Bernie Birney: It's About Yoga

Let's Talk About Leadership

I became certified to teach Anusara yoga® in March 2005. 

It's a big deal to become a certified Anusara yoga® teacher.  In all this time, there are still under 400 teachers who bear this title.  My certificate is numbered 132.  I'm proud to be in such elite company.  

In 2005, the certification process concluded with a telephone conversation with John.  I was far too dazzled to be speaking to John Friend to say anything coherent, let alone intelligent, or witty.  At the end of the call, he congratulated me. 

I was certified.

I hung up the phone, and sat, primly, on the couch, for what seemed like a long time.  There was nobody home to celebrate with, and I wasn't sure what to do with myself. It had been a long process, and I think I'd half-expected lotus flowers to fall from the sky upon my official certification.   

I think I'd thought that becoming certified would make me somehow--different.  Better.  But I just felt like plain old me, and to be honest, I felt a bit blue about that. 

The certification process prepared me to tell people how to use alignment principles, and how to take their thighs back.  It gave me a solid understanding of tantra's power to free minds and crack open hearts, but it didn't prepare me to lead.

I didn't then understand that it would take time to grow into the role of certified teacher. 

Fast forward six years. 

There is now a robust Anusara community in Connecticut, my home. I am awed by the deep roots that have taken hold. Sometimes I feel like I must have planted one of Jack's magical beans.   

Yoga communities often spring up around around certified teachers, with the certified teacher becoming a sort of hub.  Ready or not, these certified teachers are thrust into the position of leadership. 

In my own case, I had no idea what it meant to be a leader.  I had zero life experience preparing me.  In fact, I'd spent most of my life dodging commitment and responsibility, and making sure that no one held me accountable for anything.  I wasn't even particularly good at leading myself, let alone anyone else.  

I have had to get a lot better at it.  Recently, there have been ample opportunities to do exactly that, as a fair amount of local conflict has come to a head.  I believe that I was at least partially responsible for  some of those situations, even if only by being absent. 

It feels good to step up, roll up my sleeves, and take some responsibility for both conflict, and resolution.  I'm grateful to everyone who was willing to sit down with me, and have conversations that weren't necessarily comfortable.  Thank you for helping me grow.  Thank you for being essential to the CT community. 

Consequently, I feel passionately that fellow teachers, and students, have the right to expect things of people, including me, in leadership positions.

I believe it's fair to expect leaders to have:

• Commitment to a vision for a local--or global--community with room for everyone to contribute, co-operate, flourish, and grow
• Clear, frank and skillful communication
• Ability to receive feedback
• Insight as to how, and when, to offer loving guidance to those who haven't yet walked quite as far down the path
• Good conflict management skills 

I used to have an aversion to being called a leader, but no more.  Now, I aspire to continue to grow into my role.  The work I've done thus far with The Handel Group has been of tremendous value to me in this arena.  I would love to see leadership training included in yoga trainings, so that we can all be more effective. It's important.

Recently I read that leadership is ultimately about creating a way for people to contribute to making something extraordinary happen.

I am all about that shit. 

The Princess Diary

Dear Diary,

This has been the fullest, most astonishing, and most exhausting week ever.  I've been so busy that I haven't had a chance to tell you anything at all, and it's not because I don't love you anymore, diary dearest.  I am as mad for you as ever.   

(Just between you and me, I've been so busy that I've not even tended to the cinders once. Screw the effing cinders.)

It's been a week of difficult conversations, some of which actually turned out not to be all that difficult--thank you Lauren Zander, Elena Brower, and The Handel Group--and all of which left me feeling a lot more excited about my life.  I've been to New Hampshire and back, to visit my parents, and gained a business partner.  I've climbed up on a toilet to write (sanctioned) graffiti on a bathroom wall.  I've been invited to present at the Yoga Teacher Telesummit this May, which I am really excited about--and also humbled, and thrilled, because I'm presenting in exceptional company. 

I've returned 9,742 emails, run a few miles, gotten in a couple of headstands, and met my quota of green drinks. 

I cleaned out the basement, and donated all most of my glass slippers to Goodwill. 

I vaguely remember taking the train to Manhattan on Monday. 

You know what, diary?  It turns out, I don't need a prince, or a fairy godmother, to rescue me.  I'm actually quite capable of rescuing my damn self. 

This week I have stretched, pushed myself to new limits, and evolved. I have both made magic, and uttered words of power to lift a spell I've been living under.  Would you believe, diary dear, that my coach turned out to be a plain old pumpkin? 

The more I tell the truth--to myself, and to everyone else--the less I need fairytales, and the happier, and more excited, I get about my real life. 

Tomorrow will bring more of the same but tonight--

Tonight this princess is going to curl up on the couch, watch Survivor, and be fast asleep by midnight. 

XObb

 

 

 

PS:  Only 6 days left until my call with the exceptional Laurie Gerber.  Sign up here, get excited about your life, and use the code BIRNEY10 to get the call for only $10.00.  There are still some spots left, and I want every single one to go to someone I love. 

 

Come As You Are

Home again; home again. 

The Mayan Riviera was incredible.  We mostly hung out, practiced, went to the beach, mealed, and drank margaritas. There were breakthroughs on the mat--firsts in handstand, bakasana and urdhva dhanurasa.  There's nothing quite like the sheer astonished delight when someone surprises herself, or himself, on the mat.  It's so infectious that everyone present feels it, and shared delight has a special kind of magic that transforms a group of strangers into shyly new friends.   

What I really want to tell you about is the temazcal but I already know I won't find the right words.  A tezmacal is a sweat ritual, a kind of ritual rebirth guided by a shaman.  It's intended to purify and heal the body, and to strengthen the spirit. 

The temazcal at Ceiba is a low, circular domed structure right on the beach.  After yoga, at sunset, we stripped down to bathing suits, and chose a pebble from the shaman's open hand to represent a heart's desire, a prayer, or a wish. One by one, we stretched our arms out at our sides while he swept a bundle of fragrant herbs over our bodies--rue, I think--from head to toe.  One by one we knelt before the door of the temazcal, folded our palms and spoke the words he'd told us to say, "for all my relationships," before stooping to enter. 

We filed in to the right, sitting in a circle on palm leaves upon the sand.  Four times, the door was opened and then closed.  Each time, nine lava rocks, glowing orange, were shoveled to the center.  Dashed with water and herbs, they created fragrant steam that smelled like heaven.

When the door closed it was dark. 

Joel, the shaman, told us that our bodies would resist, and that we would want to give up.  He told us that his goal was to guide us through the ritual, and to help us complete it.  He said that, in the beginning, the steam would scratch our throats, and make us cough.

He was right.

The group disappeared into the darkness.  We recognized each other only by voice.  Right away, I heard coughs in the dark.  I wanted to cough too but tried to hold back, fearing that if I started I wouldn't be able to stop.  It crossed my mind that I might not be able to see this through.   

Four times the door opened and then shut.  Four times new rocks were shoveled in.  Each door signified an element, and a particular kind of wisdom:  earth, wind, water and fire.  Every time the rocks arrived, we were to shout, "Ahoo!"  I'm pretty sure that's Mayan for "bring it, bitch!"

Joel spoke to humankind's innate instinct to climb the rungs of the evolutionary ladder.  Since we first crawled up out of the ocean, developed lungs, and opposable thumbs, and learned to shoot each other, humankind has strived to climb.  I had the deep recognition, then, that the urge I feel to reach, and to grow, is bigger than just myself; it's programed in.  Even while I marveled at the resourceful insistence of life to evolve itself, it made me weary. 

He spoke of our conflicting urges, of the spiritual urge to change, and the opposing emotional one to not let go.  He spoke of the possibility of reconciling experiences that challenge us.  He called us to courage and to action. The words he spoke are fuzzy, which is odd for me.  Words tend to stay with me but when I reach for his they elude me.  I guess that's what happens in extremely altered states of consciousness. 

The rocks sparked and blazed.  I saw jaguar eyes in them. 

It got hot.  Really hot. Toward the end of the third door I lay down, but even when my heart started to pound I felt supervised, and safe.  Still, when the door was opened to receive the final influx of glowing lava rocks, I began to seriously doubt that I could make it through.  Joel had said the temperature would reach 170 degrees. Maybe I didn't have it in me.

I poured water from a bucket, via coconut shell, over my head.  For a moment it was ecstasy but the water heated on my skin almost immediately, making me hotter.  I lay down again, breathing in and out through softly pursed lips. It was tolerable for only a single breath at a time.  Soften into it; soften into it, I told myself like a mantra.  Resistance would make it worse.  Resistance would defeat me. The only way to make it through was to entirely surrender to the heat. 

"Sitali breath," I wanted to tell the group.  "Do sitali breath.  It's cooling," but I couldn't speak.  My pounding heart became harder to ignore.  I thought about leaving but standing up was out of the question. I already knew I wouldn't be able to safely navigate the close quarters around the molten rocks but it was beyond what I could endure.  The tezmacal had defeated me.

Then the door opened. It was over.

I stumbled out and spilled beneath the starlit sky.  Dizzy and heart racing, I couldn't walk straight.  I thought I might pass out.

 Joel had said,"When you come to the ocean, come exactly as you are. Take your pebble and fling it in.  Dive."

I waded, disoriented and still off balance.  The water was warm.  Ultramarine by daylight, now it was dark.  Placid waves rolled in to greet me.  I plunged in.  The ocean opened up its arms and embraced me.

I'd gone through trial by fire, hoping to gain courage for transformation, but instead had been released and held exactly as I was.

I wanted to weep. 

In a good way.

I sat down on the shore, right at the water's edge.  I sat there a long time.  When I could move, I lay on my back, looking at the stars, communing with the wind. When I started getting cold, I laughed.  After the temazcal, it seemed absurd to be cold.

I gratefully wrapped myself in the enormous white towel that had been held out, and went back to my room, skipping dinner.  I couldn't speak.  I wasn't back yet. 

What I want to know is:   when do we grant ourselves permission to be as we are, to come to ourselves as we are, and to embrace ourselves as we are?

 

 

Photo courtesy of L. Young. 

 

 

Bienvenidos

I’ve decided to allow myself coffee this week.  I am, after all, on vacation.  Well, okay, it’s a working vacation but still.

Awake at 5am, I lie in the dark.  My body needs more rest but I am too impatient to sleep.  The wind is rustling palm fronds, and knocking at the balcony doors.  The ocean is calling my name.  I throw off the covers, throw on a bathing suit, brush my teeth in a rush, and take the few short steps to the beach at an almost run.  The resort is not yet awake.  I am alone in the place where elements collide.  The ocean is a sultry lover, caressing the sultry curves of the shore.

The wind is a living thing and I am in its belly; the sand soft and white.  I put my feet in the sea.  It is warm but not so warm as I’d expected.  The sea nibbles and sucks at my toes.

I eye the long pier that juts into the ocean's mouth where, yesterday evening, a couple exchanged wedding vows.  Entirely disregarding the sign reading Privado, I easily step right over the chain fence.  I travel the length, and stand at the edge, turning my back on the land.  The sun is new in the sky and the tide is coming in.  Sun, wind and water move toward me, extending their welcome.  "Where have you been?" they ask me.  "What took you so long?  We've been waiting for you." 

I thought I would close my eyes and meditate but my stubborn eyes remain open.  The elements look me in the eye and I look back.  I meet their gaze. 

Sharing the pier with me is a black and white crab.  He fixes a cautious eye on me, scuttling away sideways when I get too close.  He navigates around to the underside of the weathered slats, and  believes his is hiding.  Funny little crab--we all try to hide sometimes.  How ridiculous.  Still, he is good company.  I want to take his picture so I'll remember him but he's too skittish. 

Life here is slower but there's an urgency screaming at me: hurry up!  Unpack, and get down to the ocean!  Linger over coffee, and then go for a run on the beach!  Practice.  Book a massage!  Curl up in the hammock on my balcony to read.  Write something down!   Don’t forget to sit down and document the moment of transition between two worlds, two selves, and the way it feels to begin to settle into the pulse and rhythm of this sleepy, alive place, and to keep time with it!  Don’t miss a minute!  Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!

I am only just  arriving.

Silly me.  Why the rush?  The land is not in a rush.  The land opens its arms up and welcomes me into them.  Mayan magic thrums like a palpable heartbeat.  It feels good to strip off layers and feel the salt air against my skin.  It feels good to begin to feel the place pull, and to yield to it.  Along with my clothing, will I slough off layers of self that have become too tight a fit?

Somehow I understand that this place has magic to work upon on me. Can I be receptive to it?  Can I lay down my weapons and unfasten my armor and say yes with every fiber of my being? 

I hope so.

 

 

An Excellent Day

You know how schedules can be really grueling even when composed of things that you genuinely love doing?  That's sort of how my life has been for the last couple of weeks. 

The next four days are insane:  I won't get home tonight until 8:00, then I'm teaching straight through until Sunday night.  This comes on the heels of the exact same schedule last weekend, while simultaneously fighting off the plague, and chugging bottles and bottles of Elderberry Syrup.

But yesterday I decided to have a really excellent day anyway and you know what?  I did.  So, I've  decided to have an excellent day again today. That's right; we've got choices, people. I may not make the sun rise and set, and I'm definitely overscheduled but, instead of whining about it, I'm going to do my very best to take the day with grace and humor, as it comes.

Random Reasons--in No Particular Order--to Have an Excellent Day

1.  Blue, blue skies and sunny, sunny sunshine.

2.  I get to do what I love!  With people I love!  Lucky me!

3.  Elderberry Syrup doesn't actually taste all that bad. 

4.  Nothing is more fun than scheming a scheme with a creative someone who brings out my own creativity, and that is exactly the kind of scheme that I'm scheming, and the kind of person I'm scheming with.

5.  Fighting off the plague is a fantastic reason to indulge in lots of Spicy Chicken & Coconut Soup--my latest obsession.  It's made with cellophane noodles, shitake mushrooms, whole cloves of garlic, and more spicy green peppers (jalapeno?) than seems like a good idea. 

6.  Things really don't last forever.  You know how you can be persistently blue, heartbroken even, about a particular thing, and how it can seem certain that you'll feel exactly this way forever and ever?  Well, one day, as you ruminate upon the same tired old subject, you'll realize that instead of suffering as no-one has ever suffered before, you're actually kind of bored, and could sorta go for a Kombucha.  You'll surprise yourself by realizing, "I'm over this."  You'll marvel at the resilience of the human heart that beats within your chest, and then just get on with the business of living your life.

7.  Yoga teachers are required to wear neither socks nor underwear.

8.  Magic is real.

9.  Everybody dies but not everybody really lives.

10.  Biting down on life like a badass pit-bull in no way precludes the wearing of lip-gloss and phenomenal shoes. 

 

 

 

File Under Samtosha and Ahimsa ~First Thing Monday. . .

48 hours.

48 delicious hours
in which I plan to lock my To-Do List in a shoebox.
(Note to self #1-
learn to type more quietly.
The List is all knowing. It might HEAR you.)

Now--the relaxing-
let it begin.

Maybe I'll FINALLY unroll my yoga mat
and practice sloth-asana.

Maybe I'll stay in my pajamas, drink endless cups of steaming tea and cruise itunes.
And breakfast-
there will definitely be some form of breakfast involved.
The kind with the buttered toast.

Or what about,
wait for it-
a Gilmore Girls MARATHON?

(Somewhere, out on the golf course,
my husband just experienced the kind of shudder you're supposed to feel when someone walks over
the place where your grave will be.
So if I have ever, in casual conversation, insinuated or unintentionally inferred in any way
that my very manly husband enjoys watching the Gilmore Girls with me, well-
we're clear now, right? Okay?)

Or maybe I'll even venture out of doors
and go pumpkin picking.
No, seriously. Our friends are going.
(Note to self #2- add +1 to Pro column
on, "Living in the Boonies--Pro or Con--List"
very first thing Monday morning
upon removal of list from shoebox.)

If we go pumpkin picking I could bring my camera.
Okay, let's move pumpkin picking up to the top of the list.

No, you don't understand-
I meant the relaxation list.
Come on, don't try to pretend you don't have one?
I'm not buying it for a minute.
I said I wanted to relax
not set the APOCALYPSE in motion!
SERIOUSLY-
GIVE. . .ME. . .BACK. . THAT . . .LIST!)

Kidding.
Mostly kidding.
Really, almost entirely kidding.

Happy Divali.
Happy Pumpkins.
Happy weekend.