We're always grieving the loss of something in our lives: the loss of a lover; a friend moving away for a short time, or permanently; the cancellation of our favorite TV series (remember My So Called Life???), the death of our pet; the death of being single upon getting married, or the death of coupling, upon losing our spouse; the empty nest--as our children venture forth into the world; the loss of our favorite restaurant (remember the Atomic Eggplant?!); the loss of our car, house, or city of residence due to relocation; the death of our computer, iPod, or cellphone. ALL of these deaths are real. Albeit, the death of our iPod doesn't come with the same amount of grief that the death of our lover might trigger--but it is still to be honored and respected as a death.
The beauty of death is that it gives way to new life. There is something breathing in the crevices of our soul-- where we feel the truth in wisdom and purpose of each part of our life's journey.
My journey into yoga was a journey that began with a death-- the death of my sister, Rebecca in 2000. I started yoga when in college in 1997 at the gym I belonged to in Fredonia. I tried it out of curiosity-- to explore something new. I didn't know at that point the magic that yoga had to offer. I was told to do headstand against the wall--and had never put myself in that position--and insecurely looked around the room at everyone else unhesitatingly walking their legs up the wall. The inversions we were told to do frightened me-- but planted a seed in me that would sprout a few years later when I was ready and willing to water it. The college year ended, and with it, so did my yoga classes, but I found Deepak Chopra's book, Perfect Health in a bookstore, and followed the daily yoga routines on my parents deck, during my summer break. Then, in 1998, my sister Rebecca discovered yoga at college, too. We inspired each other. She embraced the power vinyasa style and I the classical Hatha.
Then, in October of 2000, Rebecca died suddenly due to complications with the drug ecstasy. The summer before, she'd been living and working at Omega Institute-- a holistic health resort in Rhinebeck, NY. My sister Rachel and I went to visit her there and noticed a huge shift in her being. She was not the same. She'd transformed in a way that seemed almost other-worldly--her eyes seemed to lack a luster and her step was more springy and sprite-like, as if she preferred to fly rather than walk. She'd seemed to have left her body that summer in pursuit of spiritual truth that led her literally out of this world. Therefore, when she died, my spirit was not shocked-- yet my self as "sister", "friend", and "guardian" was in deep grief.
Some are here for a short time-- and their death is slow, with every step prepared for in a timely manner. And many leave in a sudden jolt-- very similar to the ways they came into this world, perhaps. Rebecca was conceived while our mother was on the pill and using a diaphragm and condoms. Three modes of birth control didn't keep her out. She was determined to be here-- on a mission to inspire and touch people in many different-- intensely light-filled ways!
SO... this death of a sister I loved and hated--struggling in sibling rivalry with all my life-- sent me whirling into a loop of grief I couldn't prepare for. She came to me in spirit several times-- in "ghost" form and in dreamland-- asking for guidance with crossing over to the "other side." Now, I knew nothing of this. I'd lost my grandparents before her, in slow and steady (yet still painful) ways--and hadn't encountered the "other side" of death. However, Rebecca presented me with an opportunity to be her big sister and guide her distraught spirit into the light. I did so in a ritual with my homeopath, who was also a counselor and psychic. After the ritual, in which I included some of her special items: a monkey, some amethyst, rose quartz, childhood pictures, and a chain a of flowers (which she wore in her hair in a picture that last summer at Omega).
At the time, I was still a college student, struggling to finish the end of a difficult semester at Geneseo. I cried in the car on my commute to classes from Rochester 3 days a week. After nearly failing a very easy final in an intro to theater class, I was forced to talk to my professor and tell him of my sister's death. Unsurprisingly, he knew Rebecca from the theater world, and bowed his head in sadness and honor for my grief. He let me take the pass/fail option for the class to save myself from lowering my GPA-- a nice gesture, I embarrassingly accepted.
After that semester, I had to withdraw from school. I ended up taking 2 classes that I enjoyed at the local community college: art history and intro to poetry. I then found yoga! My teacher, Carrie had lost a girlfriend who had been like a sister to her-- and she helped me through the initial phases of my grief by introducing me to restorative yoga. She told me that yogis going through grief often turn their practice into a restorative one when grieving a deep loss. I practiced that form of yoga everyday for almost 9 months. On October 31st, 2001, the day of Rebecca's one year anniversary (my last semester at Geneseo), my family planned a letting go ceremony for Rebecca at our childhood home. We invited her high school friends, their family, and our extended family members. I awoke on this day and felt heavy and dismal. It seemed like I was carrying the weight of entire in my family's grief. I was supposed to meet my family at the IHOP for a breakfast to start off the day. It was a struggle to get there. But I remember romping around the parking lot and into a costume shop, embracing the playful, nymph-like spirit of Rebecca. "She wouldn't want us to be upset today. She'd want us to celebrate," I told my family. And so we went into a costume shop and took silly photos wearing silly things and made a masquerade of it. I had the Rebecca-inspired idea of having everyone dress-up that night. So I called all her friends and told them to come in costume. And they did!
Restorative Yoga
However, after the breakfast-- there were a few hours before the ceremony. I decided to put myself into a heart-opening restorative pose: fish pose with butterfly, where your upper body and head are supported by a bolster, with legs bent in butterfly--feet together, knees supported by rolled up blankets or pillows. A strap can be used to wrap around the feet to increase the hip-flexor stretch-- releasing deep tension from the hips-- where we store our anger. The arms are extended out at a 45 degree angle (resting on folded blankets if the chest muscle is tight) with palms up to receive energy, creating a nice gentle chest opening.
This posture can release deep grief. And that day it did. This is one of those days that stands out in my 10 years of yoga practice. 20 or so minutes in this posture led to a point where my chest opened like a bubble, and the breath released, sending the energy all along my spine and out through the crown of my head. I turned over on my side and started laughing. A joy welled up from within me that made me forget all that pain. I released it! I came into union with the NOW.
I remember Rebecca's slogan before her death was BE HERE NOW. Ram Dass wrote a book with that title that inspired that slogan in her. She must have known her time was short. But do we ever really know?!!
In yoga school, our sutras teacher asked us, "What was your most meaningful moment on the mat?" I told of this one-- and you know what he said?--"You experienced yoga: union with the moment. You left your suffering of the past for the present, where no suffering exists." And so I did.
I went to the ceremony glowing. I spent a while painting my face with fake sparkly tears on one side and smiling eyes on the other. I donned myself as a clown in vintage garb. I felt playful and open and free. AND-- everyone noticed. "What happened to you?", my parents asked me as soon as I skipped in the door. "I dunno, I just did yoga," I said airily, smiling at all my sister's high school friends.
That night, I became a yogini. I realized the depth of power in simple practice. That night, I learned to grieve properly: to allow, to feel, to breathe, and to release--creating space for the eternal NOW-- that is constantly in flux and endlessly in mellifluous motion.
Dreams...
I dream of a world where people allow themselves to grieve properly. This world involves proper ritual: song and dance, tears and laughter, joy and pain-- all in harmony with the rhythms within ourselves and with the external-- the earth and the sentient beings upon it and around it.
There is truly a mystical element to death-- one that our human self may never fully understand-- but one that it has the capacity to receive, if given the space to breathe it in and feel it's power. And yoga is one such method to embrace the ongoing dance of life and death.
And, this is my true purpose and passion: to bridge that veil between life and death.
(WOW! As a writer, healer and teacher, it feels that I've opened up the Pandora's box within myself-- a mystical, mythical world that exists in the mundane, the everyday. Where I will go with this-- I do not yet know. My heart skips a beat as I say this and type it. It's all about existing in truth-- and honoring the instincts I feel that are so powerful inside of me...)What exists within you that is instinctual, raw, and organic-- that if you unleash it, that Pandora's Box will send your head and heart spinning?...
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