4/2/16 I am excited to be going to a yoga retreat in Guatemala in a few weeks.  I am having a hard time containing my excitement but I have to admit I am a little nervous and well afraid.  I will be going alone and I haven't been to Central America before.  Listening to podcasts recently I worry about violence but have been assured by many that Guatemala is safe just don't wander out alone in Gautemala City.  That shouldn't be too difficult   Many of my friends in Asheville have already been to this country (ironically) and their shared tales are colorful, fun and lively.

Our Yoga class this week is about Fear and knowing fear.  Not ‘no fear’ but to ‘know fear.’  I later go for a run and contemplate fear and how do you know it?  I thought of this poem that classmate Alan B. read when I was a junior in HS.  “I knew a Woman”…none of us in the public speaking class knew what knew meant except Alan and the teacher, but our teacher explained that to know, biblically speaking, is to make love to.  (A sexual and sensual connotation).

It make sense to me and the yoga class perfectly fits because our yoga teacher had explained that when fear is your shadow, you will run away from it until you die.  To Know Fear (A bumper sticker he remembers from his kayaking days) is to respect it (his words) What comes to me is the idea of making love to it.  To be in communion with fear. Like a kundalini snake that intertwines.  When we embrace something it is with us, in us, not stalking us.  I run into our yoga teacher a few days later and tell him the meaning of ‘know’ because he doesn’t know. He just stares.  I shrug and say I like these things.  Words.  And the meaning of words. He quickly says that he does too as he hurries along on his way to another class that he’s teaching.
 
BY THEODORE ROETHKE
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;   
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:   
The shapes a bright container can contain! 
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, 
Or English poets who grew up on Greek 
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek). 

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,   
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;   
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;   
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;   
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake, 
Coming behind her for her pretty sake 
(But what prodigious mowing we did make). 

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose: 
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize; 
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;   
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;   
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,   
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose 
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved). 

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:   
I’m martyr to a motion not my own; 
What’s freedom for? To know eternity. 
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.   
But who would count eternity in days? 
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:   
(I measure time by how a body sways).

​Theodore Roethke, "I Knew a Woman" from Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke. Copyright 1954 by Theodore Roethke.  
 
Source: The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke (Random House Inc., 1961)

(Fall 2015) Asheville Our Yoga Teacher's theme is Discipline and 'disciple ship'.  I guess I am still repealed by these words and my ‘go to’ is F%! Discipline.  But…I owe a lot to discipline.  He and she (a two faced) Disciple has been a learned lover.  One that took my hand in 2006 (a second time around in this life) and said “come, you need to leave here now. Get up and walk out the door.” Enough frivolity and fun. I could feel them pushing me, literally picking me up as they whispered, “It will be difficult but there is more for you.  More than what is offered here.”  Two hands supporting me and walking me out the door of the yoga studio where I was playing and teaching.  They lead me home.  Lead me back to school, lead me through two degrees and one college certification, (soon to be) four moves, 15 jobs (four at other yoga studios and gyms), one granddaughter’s birth, one daughter’s marriage, one son’s high school and college graduation, a mother’s illness and father in laws death, husband’s three surgeries and an illness of my own.  It asked me to give up alcohol forever, my favorite vice and I did. Watched me stand by as two clients died unnaturally.

It has been a task master and unforgiving at times.  Always asking me for more than I thought that I had, but never letting up. Never giving up.  Pushing me and not allowing me to settle for anything less than life had in store for me in its fullest force and asking that I meet and greet it with strength.  I guess I should look around at all its offerings and say thank you but I am asking for a reprieve instead.  I am asking for it to leave. I am full of its gifts and they are plentiful. My body bowed by the weight of its presents.  I am gently ushering it out the door as I bow to its order and lessons. With gratitude, I watch it slowly take shape and leave, suitcases in hand.  I sigh as its heaviness starts to dissipate and can finally see the buoyancy of my old life shining back in as the door shuts behind it. 

​9/15/15 My friend went to jail for 24 hours for a crime she did commit.  She had a DUI and fell asleep while driving home one night from a bar.  Fortunately she and others weren’t injured.  It was her first arrest.  She normally helps people.  She is an excellent healthcare professional in town and when sober, a conscientious person.  She has a problem with alcohol.  She is now in recovery and doing well committed to not touching alcohol again.  Her night in jail was hell.  Some might say this punitive penalty was deserved.  That it might be a deterrent.  The statistics show differently.  Recidivism rates continue to rise and incarceration feeds hate, shame, poverty and human degradation. 

The night before she went in she was naively hopeful that she would bond with the women there.  That maybe she could help them and in turn they would help her.  She planned on practicing yoga and envisioned a shared womanhood with others.  She had no idea what to expect.  She heard different things from different people.  She went in to a place that was freezing cold.  She went in at 8pm and from that time until 5 am there was no blankets, cots or pillows.  Just a few benches.  She and the other few women in this nightlong holding room had to keep moving to stay warm.  She told me that at first the cold air felt good but the room just got colder and colder “like a freezer”.  When they were let out into the general population the “rules” weren’t explained to my friend. No one told her what to do.  That she had 10 minutes to eat inedible food.  That she couldn’t give her food away.  She got into trouble for doing this, offering her food to others.  She wasn’t shown how to open a door that allowed her into another room. 

A fellow roommate, an older African American woman was bullied by the staff and other inmates. The staff set people up and the women in turn set each other up pitting person against person.  This older woman made the mistake of saying the water tasted terrible and she needed an extra moment to swallow her pills.  My friend witnessed this and saw her being placed in solitary for “talking back.”  This woman wasn’t allowed any of the inedible food that night and maybe nights to follow.  My friend never saw her again.  My friend was shaking the day after she was let out. She didn’t know how anyone could stand being there more than 24 hours.  She said that she knew a man once who committed suicide after being in jail for a few months with the possibility of having to go back to serve a longer sentence.  She didn’t understand then why he went to such a drastic measure to avoid prison.  She now understands why.

​She said that the saddest thing was an 18 year old who was glad to be there.  This young girl knew what to expect when she was there…I guess feeling safe is a relative term…. What kind of hell do some people (kids) live in that jail is a better alternative? After I saw my friend and heard about her experience, I read about the North Carolina’s prison system.  Abysmal at best.  600 inmates last year were on lockdown for 9 months.  Not allowed to shower or out of their room for nine consecutive months because two sets of people got into a fight. They were removed from the population and convicted of their crime.  No guards were injured but 600 people were punished for almost a year because of this.  http://www.mintpressnews.com/north-carolina-prison-imposes-9-month-lockdown-600-inmates/196732/

Another news story talked about ‘prison reform’ that is now taking place following the death of a mentally ill man who died of dehydration while in solitary confinement.  This man wasn’t allowed enough to drink and he died or was he vomiting and sick and left untreated? One can only guess. http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime/mentally-ill-inmate-died-severe-dehydration-n-prison-article-1.1952896 

​If hearing about my friend’s story constitutes prison reform I guess I questions this and what type of reform is happening.  The woman who needed to take longer to swallow her pills was on bipolar medicine. People who enter the system don’t have a voice. Many of them come from abused backgrounds and have mental health ills.  The National Alliance for the Mentally Ill (NAMI) statistics show that the prison system is the largest ‘mental health’ institution that we currently have. 20-25% of inmates have a diagnosed mental illness. https://www2.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=CIT&Template=/ContentManagement/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=57465   

No one cares about us when we are incarcerated. Us sadly becomes them…  We are ignorant to think that we aren’t connected in a deep and meaningful way and that when we demean others we demean our society and ourselves. Don’t we get that this isn’t the way? Cruelty just begets more cruelty and hate and anger feed on each other and the cycle goes on and on and on. 

Asheville Feb 2012

I was staying in an eclectic and quaint space in the lower half of a bungalow with a rundown exterior, old furniture stashed in the backyard hugging a small opening that lead to a crawl space that ran the perimeter underneath.  

The day was clear and crisp and I left for yoga that night with a skip in my step and a warm coat and hat on as I headed down the street.  When I got home I remembered it was Ash Wednesday.  I was arguing with my husband about some inane thing. 

Before getting off the phone I noticed that Oscar had been out for quite a long time and he wasn’t responding to my voice. I circled the dark yard and noticed that the fence was missing in one spot.  Did he get loose?  I exited the house and started walking down the street calling his name. 

​An hour later I was in a panic, calling my husband back.  He calmly said check under the house.  I leaned down near the opening beneath and called Oscar's name again—nothing. I called the police and told them, “My dog is missing.” They didn’t seem to care.  The shelters were closed. “Call in the morning.” Was their response to me.  The kind woman in the pick up truck who I hadn’t seen before (and haven’t  since) who got me sobbing with her kindness, “I will drive you around so that you can look for him.”   My thoughts were running wild: Did someone kidnap him?  Did he wiggle out of an opening in the fence and get lose?  Was he hit by a car and not yet discovered?  Was he dog bait for fighting? 

My prayers were unrelenting to Mother Mary, God, and St. Francis. “Please help me find my sweet dog.”  In retrospect I think Hanuman the Indian monkey God even showed up in my dreams that night to provide reassurance and assistance.  After hours of lying awake I thought to offer up a promise to Mother Mary …’please Mother just let me know where he is…but if you bring him back to me alive then I will stop drinking (alcohol) for the rest of my life.’ Amen. 

I fell asleep exhausted. I woke at 5 am the next morning to the most pristine morning.  I started to walk around calling Oscar's name.  The beautiful stillness and the crisp air so bittersweet in its loveliness, its beauty and silence palatable.  I started nailing signs to telephone poles as I softly called his name feeling sad and vulnerable.  I drew two tarot cards and got the death and the sun cards. The best and worst cards in the deck.  It seemed it could go either way. I waited around until 9a before calling the shelters. “No they hadn’t seen him.  Yes they will call me if he shows.”  I got off the phone…now what?  I then heard what sounded like a whimper.  ‘Did I hear something?  Could he really be here somewhere?’  Maybe my husband was right maybe he was underneath the house??  I called him at work and he said, “You have to crawl under the house and look for him.”  I am terrified of closed spaces and this was a small one. 

When I shimmied under the house, I got maybe 10’ in and then was prevented from going further by insulation and a beam that cuts me off. I peered as far as I could but the beam prevented me from seeing much even with a flashlight.  I crawled out relieved to be out but frustrated, now what?  I called the fire department.  ‘Hey I think my dog might be stuck under my house can you help me?’  No they were sorry they don’t help with these types of things.  Celeste a bald headed no-nonsense friend of the owner of the home (who was in South America) was covering and listened initially with sympathy as I tearfully told her my dilemma.  She then stressed to me that I will be responsible for any damage to the dilapidated house that might be done trying to extricate Oscar, but was sorry to hear.  (I felt like saying if the house didn’t have a hole under its foundation this wouldn’t have happened!)  She agreed to try to call a few contractors to see if they can help. 

One of the contractors miraculously showed up within the hour.  Louis was very sympathetic in a non English speaking kind of way. His brown eyes showing intelligence, compassion and concern.  He nodded as I mimed what happened.  He went around the back of the house and then quickly hurried away from the undesirable hole.  He then walked to the other side where the window well was.  A tiny space. I wondered why he was looking there?  He knocked out the covering and tried to peer in.  He looked at me and said that he thought he saw a raccoon.  I was wondering dead or alive when we heard a yelp.  My goofy Oscar was indeed alive and stuck!  Louis finally went around to the back of the house and reluctantly crawled under.  I sat on the side looking at the window well space not able to see him but now knowing he was there. 

I paused and looked up at the sky and intuitive knew that I needed to start digging in the direction of the noise.  I start to reach in the hole where the window well was and my hand got stuck against insulation.  I pulled as hard as I could and reams of material start to come out.  Finally I saw Oscar.  His head was lodged under a beam of wood.  He had crawled under the back of the house but could only be accessed from where I was sitting. I shout for Louis and he came over and surveyed the situation as he asked for a shovel.  I couldn’t find one so he started to dig Oscar out with his hands.  He dug and dug until Oscar was finally able to come out from his stuck locations.  Oscar ran out of the hole shaking himself off like nothing had happened.  He seemed alittle embarrassed and sheepish.  OMG he is fine.  I turned around and then experience the greatest joy and feeling of gratitude and then the deepest grief.  Oscar was fine but alcohol was now gone from my life forever.  The death card and the sun...Now it made sense.

Louis humbly accepted the money I insisted he take.  He came in as I offered him water and he hovered in the kitchen for a bit.  His nature unhurried and maybe expecting something else?   I am so grateful to him but not in that way. He finally leaves smiling and I wonder if I imagined it.

I am exhausted, I am sober. My life changed forever. I had been drinking almost daily since I was 17 years old.  Alcohol my friend, my entertainer and lover gone. The only times in my life that I have abstained has been over the Lenten periods.  Ironically lent started this day.