Coming Out of the Forest

 What a miracle of a month.  I hardly know what to say about it, except, oh how important it is to disconnect from technology, separate oneself from the hubbub of the city now and again, listen to the snow falling, the creek wandering, and the ground resting...

Without question, the most powerful blesson ("blessing" + "lesson" = blesson) came in an unfortunate message of life and death.  The day before my birthday, I received a phone call that our sweet and brilliant young neighbor of 23 had left the planet. He was a dreamer, a journeyman, a woodworker, a lover of life, and he was an adventurer in the greatest sense of the word.  He left his father, our nearest and dear neighbor.  The morning of my birthday I received a phone call that food would be helpful, and so I spent my birthday in service... preparing food, delivering it hot into the hands of the closest family, holding hearts, holding space, and standing watch as the men in our community gathered wood to build the box in which to bury the Boy.  

Throughout the day, and the week that followed, we stayed close to our neighbor and our "kin" and stood by as preparations were made to bury the young man on his family's land. We, literally, buried him, after sharing stories and memories, chants, and prayers, poems, and art.  Our community came together, steaming breath, warm bodies, winded, and strong, as we hurled mud, and rich earth over the simple box filled with a boy in a conductor's hat with a handkerchief, tokens, and a quilt made for him and his brother by his grandmother.  Ferns were planted, a fire was started, Tibetan flags were hung, and flasks were opened beneath the cloudy sky.

I couldn't help but feel as though I had been catapulted back into the time when we were able to feel our transitions because our energy was not separated by the economy of going somewhere else to make money to buy a casket or pay someone else to do our family's work... Instead, we were there.  There was healing, and community building, and loving, and growing that could only happen the way that it did through our being there... with no cell service, nowhere to run... nowhere to go but into the homes and stories and hearts of our neighbors and friends.

Pardon me if I have shared this before, but it pulses hot through my veins this day.... "If you want to know how successful your yoga practice is... ask yourself, 'how are my relationships with my neighbors?'"  

30 days and 30 nights of no technology.  How did it change me?  It turned me DOWN.  It let me feel the deeper emotions, the imbalances that the building of this YogaFarm have awakened, and the magic of hearing the sound of that beautiful boy, raging each night outside my window... in the simple sound of the creek... rushing... rushing... rushing... with laughter, and tears, and echos and reflections of a boy through the brush, the branches, the hills.

Om Namah Shivayah.




p.s. We are in the midst of registrations for Live Your Yoga (Find it on previous entries.)  If you have registered, please know I have received your registration and will be in touch by Wednesday next week to give you the call number for the class beginning on the 10th.  Oddly, my email is down and we are amidst trouble shooting, and the phone at the YogaFarm is also down, with no technology support coming until Monday.  **sigh**  If you would like to reach me, please email or call 503-780-4034 and leave a message and I will be back in touch as soon as I am in cell / internet range.  Oh, the life of living in the country! 


Stand still. 
The trees ahead and the bushes beside you

Are not lost.

Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it and be known.

The forest breathes.


It answers, 
I have made this place around you,

If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two branches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,

You are surely lost.

Stand still.

The forest knows where you are.

You must let it find you.

 ~ David Whyte