toward the ultimate illumination – revelation itself. Just the act of counting each day, remembering to do this practice for seven weeks is a spiritual practice of building awareness. As we count, the days lengthen,, the buds turn to flowers, the world becomes green and sunny. We take account of what we see, hear, smell, touch, think, feel, sense. We begin to notice desire and direction. With each counting blessing we acknowledge: today is a day, with its own character, its own significance, its own teachers and lessons, gifts and challenges. Today we are one day closer to strength, freedom and clarity. Today we remember years past when clarity emerged out of the clouds.
This Omer season is devoted to counting towards clarity.
Count with me. Count to clarity.
(for Tuesday night April 19) Tonight is the first night of the Omer.
How to count the Omer
Journal: What does Counting to Clarity mean to you? What first comes to mind when you think about clarity? What is clear/true/essential to you? What is un-clear, cloudy, in formation for you? Is there a particular question for which you seek clarity during this Omer period? An issue? Decision?
Counting to Clarity
My mind starts spinning when I think about Passover’s past and all the momentous moments marked in my life by this holiday. When I steady myself I realize I’ve been hit with a ton of awareness. It’s like Passover itself is a psycho-spiritual reality show and I am the contestants and viewers all.
Senior year of High School Passover arrived right after my Dad became paralyzed and we had Seder in the hospital; it was far from the idyllic feast from years past. Here’s where everything exploded. I encountered existential pain and confusion, and said goodbye to the illusion of coming from a “normal” family. On my own as never before while my mom cared for my dad, without advanced coping skills, I found myself lost. Trauma set off a serious need for re-ordering life that would take years to unfold – and some self medicating to deal until I found the help I needed. Freshman year of college I fell deeper into stuffing my feelings with food and then started to see how I had been compulsively overeating to blur my feelings. My first clean days were during Passover. The religious focus on food was a nice excuse for changing habits. Beyond avoiding chametz, I delved into self awareness, seeking, searching, listening, learning, reading, writing, working it out. For me Passover is my birthday, the anniversary of setting out on my soul’s path of healing.
In the metaphor that life is a spiral, I have a seam at Passover. Year to year, as time spirals onward, Passover bleeps loud and a line of serious life changing events forms. The rest of the year between, I submerge back into cloudiness, unaware even that I’m anticipating a certain surge of soul development. Not that I’m completely blurry at all other times, but markedly less aware of the change that is brewing.
The season stirs up the soul cycle. Spring-into-summer sun light shines first gently then bright, as opposed to the cloud cover and short dark days of winter. The spiritual cycle known as the dark night of the soul demonstrates that our soul lives can go underground to an obscure, opaque place where we can’t perceive them; that is the dark night. When dawn comes, our spiritual journey comes into our sight line again. My soul cycle seems to match the Jewish calendar’s Omer counting that begins with Pesach.
Passover is only the beginning, the first steps out of the darkness. The Omer is seven sets of seven days, each one leading toward the ultimate illumination – revelation itself. Just the act of counting each day, remembering to do this practice for seven weeks is a spiritual practice of building awareness. As we count, the days lengthen,, the buds turn to flowers, the world becomes green and sunny. We take account of what we see, hear, smell, touch, think, feel, sense. We begin to notice desire and direction. With each counting blessing we acknowledge: today is a day, with its own character, its own significance, its own teachers and lessons, gifts and challenges. Today we are one day closer to strength, freedom and clarity. Today we remember years past when clarity emerged out of the clouds.
This Omer season is devoted to counting towards clarity.
Count with me. Count to clarity.
(for Tuesday night April 19) Tonight is the first night of the Omer.
How to count the Omer
Journal: What does Counting to Clarity mean to you? What first comes to mind when you think about clarity? What is clear/true/essential to you? What is un-clear, cloudy, in formation for you? Is there a particular question for which you seek clarity during this Omer period? An issue? Decision?
Friday, April 15, 2011
Countdown to Counting (of a different kind) 5771/2011
My personal connection to Omer counting began when I was precariously pregnant with triplets and desperately counting on more and more days of development. 
That was the first year ever that I successfully counted every day, and immediately thereafter I went into (premature) labor.
Last year, with three children under 2 and a cancer-laden father living with us, I opened the Online Omer Counting Community to create a contemplative space for counting together.
My hope is that you will read and enjoy, remember to make each day count, and that you will share your thoughts in the space for comments. I'm pretty much writing each day with minimal editing, so you can do the same. Your comments, all together, will create the sense of community for reflection on this period of spiritual growth - or at least anticipation of revelation and illumination.
To catch you up to speed, read my original inspiration piece below!
Check back, subscribe or follow me on twitter (Rav Yoga) for daily (God willing) posts beginning Monday.
Shabbat Shalom u'mevorach,
Heather
Counting of a Different Kind: Anticipating the Omer
written and originally published in April 2009
Last year was different in a whole lot of ways. Every Passover I resolve to succeed at counting the Omer daily. How hard could it be to count 49 days? It starts out easy at the Seder on the second night. Today is the first day of the Omer. All I have to do is remember to say one sentence each day for the next 48 days, those leading up to the next major Jewish holiday Shavuot. Every year I failed; it seems the challenge wasn't big enough or meaningful enough for me to take so seriously. After all Shavuot would arrive seven weeks later whether or not I was counting days.
Last year counting was a matter of life and death. Counting is a serious thing. A superstitious Jewish custom forbids counting people as numbering lives diminishes them. This wisdom came long before the Shoah when the Nazis tattooed numbers for name replacements on our people's arms. At the same time, we encourage community and require ten people gathered for most prayer services, and even three for an official opening to the grace after meals.
In ancient times these days between Passover and Shavuot were a time of uncertainty and a struggle of hope and faith and fear and longing. My ancestors in the wilderness left slavery for a promising yet precarious future and they marched on through the desert motivated by a glimmer of redemption that they didn't fully expect. When we look back today, we know that the reward was the revelation of Torah on Shavuot, but they did not know that. Their grumbling and faltering shows that they barely believed, nor expected a gift of any sort.
One year ago Passover I was in my 25th week of pregnancy with triplets. Most people count months of pregnancy but when you are carrying triplets you actually count days. Zero percent of triplet pregnancies make it full term, and they are so fragile that there is a high chance of spontaneous abortion until you reach 20 weeks. Fifty percent of triplet pregnancies are delivered by 32 weeks, minimally eight weeks premature. Until 28 weeks gestation chances of survival are tiny, and the likelihood of serious life altering complications are great. Every single day the babies stay inside the womb and grow increases their chances for life and for health.
Once the 20 week mark went by I took a breath - just one. Then I looked at the calendar and set my next goal. Instead of the 28 week mark, I would switch to the Jewish calendar, striving to count through the entire period of the Omer and through Shavuot. That would put me at exactly 33 weeks. From there I would reevaluate and set a new goal.
In contrast to years past, all I could do last year was count. I counted another day of keeping my babies alive, another day for them to grow, another day for building fat reserves to keep them warm, another day for their lungs to develop so they could hopefully breathe on their own. Each day in the womb reduces the days in the NICU by multiples.
When we held our first Seder I was 25 weeks and 5 days pregnant with my triplets. I was already confined to home, barely able to walk, triplet heavy with babies. My belly was already the size of a full term singleton pregnancy. Instead of a cloth napkin I used a table cloth. I counted my weight gain. I counted the clothes I outgrew. I counted the vitamins I swallowed. I labored over breath. I had few moments of sleep or comfort the entire pregnancy.
I counted to keep myself going. I did not know how much I could endure nor what outcome would befall me or when. I was at the mercy of fate and fellow. I had no choice but to let people help, to force a smile on my pained face to offer thanks for food delivered, meals served. It is difficult now for me to recount the details and to face the reality that I endured. Triplet pregnancies are amazing and all, but they are not pretty. As my doctor said again and again, bodies aren't made to carry three babies. It is miraculous that my uterus accommodated three babies, yet no cell of my being managed to make it through unaffected.
I went into labor towards the end of Shavuot. Even though I reached my goal of completing the Omer counting, 33 weeks was still too soon. As much as I wanted to meet these babies, I wanted them to grow bigger inside me even if it meant tolerating more hugeness and more heaviness and more hell. If I were to be really honest about the whole thing I would tell you in detail how I lost all my dignity, how vanity and self were decimated as I surrendered moment by moment with determination to do right by these souls.
Writing these words, I cannot continue to be present to the teary memories of those thirty-three weeks and the four days that followed, so I fast forward until Shabbat arrived with an eerie yet elegant air of serenity. The Shabbat Queen surely entered and changed the quality of time as I enjoyed dinner with my husband, step-daughter and father-in-law. The next morning I awoke to silence and sunrise over Lake Michigan. Upon awakening I couldn't predict that counting days was complete and by the next morning and for the rest of my life I would be counting in threes. Counting with confidence in the outcome is relegated to the past. Now I do not expect that just because I am counting the revelation will be granted. Far from simple, when we begin to count we cannot expect we will reach completion. When each day is a matter of life or death, we must count carefully and consciously.
That was the first year ever that I successfully counted every day, and immediately thereafter I went into (premature) labor.
Last year, with three children under 2 and a cancer-laden father living with us, I opened the Online Omer Counting Community to create a contemplative space for counting together.
My hope is that you will read and enjoy, remember to make each day count, and that you will share your thoughts in the space for comments. I'm pretty much writing each day with minimal editing, so you can do the same. Your comments, all together, will create the sense of community for reflection on this period of spiritual growth - or at least anticipation of revelation and illumination.
To catch you up to speed, read my original inspiration piece below!
Check back, subscribe or follow me on twitter (Rav Yoga) for daily (God willing) posts beginning Monday.
Shabbat Shalom u'mevorach,
Heather
Counting of a Different Kind: Anticipating the Omer
written and originally published in April 2009
Last year was different in a whole lot of ways. Every Passover I resolve to succeed at counting the Omer daily. How hard could it be to count 49 days? It starts out easy at the Seder on the second night. Today is the first day of the Omer. All I have to do is remember to say one sentence each day for the next 48 days, those leading up to the next major Jewish holiday Shavuot. Every year I failed; it seems the challenge wasn't big enough or meaningful enough for me to take so seriously. After all Shavuot would arrive seven weeks later whether or not I was counting days.
Last year counting was a matter of life and death. Counting is a serious thing. A superstitious Jewish custom forbids counting people as numbering lives diminishes them. This wisdom came long before the Shoah when the Nazis tattooed numbers for name replacements on our people's arms. At the same time, we encourage community and require ten people gathered for most prayer services, and even three for an official opening to the grace after meals.
In ancient times these days between Passover and Shavuot were a time of uncertainty and a struggle of hope and faith and fear and longing. My ancestors in the wilderness left slavery for a promising yet precarious future and they marched on through the desert motivated by a glimmer of redemption that they didn't fully expect. When we look back today, we know that the reward was the revelation of Torah on Shavuot, but they did not know that. Their grumbling and faltering shows that they barely believed, nor expected a gift of any sort.
One year ago Passover I was in my 25th week of pregnancy with triplets. Most people count months of pregnancy but when you are carrying triplets you actually count days. Zero percent of triplet pregnancies make it full term, and they are so fragile that there is a high chance of spontaneous abortion until you reach 20 weeks. Fifty percent of triplet pregnancies are delivered by 32 weeks, minimally eight weeks premature. Until 28 weeks gestation chances of survival are tiny, and the likelihood of serious life altering complications are great. Every single day the babies stay inside the womb and grow increases their chances for life and for health.
Once the 20 week mark went by I took a breath - just one. Then I looked at the calendar and set my next goal. Instead of the 28 week mark, I would switch to the Jewish calendar, striving to count through the entire period of the Omer and through Shavuot. That would put me at exactly 33 weeks. From there I would reevaluate and set a new goal.
In contrast to years past, all I could do last year was count. I counted another day of keeping my babies alive, another day for them to grow, another day for building fat reserves to keep them warm, another day for their lungs to develop so they could hopefully breathe on their own. Each day in the womb reduces the days in the NICU by multiples.
When we held our first Seder I was 25 weeks and 5 days pregnant with my triplets. I was already confined to home, barely able to walk, triplet heavy with babies. My belly was already the size of a full term singleton pregnancy. Instead of a cloth napkin I used a table cloth. I counted my weight gain. I counted the clothes I outgrew. I counted the vitamins I swallowed. I labored over breath. I had few moments of sleep or comfort the entire pregnancy.
I counted to keep myself going. I did not know how much I could endure nor what outcome would befall me or when. I was at the mercy of fate and fellow. I had no choice but to let people help, to force a smile on my pained face to offer thanks for food delivered, meals served. It is difficult now for me to recount the details and to face the reality that I endured. Triplet pregnancies are amazing and all, but they are not pretty. As my doctor said again and again, bodies aren't made to carry three babies. It is miraculous that my uterus accommodated three babies, yet no cell of my being managed to make it through unaffected.
I went into labor towards the end of Shavuot. Even though I reached my goal of completing the Omer counting, 33 weeks was still too soon. As much as I wanted to meet these babies, I wanted them to grow bigger inside me even if it meant tolerating more hugeness and more heaviness and more hell. If I were to be really honest about the whole thing I would tell you in detail how I lost all my dignity, how vanity and self were decimated as I surrendered moment by moment with determination to do right by these souls.
Writing these words, I cannot continue to be present to the teary memories of those thirty-three weeks and the four days that followed, so I fast forward until Shabbat arrived with an eerie yet elegant air of serenity. The Shabbat Queen surely entered and changed the quality of time as I enjoyed dinner with my husband, step-daughter and father-in-law. The next morning I awoke to silence and sunrise over Lake Michigan. Upon awakening I couldn't predict that counting days was complete and by the next morning and for the rest of my life I would be counting in threes. Counting with confidence in the outcome is relegated to the past. Now I do not expect that just because I am counting the revelation will be granted. Far from simple, when we begin to count we cannot expect we will reach completion. When each day is a matter of life or death, we must count carefully and consciously.
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