​Recently I was driving with my 9 year old step son, Gabriel, and we were listening to my “Sandy’s Favourites” playlist on Spotify. This song came on: 

​“Ohhh, I love this song,” I said, as I turned up the volume. Gabriel is a musical kid – he can play the guitar and the drums. When he listens to music, he really listens. He’s recently began reading music, and often on our dog walks or drives we compose our own songs: The Mountains are Calling and I Have To Go Pee are two recent ones.
 
“Can you believe someone wrote this song, and is playing it on the piano?” I asked him.
 
I looked in the rear view mirror. He was quiet and had a look of total concentration on his face.
 
I wondered what his thoughts were, but didn’t press him for an answer.
 
We listened for a while longer, then he quietly asked, “Was he sad when he wrote it?" 
 
“I think so,” I said. “It sounds sad, doesn’t it?”
 
“Yeah,” he said.  
 
“If he was sad when he wrote it then it’s pretty cool that he can show his sadness with music.”
 
“Yeah,” He said again.
 
I wondered how the song landed within him, and how he experienced this particular piece, knowing that for me, it often moved me to tears.
 
He’s a sensitive, insightful and stoic boy. Now, I’m no expert in child development, but I see him struggle to express his emotions with words. Heck, I see adults (myself included) have difficulty expressing my emotions with words. Yet somehow a three-minute piece of music can say so much.
 
Maybe that’s because music is inherently complex with it’s notes, melodies, tempos and pauses. Perhaps that taps into the complexities of our emotions that are too complex to adequately relate with the structure and limitations of a few words. And maybe this is true of all modes of non-verbal expression  - art, dance, tears, movement, yoga - it somehow captures more; more broadly, more deeply, more wholly…more something.
 
These avenues of expression are multifaceted. Yoga for example, has a dual relationship with emotion. It can both reflect it and release it. 

There have been many times that my mood or emotion dictates my yoga practice: a supported child’s pose, or prone savanasa to help soothe me or turn my attention inward.  

Conversely a more vigorous practice reflects my inner energy, whether it was heightened from adequate rest or agitation. Both the intention and the movement of the practice aligned with my mood, and in that way was an expression of it. ​

There have also been times when my yoga practice released emotion. Slowing down and paying attention to myself, combined with movement, releases energy and emotion. Sometimes I feel it building, and have to intentionally let it release. Sometimes it comes out of now where and takes me by surprise. Twists seem to do it for me, or during savasana when emotion hits a rolling boil and spills over. That release is an expression of something so complex that I can’t even describe it with words.
 
What about you?

​What has been your experience with the expression of emotion that is beyond/outside/in addition to words?

If you’re curious about exploring this more in your own personal yoga practice, consider signing up for my 8 week online yoga program: a holistic and practical program designed to use yoga in a way that supports, reflects, and moves grief.  

And, if you want to explore some of the music I use, you can find it on Spotify.

Well THAT took a long time!

Last winter I signed up for an online course with Abbey Of The Arts. Within moments of registering and starting the course, I knew that the platform they used for their online experience (Ruzuku.com), would work for my vision of an online Yoga For Grief Support program. What I had spent years contemplating finally looked possible.

I bought a high-def camcorder at Costco, and a tripod from Amazon, googled tips on recording yoga videos, Garageband tutorials for audio, and Imovie for editing. I was ready.

I started filming in January. I took a couple of days off work and spend an extra long weekend at my parent's place, recording in their lovely sun room. Making these videos wouldn't be as much fun if it weren't for Ruby my not-so-helpful, helpful assistant.

I thought I'd be ready to launch the series in March...ha!

In February I took a week off work to edit the audio and video, and splice them together. I loved having a dedicated week of working on my labour-of-love interspersed with dog walks and coffee breaks.

Well into March, I was trying to figure out all the extra tid bits; linking the program to my website, integrating Paypal and a mailing list etc. Videographer turned IT Department of one.

April and May were spend editing all the written content and uploading videos...it takes quite a while to do both. Each video is around 2GB and that takes HOURS!

Long past my anticipated deadline of March, May and June were spent crossing my Ts and dotting my i's and adding little extra details like this blog post, figuring out a wavier, and insurance requirements.

Now, here we are at the end of June and I'm in the last stages of production - testing all the links and the purchase process.

Coincidentally, I'm ready to launch today, on Wednesday June 28th 2017. This wasn't consciously planned, but it worked out well because today is a very significant day.

It was Wednesday June 28 2006 that Cam's life support was turned off, and my life changed it's course forever. I'll never forget 9:25am...I looked at the clock moments after the respiratory therapist pressed "silence" on the life support machine and Cam Michael McTaggart died.

I wanted to launch this in honour of him and me. This program wouldn't be in existence without him.

To learn more about the online program, click here.

I am frequently asked about what yoga studios and classes are good. I find this a difficult question to answer because there are so many variables at play. Especially after the death of a loved one. 
 
There are as many styles of yoga as there are teachers. Not only is each class a different intensity level, but also each teacher adds their own unique flare, communicating their own personal interpretation of how yoga has been felt or expressed their bodies, to the class.
 
I encourage students to find a teacher that they like. One that they “buy into.” Who’s teaching resonates. I believe there has to be a sliver of common ground, where the life experience, and the experience of yoga as the teacher has interpreted it, meets the student’s. This helps to make a yoga practice feel possible – this is something I can do - and fosters a sense of trust and safety. From this place, a teacher will challenge his/her students, but the pre-requisite for all good learning, and in this case, good mourning, is safety.
 
                                                                                     ***
 
In my past life, I was a competitive mountain bike racer. Living in Edmonton, my off-season (winter) was months long. So, I took up yoga. I practiced  physically challenging styles of yoga – Ashtanga and vinyasa – because I wanted to improve my physical conditioning by strengthening and stretching. These classes “met me where I was at.” They met my physical needs and my mental expectations about what I wanted my yoga to be.    
 
After Cam died, I continued with this intense style of yoga. In the first few months it helped to balance me – I was anxious, restless and confused. It took the edge off. Still in shock, my old routine was comforting. It was something my body was good at and could do. It was something I had control of, as every other area of my life spun out of control.  
 
As the shock wore off and I realized anew that Cam died, grief punched me in the stomach and left me on my knees. As the reality of my situation set in, I became increasingly fatigued. I didn’t have the physical energy to get out of bed, never mind a 90-minute power yoga class. I was emotional and labile. I’d burst into tears mid pose, and spend all of savasana fighting back sobs.
 
I wasn’t buying into, or comforted by the teachings the various teachers provided. They felt cliché: I wanted to scream, “Everything doesn’t happen for a reason,” and “Fuck positive affirmations!” None of it felt applicable to my life, and in fact, it made me feel shameful for not measuring up to par.
 
I felt out of place. I didn’t feel safe. Those classes were no longer a good fit for me.
 
I found an exceedingly gentle yoga class taught by a woman, Beth, the basement of her house. For two hours every Wednesday, we would gather. In those two hours, we would do three poses, using cushions, blocks and bolsters for support and comfort. We spent oodles of time breathing, and learning meditation.
 
These classes were challenging in a different way. They met me where I was at - terrified, confused and raw. The slow gentle postures allowed me to feel my body, and my emotions, which was possible because I felt safe there – as safe as I could feel with raw grief coursing through my veins. In any case, I wasn’t the only once crying in Beth’s class.
 
                                                                                            ***
 
If you live in a major city, the breadth and choice of yoga classes can be over-whelming. If you’ve never done yoga before, I would suggest starting gentle, so you can learn the basics, and have an affirming experience. From there, find a teacher that you like. Try a few until you find a good fit.
 
Everyone’s grief experience is so individual, and everyone comes to yoga a various points in their life. If you remember to find a class to “meet you where you’re at,” you’ll find something that reflects your needs in the moment. Remember, it’s OK to experiment and change your mind…life isn’t constant: sometimes you’ll need the intensity; sometimes you’ll need the quiet. The choice is yours and the options are out there.
 
A good companion for grief is the book “Understanding Your Grief” by Alan Wolfelt. Although it's not a yoga book, much of Wolfelt's philosophy is very yogic, and I found it a helpful resource to blend what I was learning about grief in my life, into my yoga practice. For this book, and more recommendations, check out my bookstore.
 
Namaste,
Sandy

I resonate with the work of Ashley Davis Bush and find her to be so affirming and loving in sharing her wisdom. When I saw the quote written above on her Facebook page and it made me think of all the heart opening practices there are in yoga. 

Slowly and gently yoga invites you to notice your heart. To breathe into it, and to create space in it. Enough space to hold all the hurt and all the love simultaneously - perhaps this is what being broken open means. Connecting with the heart's brokenness and openness creates compassion and understanding, and from there, choice. Choice to treat yourself compassionately, choice to make decisions that are life giving and self supportive. There can be wisdom and guidance in a heart broken open.

Below is a short heart opening sequence.  

As you move through this practice be open to how your heart is communicating with your mind and body. Notice what thoughts present themselves to your mind. Notice your emotional reactions to them. Notice the subtle (or not so subtle!) sensations in the body. This practice isn't about solving or changing anything. It's simply about connecting and opening to the wisdom and awareness that can reside in a heart broken open. Trust yourself.

Start in savasana. This is my favourite way to start class. Use this time as a time to transition from living your day outside yourself (as is often the case with jobs, families etc) to a "yoga space." A time of awareness and connection with yourself. Allow your body to settle, and bring your awareness to what you are experiencing on the inside. Take this time to allow your mind to settle on the breath, noticing its rhythmic flow, constancy, and availability. There is no rush. Take time to slow down. Take time to practice being open to and with your heart. 


Bend your knees and roll onto one side. Resting there for a moment. Pressing up to sitting and setting up for a deeper heart opening pose. For this pose you will need two blankets, folded so it resembles a long skinny rectangle. Set yourself up so that one folded blanket is placed towards the head of your mat, around where your shoulder blades will be. Have the other folded blanket to place under the knees.
 

You will lay back on the blanket so it touches the shoulder blades. The shoulders must be above the blanket, so the shoulders can release towards the floor. Notice in the photo how my arms can easily fit above the blanket and the blanket is placed below the arm pits. **If the shoulders are resting on the blanket, it will not allow your heart to open. Place support under the head if your chin is lifting up, or if there is tension in the neck or throat.
Allow your upper back and knees to gently cascade over the blankets...hence the name, waterfall pose; Imagine water as it flows over rocks in a stream, smoothly and softly.  
Breathe into your heart. Inhale and swirl the breath around your heart with the intention of having the breath nurture and explore the heart. Exhale and relax, sink, soften. Inhale and swirl, nurture, open, explore. Exhale soften. 

To move out of this pose, roll over to one side and press up to sitting.

Next, move yourself to a wall. Have your folded blanket ready to use, or a bolster. The easiest way to get into legs up the wall pose is to sit beside the wall right hip and thigh is parallel to the wall. Turn to lay down on your back and swing your legs up the wall. Spend a few moments here, allowing your body to adjust to this position. There is no hurry. Slow down. 

Bend your knees and place your feet on the wall. Lift your hips up off the floor and slide your blanket or bolster underneath your hips. You want to feel stable here so adjust the props as needed. Roll your shoulders together behind your back and press them into the floor so your breast bone lifts towards your chin and your chest and heart is open.  

Breathe into the openness of your heart - the center of your chest. As you inhale expand the breath to both shoulders. Exhale and soften. With each in-breath expand the breath further: from the center of your heart to both shoulders and eventually down the arms and into the hands.

When you are ready to come down: place the feet on the wall and lift the hips. Remove the bolster or blanket and roll down one vertebrae at at time. This can be a really nice release for the back so move slowly and care-fully.
Once your hips are back on the floor, rest.

Staying in legs up the wall is a nice way to end the practice. Or, stretch out, lay flat (as in the start) and rest. For the first 10-20 breaths of savasana focus on breathing light into the heart. You can imagine a warm glow or a candle flame. As you inhale, imagine that light growing brighter. As you exhale maintain a sense of a light inner body. Inhale and grow the light brighter. Exhale and maintain. 

"The heart broken open creates the possibility for light to filter in." - Ashley Davis Bush.

Namaste,
Sandy 

I recently started reading a book called Full Body Presence by Suzanne Scurlock-Durana. The first chapter had me hooked. 

In those first few pages she wrote of something that I have known on some level, but seeing it in print made it so much more tangible. 

She describes many instances when we don't trust our internal awareness - for example, feeling intense grief over a dear friend moving away but being told by people around you that your grief was not important, and shameful..."Why are you worried about it? You have many other friends, right?" Or having a creepy reaction to someone in your life and being told to stop being so silly and jumping to conclusions.  

"In all these examples, your body was telling you something important, but those around you tried to convince you that what you were sensing wasn't real or valid" (page 9). 

It was this lack of trust of our inner and deepest self that struck a chord within me.

She further describes how a lack of trust of our inner worlds leads us to looking for external sources to shape, define, solve, remedy our lives. 

Take grief for example.  

Our grief slows us down physically and mentally. We feel tired, lethargic, numb, confused, disorientated, lost and sometimes even crazy. Our emotions are all over the map. We feel so different, our lives feel foreign. We wish we could go back in time and never let go of the past. 

The worst part is this: In the throngs of grief you don't know what to do. You've never lived like this before. If you don't know, and don't trust what you feel inside, you look outside yourself for the answers. 

You look to a society that pushes speed, rewards efficient solutions,  reveres stoicism, and demands productivity. We, as a society, don't do well with stillness, solitude, loneliness, pain, and hurt. 

So here we are. 

"Keep really busy," they advise.
"Don't cry. She wouldn't want you to be sad," they scold. 
"You need to get back to how you were before he died," they push.
"Don't live in the past," they warn.
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," they say.
"Quit playing the victim."

Need I go on? 

We are taught to not trust our grief. 

Intuiting the message, reading between the lines, understanding the subtext, we hear this: 
"Whatever grief-striken energy you feel inside you is wrong. You feel the wrong things. You think the wrong things. You are doing it wrong." 

How horrible. 

What I teach in Yoga for Grief Support is this:

"Whatever grief-stricken energy you feel inside you is something to pay attention to. There is wisdom there. Let's learn, together, how to touch those wounds with compassion." 

If you feel it, it's real.
If you feel it, it's important.
If you feel it, you can heal it. 

Be curious about it. What is it saying? What is it's message? What is it's deepest need? 

What if you believed that your internal world is telling you something very important about how you need to heal and nurture your broken heart?

Imagine, just for a second that the grief within you can be trusted - even in it's painful. 

I mean, you are hurt, afterall. Let's spend some time there. 

Say to it, "I will take care of you."

This is what moving towards your pain is. You must move (gently and with no rewards for speed) towards (and through) your pain to heal.

Suzanne Scurlock-Durana writes that our bodies are "incredible navigational systems that inform us constantly, from our gut instincts to our heart's deepest yearnings" (page 5). 

Yeessss! 

Let's shift our relationship to our instincts and our senses from one of mistrust and doubt to reliance, and connection. 

Together.

I'd love to hear your feedback on this book if/as you read it. 

Please feel free to post comments under this blog.

Namaste,
Sandy

 'And now we welcome the New Year, full of things that have never been'    - Rainer Maria Rilke 

Well, there goes 2013. 

Another calendar page turned, another year is upon us.

The Rilke quote above is one of my favorite New Year's quotes. I love the truth and reminder that the coming year is "full of things that have never been."
 
This is one of the many harsh realities of grief - life has never been like it is now. Grief picks you up and plunks you down in a world that is changed, volatile, unfamiliar and painful;  you have never lived your life without the person(s) that you have irrevocably lost. The grief you are experiencing now is a new and unknown experience for you. 

And yet this, somehow, creates the space to heal grief. This mysterious unknown is the ground in which you can plant a healing intention. 

The intention to heal grief is a positive commitment you make to yourself. A deliberate and personal responsibility to take action in your life that is self sustaining and supportive. A willingness to move gently towards your pain. 

Perhaps this feels like an oxymoron - a positive intention that requires you to embrace pain? How can this be? 

It is one of the many paradoxes of grief. Healing grief requires you to touch that which is painful. By moving towards your pain and your loss, you open yourself to how your loss has changed you. This changed, painful world is wildly unknown, and healing grief invites you to explore this mystery. 

Grief invites you to live with questions that may not have answers, to experience emotions that seemingly arise out of nowhere, to live in a holding pattern - the life you knew before no longer exists, and the future has not yet come.  This liminal space (this threshold, the betwixt and between), is fertile ground for healing. Setting a healing intention recognizes that there has to be a willingness to stay open to this state of not knowing.  To embrace the darkness of grief and be touched by your loss and pain is how you begin to integrate you loss into your life. It is only by living the mystery that you will learn about the mystery. 

An example of a healing intention may be: 
"In this moment, I will stay open to my pain for it is both a testament to my love, and my teacher. I don't know what the next moment will bring, but I will embrace myself with compassion learn how to live with my new reality." 
or
"I am willing to go into the unknown of my grief, I trust myself and my process."

To close, here is another quote by Rilke that speaks to the necessity to live through the mystery to find your way....

'Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.' 
― Rainer Maria Rilke



Namaste,
Sandy

Taking wisdom from the Cherokee culture today...this is a wonderful story about the importance of making space for ALL of your experiences; whether you perceive them as positive or negative. This rendition of the story I got from ServiceSpace's weekly email called InnerNet Weekly (February 5th 2013) and it's called "Beyond the Conflict of Inner Forces."

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life:

“A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.”It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf will win?”

You might heard the story ends like this: The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

In the Cherokee world, however, the story ends this way:

The old Cherokee simply replied, “If you feed them right, they both win.” and the story goes on: 

“You see, if I only choose to feed the white wolf, the black one will be hiding around every corner waiting for me to become distracted or weak and jump to get the attention he craves. He will always be angry and always fighting the white wolf. But if I acknowledge him, he is happy and the white wolf is happy and we all win. For the black wolf has many qualities – tenacity, courage, fearlessness, strong-willed and great strategic thinking – that I have need of at times and that the white wolf lacks. But the white wolf has compassion, caring, strength and the ability to recognize what is in the best interest of all.

"You see, son, the white wolf needs the black wolf at his side. To feed only one would starve the other and they will become uncontrollable. To feed and care for both means they will serve you well and do nothing that is not a part of something greater, something good, something of life. Feed them both and there will be no more internal struggle for your attention. And when there is no battle inside, you can listen to the voices of deeper knowing that will guide you in choosing what is right in every circumstance. Peace, my son, is the Cherokee mission in life. A man or a woman who has peace inside has everything. A man or a woman who is pulled apart by the war inside him or her has nothing.

"How you choose to interact with the opposing forces within you will determine your life. Starve one or the other or guide them both.”

Here is a moving rendition of Amazing Grace. It's the Cherokee version, done by Walela. Best experienced with the volume turned up, and headphones on.

From my heart to yours,
Sandy