I've been taking a creative writing class that has fully and utterly changed my world. I could (and probably will) write about it some more later, but for now:
I did it. Tonight I wrote the poem that made me feel like a poet. I wrote the poem that made me look up schedules for open mic nights knowing that I would one day (soon) get on a stage and read that poem with every fiber of my heart and the audience would snap along and say, "Girl, you got soul." And tonight, I would believe them. But tomorrow, I will take my prized words and I will put them in my binder, to be revealed to my class only on the day that they were meant to be revealed, and that will be it. Because a writer cannot have too much ego, or they will never write another great poem again.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
yoga inspires me
I know it is the new hip trend and all, and may be a little cheesy to say right out like that, but yoga truly does inspire me. It makes me appreciate the simple things more, make healthier choices, and be just happier in general, more balanced. I'm pretty sure I had one of the most emotionally exhausting days - one of those ones where shit keeps getting thrown at you and all you can do is wipe it off and smile. Anyways, I was in the mood to not do anything involving human contact after that, but I knew I really wanted to go to this yoga class tonight since I'm leaving town on Saturday and won't have my beloved yoga studio to go to anytime I choose. So, I went.
It was harder than I expected, but always as informative, inspiring, and empowering as usual. After class, I walk out of there feeling hopeful, purposeful, and intuitive to people, things, and the environment around me. I know it's not just allocated to my studio, but it is the practice and the spiritual discipline that defines yoga that allows me this feeling. For those of you yogis out there, you will know that yoga always ends in savasana, or corpse pose. It is a time to lay and reflect on the parts of your body that have been engaged and activated during your practice. A scan of your chakras, to understand and absorb what you have done in that time that you chose to focus on your body, as well as what you have done when you have not focused on your body during your day. It is also a time to just, release.
Tonight during our savasana after my short-form ashtanga class, just as I was sliding into corpse-esque release, a song came on the playlist for the night that sounded like a few buddhist monks chanting Psalm 23, and later the Lord's Prayer. For any of you that have known me for the past few years, you will know that my connection to the God that Christian's claim as "theirs" has not been so pleasant. My violet-crown chakra (if you will) is being under-used. You see, last May I was fired from SpringHill Camps, a non-profit Christian camp organization, on the basis of my being openly gay. For some reason, just saying that in itself doesn't lend itself to the pain I felt. SpringHill Camps was my place to develop my spiritual awareness. It was this place that jump-started one of my favorite qualities about myself - my ability to connect with others on a level deeper than the skin, and the ability to connect with a being greater than myself in a way that makes me feel better connected to my environment and my own self. It was the reason I decided to go to the college that I now attend (Hope College), because I was hoping to find a similar environment there: one that would empower me spiritually as well as intellectually. It would be an understatement to say that I was disappointed in what I found at Hope, but I remained hopeful (no pun intended) that I just hadn't found "it" there yet, and I needed to give it another chance.
By my sophomore year at Hope, I had come out as gay to my close friends and to my family and had been dating the same woman I am currently dating for a few months. I always had a little hesitation to explore the reconciliation between faith and sexuality, but I did find a reconciliation that also supported spiritual beliefs that I have held since I can remember. It was this reconciliation that made me feel comfortable in my own skin, even if I wasn't comfortable at Hope. At Hope, the disappointment came from the lack of a community that truly sought out spiritual truth, rather than simply "Christian" truth. I had a very hard time finding people who were willing to discuss anything but Jesus and what the more right-leaning Church preaches as "good, holy, and righteous." I wanted spiritual diversity, mutual understanding and inclusivity, the passion for social justice, and the willingness to learn from those who are different, even those who are oppressed. And I found, none of that. Actually, one could argue that Hope, as well as much of West Michigan, is the furthest from that.*
All that to say, when SpringHill Camps administrators forced me into a room to discuss how we were to handle "difficult topics" with our teenage campers, proceeded to tell us "if you can't agree that one can 'pray' away or change their homosexuality, please don't say anything", then force me to come out, tell my coming out story to them, explain my acceptance of my sexuality, tell them that yes, I was dating someone openly, and proceed to "redistribute me to another camp site where I won't be a potential threat to campers" (but don't put any other co-workers in awkward situations, please!); it pretty much destroyed most of what I had connected to God, at least the one that Christians claim as "theirs" (even though, I'm pretty sure (s)he doesn't "belong" to anyone one type of people), and it especially tarnished my view of Christians. I spent the next year pretty frustrated at my place in life, still at Hope, a place I felt I didn't fit into anymore (and never really did). Also a place that in the past couple years quite openly declared that they didn't feel comfortable with me being there, at least openly and with the ability to speak. (For info on this, Google search "Hope College, Homosexuality Statement/Policy" and click any of the links that come up.)
Anyways, back to yoga and the chanting monks. Because of my quickness to frustration/irritation at most things associated with Christianity (I do admit, not my best quality) I was immediately distracted by the ever-famous Psalm 23 being pronounced during my savasana. My thoughts were along the line of, "Okay, this guy has studied Indian Philosophy for years, has been to India studying in an ashram, yoga itself is a Hindu practice of inclusive spirituality and wellness, and he's playing PSALM 23 and the Lord's Prayer?! What the hell, why aren't they chanting from the Bhagavad Gita or something less...Christian?" I was kind of tense for a few minutes about this, and then I softened up when I recognized that the monks were changing the more Western-recognized pronoun "He" in the verses to "She." (Actually, I loved that).
When it hit me that I could actually appreciate the psalm, and the monks, and the she; the only way I can describe how I felt is that I felt as if I had realized that I had lost a profound piece of myself and was wondering how I had let it go. I somehow let my irritation and frustration from Hope and SpringHill and seemingly constant misunderstanding between "LGBTQ" and "Christianity" take over more of my spiritual self than the beliefs that I love and wish to integrate into my daily understanding. Still in a sort of, stunned, state, the teacher asked us to stretch and "awaken to ourselves" from the savasana and come to a comfortable seated position in order to dedicate our practice. He asked us, as in the beginning of class, to sit and simply feel the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual activity of our bodies. To appreciate the time and effort we had just put into them, and dedicate what we will choose to get out of our practice afterwards. Dedicate the practice to something meaningful, purposeful that we hope to embody as a part of our daily practice. I dedicated my practice today, to this:
"I dedicate this practice to the more positive pursuit and understanding of my spirit and that of (s)he who is greater than I. The recognition of the way humanity distorts this vision, but the conscious effort to not let the world's distortion become my own."
*postscript: Well, to be honest, I did find one thing (a class, Intro to World Religions) and an amazing professor who I will always cherish (shout out, Boyd H. Wilson) who was the one who truly led me (I, to this day, call him Guru) in my reconciliation of all these things I was seeking. I continue to go to his office when I need some release from Hope and it's lack of those things I so crave in a community, or to just bounce ideas off of him. He always affirms my intuition about the campus community and their lack of spiritual diversity and acceptance of it, but he also always reminds me that at least they take faith as a serious matter that they want to integrate into their lives.
It was harder than I expected, but always as informative, inspiring, and empowering as usual. After class, I walk out of there feeling hopeful, purposeful, and intuitive to people, things, and the environment around me. I know it's not just allocated to my studio, but it is the practice and the spiritual discipline that defines yoga that allows me this feeling. For those of you yogis out there, you will know that yoga always ends in savasana, or corpse pose. It is a time to lay and reflect on the parts of your body that have been engaged and activated during your practice. A scan of your chakras, to understand and absorb what you have done in that time that you chose to focus on your body, as well as what you have done when you have not focused on your body during your day. It is also a time to just, release.
Tonight during our savasana after my short-form ashtanga class, just as I was sliding into corpse-esque release, a song came on the playlist for the night that sounded like a few buddhist monks chanting Psalm 23, and later the Lord's Prayer. For any of you that have known me for the past few years, you will know that my connection to the God that Christian's claim as "theirs" has not been so pleasant. My violet-crown chakra (if you will) is being under-used. You see, last May I was fired from SpringHill Camps, a non-profit Christian camp organization, on the basis of my being openly gay. For some reason, just saying that in itself doesn't lend itself to the pain I felt. SpringHill Camps was my place to develop my spiritual awareness. It was this place that jump-started one of my favorite qualities about myself - my ability to connect with others on a level deeper than the skin, and the ability to connect with a being greater than myself in a way that makes me feel better connected to my environment and my own self. It was the reason I decided to go to the college that I now attend (Hope College), because I was hoping to find a similar environment there: one that would empower me spiritually as well as intellectually. It would be an understatement to say that I was disappointed in what I found at Hope, but I remained hopeful (no pun intended) that I just hadn't found "it" there yet, and I needed to give it another chance.
By my sophomore year at Hope, I had come out as gay to my close friends and to my family and had been dating the same woman I am currently dating for a few months. I always had a little hesitation to explore the reconciliation between faith and sexuality, but I did find a reconciliation that also supported spiritual beliefs that I have held since I can remember. It was this reconciliation that made me feel comfortable in my own skin, even if I wasn't comfortable at Hope. At Hope, the disappointment came from the lack of a community that truly sought out spiritual truth, rather than simply "Christian" truth. I had a very hard time finding people who were willing to discuss anything but Jesus and what the more right-leaning Church preaches as "good, holy, and righteous." I wanted spiritual diversity, mutual understanding and inclusivity, the passion for social justice, and the willingness to learn from those who are different, even those who are oppressed. And I found, none of that. Actually, one could argue that Hope, as well as much of West Michigan, is the furthest from that.*
All that to say, when SpringHill Camps administrators forced me into a room to discuss how we were to handle "difficult topics" with our teenage campers, proceeded to tell us "if you can't agree that one can 'pray' away or change their homosexuality, please don't say anything", then force me to come out, tell my coming out story to them, explain my acceptance of my sexuality, tell them that yes, I was dating someone openly, and proceed to "redistribute me to another camp site where I won't be a potential threat to campers" (but don't put any other co-workers in awkward situations, please!); it pretty much destroyed most of what I had connected to God, at least the one that Christians claim as "theirs" (even though, I'm pretty sure (s)he doesn't "belong" to anyone one type of people), and it especially tarnished my view of Christians. I spent the next year pretty frustrated at my place in life, still at Hope, a place I felt I didn't fit into anymore (and never really did). Also a place that in the past couple years quite openly declared that they didn't feel comfortable with me being there, at least openly and with the ability to speak. (For info on this, Google search "Hope College, Homosexuality Statement/Policy" and click any of the links that come up.)
Anyways, back to yoga and the chanting monks. Because of my quickness to frustration/irritation at most things associated with Christianity (I do admit, not my best quality) I was immediately distracted by the ever-famous Psalm 23 being pronounced during my savasana. My thoughts were along the line of, "Okay, this guy has studied Indian Philosophy for years, has been to India studying in an ashram, yoga itself is a Hindu practice of inclusive spirituality and wellness, and he's playing PSALM 23 and the Lord's Prayer?! What the hell, why aren't they chanting from the Bhagavad Gita or something less...Christian?" I was kind of tense for a few minutes about this, and then I softened up when I recognized that the monks were changing the more Western-recognized pronoun "He" in the verses to "She." (Actually, I loved that).
When it hit me that I could actually appreciate the psalm, and the monks, and the she; the only way I can describe how I felt is that I felt as if I had realized that I had lost a profound piece of myself and was wondering how I had let it go. I somehow let my irritation and frustration from Hope and SpringHill and seemingly constant misunderstanding between "LGBTQ" and "Christianity" take over more of my spiritual self than the beliefs that I love and wish to integrate into my daily understanding. Still in a sort of, stunned, state, the teacher asked us to stretch and "awaken to ourselves" from the savasana and come to a comfortable seated position in order to dedicate our practice. He asked us, as in the beginning of class, to sit and simply feel the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual activity of our bodies. To appreciate the time and effort we had just put into them, and dedicate what we will choose to get out of our practice afterwards. Dedicate the practice to something meaningful, purposeful that we hope to embody as a part of our daily practice. I dedicated my practice today, to this:
"I dedicate this practice to the more positive pursuit and understanding of my spirit and that of (s)he who is greater than I. The recognition of the way humanity distorts this vision, but the conscious effort to not let the world's distortion become my own."
Namaste, readers.
*postscript: Well, to be honest, I did find one thing (a class, Intro to World Religions) and an amazing professor who I will always cherish (shout out, Boyd H. Wilson) who was the one who truly led me (I, to this day, call him Guru) in my reconciliation of all these things I was seeking. I continue to go to his office when I need some release from Hope and it's lack of those things I so crave in a community, or to just bounce ideas off of him. He always affirms my intuition about the campus community and their lack of spiritual diversity and acceptance of it, but he also always reminds me that at least they take faith as a serious matter that they want to integrate into their lives.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
I hope you know that I'm the lucky one. I hope you know that on those days that I'm feeling "extra feisty," or when I'm not thinking about what I'm saying, and you bring me back down to Earth, I may not like it at the moment, but I say to myself: "remember this. remember to thank her someday, because even if I didn't want it, I needed it." I hope you know that I know, deep in the depths of my heart, I have not missed anything that wasn't worth missing. I hope you know that in you, you have given me something that most people will never know, and never understand. And it is for that reason that I hold you so tightly, that is why I treasure you so much, that is why I do not feel the need to see what I am missing, because what I want is right next to me, holding my hand. I hope you know that even on our "bad days," I go to bed remembering all the things I love about you the most, and I know we're going to be o-k. We are different from most, and I like it that way.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
salty, sweaty, beautiful
I think I have a gift for seeing the beauty in most things. This is something I love about myself. Right now, in life, I'm trying to just get to know me and then let the other friends in my life get to know her too. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm totally open to change; but this time it will be for me, not anyone else. So, with that said, let me paint you a picture of beauty that I took part in tonight.
(For background information, I'm still home for Christmas break and decided to go to my first yoga class in a longgggg time. I'm in love with my yoga studio at home, and I constantly (inwardly) complain about how I will never find another Body Language anywhere else I choose to live.)
The first thing I do when I step into the warm waiting area is slowly take off my coat and boots. My bare feet touch the floor, and it's not even slightly cold, but it's still invigorating. There are others waiting for my class - others that will join me in breathing, living, and working in solidarity together - all of them silently whispering to each other, so as not to disturb the massage and yoga class in session. The door opens finally and people begin to greet one another. I stay silent and move into the much more warm yoga room. You can't even tell the yoga studio is located on the side of a very busy intersection because it is completely silent in the room except for the relaxing sanskrit mantra playing from the CD player. I lay out my mat, straighten it out, and lay. First on my back, eyes closed, hands folded on my chest and breath. Then I hug my legs into my belly and rock back and forth, massaging my spine. The instructor turns on the space heaters, making the room even more hot and I can already feel my muscles becoming more and more ready to stretch and work.
Finally, everyone is ready and seated, laying, stretching on their mats. My eyes stay shut, I'm not even the slightest bit self-conscious, and I notice it. (That's a first.) The instructor begins to speak, tells us to meditate. That many people choose to separate yoga from meditation, and that's simply impossible. Yoga is meditation, and so that is how we will begin. She tells a story about our minds and how completely cluttered they always are and that this practice should help us to stop thinking about our minds, and focus on our bodies, come into our bodies. I find this liberating and erotic, as escaping my mind has always been one of the hardest things for me to do - inhibiting me way too many times in my almost 21 years. She ends by saying, "sometimes, it's good to lose your mind." I giggle in my head, but oops, not in my head, out loud. That's okay, I'm so relaxed and happy I don't even care. Finally we begin the vinyasa flow. A breath-timed transition from pose to pose as we stretch, lift, and strengthen all parts of our bodies. I start to lose count of how many times I've completed the flow and scold myself for keeping count. I take a deep exhale and forget. The first drop of sweat falls into my tear duct, stinging my eyes, and I smile. The instructor has been talking the entire time, but she's getting more and more passionate and so I listen closer. She starts talking about how we are just bathing ourselves in self-love, and my heart flutters. I close my eyes and focus on my face, "I love you, face." Then my neck, "I love you, neck." Then my chest, "I love you, chest." Then my arms, "I love you, arms." My hands, my fingers, "I love you." My belly, my legs, my feet, my toes, "I love you too." I feel a little silly saying these things to myself, but as I feel out each part of my body, I notice the sweat covering them and I really do feel as if I am bathing in my own love for myself. It feels damn good. By now I'm sweating so much, and feeling so much that I can't tell which salty drop of wet is sweat, tears, or snot. I don't think I'm crying, but by now, who knows.
I open my eyes for the first time in what I would guess to be 20 minutes, the first thing I see is a 40-something year old woman, fit as ever, stretching her arms up to the sky. I can almost feel her self-love, and I suddenly feel connected to everyone in the room. I listen to everyone else's breath and realize we are breathing at the same rhythm. All of humanity is connected, and tonight I know that's true. We continue this for a long time, and by the time we switch to balancing exercises my legs feel like rubber and I'm light-headed. I head for the water bottle many times during this period. I start to scold myself for not being able to do some of the poses and then I remember the key rule of yoga, do it at your pace, and do what feels best and right for your own body. I praise myself for drinking water. I don't even feel full of myself for it.
We continue with inversions,
more balancing,
more vinyasa,
more
and more
and more
and sweat is absolutely covering me. I touch my foot to the floor while in pigeon pose and it slides across the wood floor of it's own accord. I feel as if we have just started our rest and meditation period, and it's already time for it to end. I know I look a complete wreck, and I've never felt so beautiful. As sweat falls from my face to my mat, I tell myself, "this is for you. for all you've done, and all you haven't done. I love you." It doesn't feel like 10 minutes has passed but it has and it's time to awaken from the meditation state. Before sitting up to end the practice, we roll over onto our side like babies and then sit back up in prayer position. The instructor talks and I feel like she's speaking straight to me. "Let go of your worries, and bask in yourself. The light in me bows in gratitude to the lights in all of you. Namaste." Namaste.
(For background information, I'm still home for Christmas break and decided to go to my first yoga class in a longgggg time. I'm in love with my yoga studio at home, and I constantly (inwardly) complain about how I will never find another Body Language anywhere else I choose to live.)
The first thing I do when I step into the warm waiting area is slowly take off my coat and boots. My bare feet touch the floor, and it's not even slightly cold, but it's still invigorating. There are others waiting for my class - others that will join me in breathing, living, and working in solidarity together - all of them silently whispering to each other, so as not to disturb the massage and yoga class in session. The door opens finally and people begin to greet one another. I stay silent and move into the much more warm yoga room. You can't even tell the yoga studio is located on the side of a very busy intersection because it is completely silent in the room except for the relaxing sanskrit mantra playing from the CD player. I lay out my mat, straighten it out, and lay. First on my back, eyes closed, hands folded on my chest and breath. Then I hug my legs into my belly and rock back and forth, massaging my spine. The instructor turns on the space heaters, making the room even more hot and I can already feel my muscles becoming more and more ready to stretch and work.
Finally, everyone is ready and seated, laying, stretching on their mats. My eyes stay shut, I'm not even the slightest bit self-conscious, and I notice it. (That's a first.) The instructor begins to speak, tells us to meditate. That many people choose to separate yoga from meditation, and that's simply impossible. Yoga is meditation, and so that is how we will begin. She tells a story about our minds and how completely cluttered they always are and that this practice should help us to stop thinking about our minds, and focus on our bodies, come into our bodies. I find this liberating and erotic, as escaping my mind has always been one of the hardest things for me to do - inhibiting me way too many times in my almost 21 years. She ends by saying, "sometimes, it's good to lose your mind." I giggle in my head, but oops, not in my head, out loud. That's okay, I'm so relaxed and happy I don't even care. Finally we begin the vinyasa flow. A breath-timed transition from pose to pose as we stretch, lift, and strengthen all parts of our bodies. I start to lose count of how many times I've completed the flow and scold myself for keeping count. I take a deep exhale and forget. The first drop of sweat falls into my tear duct, stinging my eyes, and I smile. The instructor has been talking the entire time, but she's getting more and more passionate and so I listen closer. She starts talking about how we are just bathing ourselves in self-love, and my heart flutters. I close my eyes and focus on my face, "I love you, face." Then my neck, "I love you, neck." Then my chest, "I love you, chest." Then my arms, "I love you, arms." My hands, my fingers, "I love you." My belly, my legs, my feet, my toes, "I love you too." I feel a little silly saying these things to myself, but as I feel out each part of my body, I notice the sweat covering them and I really do feel as if I am bathing in my own love for myself. It feels damn good. By now I'm sweating so much, and feeling so much that I can't tell which salty drop of wet is sweat, tears, or snot. I don't think I'm crying, but by now, who knows.
I open my eyes for the first time in what I would guess to be 20 minutes, the first thing I see is a 40-something year old woman, fit as ever, stretching her arms up to the sky. I can almost feel her self-love, and I suddenly feel connected to everyone in the room. I listen to everyone else's breath and realize we are breathing at the same rhythm. All of humanity is connected, and tonight I know that's true. We continue this for a long time, and by the time we switch to balancing exercises my legs feel like rubber and I'm light-headed. I head for the water bottle many times during this period. I start to scold myself for not being able to do some of the poses and then I remember the key rule of yoga, do it at your pace, and do what feels best and right for your own body. I praise myself for drinking water. I don't even feel full of myself for it.
We continue with inversions,
more balancing,
more vinyasa,
more
and more
and more
and sweat is absolutely covering me. I touch my foot to the floor while in pigeon pose and it slides across the wood floor of it's own accord. I feel as if we have just started our rest and meditation period, and it's already time for it to end. I know I look a complete wreck, and I've never felt so beautiful. As sweat falls from my face to my mat, I tell myself, "this is for you. for all you've done, and all you haven't done. I love you." It doesn't feel like 10 minutes has passed but it has and it's time to awaken from the meditation state. Before sitting up to end the practice, we roll over onto our side like babies and then sit back up in prayer position. The instructor talks and I feel like she's speaking straight to me. "Let go of your worries, and bask in yourself. The light in me bows in gratitude to the lights in all of you. Namaste." Namaste.
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