Musing nude #16 on patterns and creation 

Combining #yogawhiteout and #dawnoftheyogi because I can 😘✌️ Musingnude#15 (on patterns)
The patterns created by keys of a piano played out in music is life itself. 

Some melodies and patterns sad, happy, light, heavy, loud, soft, complex, simple, beautiful, ugly…..

This is the physical pattern of our life and creation. The creation story we all search for is everywhere,

In ever sentence,

In every song,

In every idea, 

In every form. 

They all begin bold and bright in Capital. 

And end in a point .(softly), !(boldly), ?(unanswered),,(continuously)….(and on to…)

It is organic and very alive. 

It changes continuously and is formed and made intricate with each thought and action. 

And the whole of which we are a piece of, so everything is always a part of it. 

Watch the patterns of the keys of a piano, the bam da dippidy boom bam of the drumsticks, and

The tight vibrations of strings,

Listen to the emotion, sorrow, happiness, love, anger, frustration of each song.

Feel it on the fine hairs of your skin quivering or soothing.

Smell it in the subtle sweet, musky, dank, nostalgic air.

Taste each morsel of apples, butter, lemon, peach, drink, and lover.

Feel each 

Crunch, slurp, swish, slide

Within these patterns explains life.

This is each person. 

Musingnude #15 (on motherhood)

When I watch them, I am utterly amazed at the miracle of life. Sometimes I wonder how I was able to co create and raise these kids and regardless of my flaws, fears, inadequacy, how they are turning out better than anything I could have planned and drawn out. 

I could barely keep a fish alive before and somehow something instinctual and some higher power has guided me to birth these two and they are, to me, the most amazing, sweet, and crazy human beings I have ever met. 

Even when they are screaming and crying, I love them. 

The other day Elijah got upset and he growls and kicks and yells and really every out of line action. When he calms down I go to talk to him. He says,”mom I have anger issues.” “Oh so you know? Ok how should we figure out how to not act on them…” And he’s sweet again and loving and tells me,”I love you.”

Today Clary was back and forth crazy and sweet. He broke a glass terranium because he couldn’t find his toy train. Got in trouble and ran into Elijah’s room, slammed the door and laid in bed saying,”I’m bad.” I said,”your a good boy, your a sweet boy.” And this two year old says uh uh. “I’m not sweet. I’m a bad boy.” Finally cheers up and we play and tickle and he just shouts,”I love you mom.” And things are good for a couple hours. Then he throws another fit because he wants to play with my palette of eyeshadow with his feet and I won’t let him. Which leads to another rampage. I give him the pallete to hold and he goes back to the bedroom and cuddles with this big makeup box and falls asleep cuddling it and wanting me to stroke his hair. 

And I suppress a little giggle because of the silliness of it, and at the same time am exhausted at the energy spent playing and soothing him. 

And the boys are alive and healthy and beautiful and craziness and all, I wouldn’t change a single thing. 

The miracle of life is amazing. ​

How She Loves 

I have this vivid memory of my mother coming into my room while I was asleep and holding my hands in hers, rubbing and massaging them. I pretended to stay asleep as she said out loud,”These are good hands. Such strong good hands.” I must have been about 10 years old. 

Then today it dawned on me that I might have been dreaming that memory this whole time. 

My mother has always been very good at taking care of me and being a mom. 

She will give me everything she physically can. 

She will work till her legs give and her eyes throb. 

She will keep every promise and make sure I am provided for. 

She will spend nights worrying about my future, giving me even her peace.

I could always trust and depend on her,

However she is not comfortable with affection nor expressing love in words. 

She loves, but it is just her nature not to say I love you or snuggle or kiss. 

I used to tease her by attacking her with hugs and kisses just to watch her stiffen as she yelled at me to stop and smacked me away laughing as I ran away laughing. 

That is not to say she doesn’t know how to love nor did she actually mind the hugs and kisses. 

Her love shows strongly though

through the way she looks at me with tears in her eyes when I am in pain, and she will cover it with a scold and smack me softly on my arm calling me names, like “wild girl. You’re so crazy.” laughing and crying all at the same time. 

She shows me by working harder if she knows I am struggling and tells me,”aya, what kind of life you make for yourself.” But hands me all the money she has saved for me with no more mention of it and makes me my favorite meals. 

She shows me by the way she simply adores my children and takes care of them no matter how tired she is because she loves me and wants to keep me from being tired. 

And yet I realized today, it is not like her to steal into my room while I am asleep to hold my hand and talk out loud. 

I do believe she thinks that and must have mentioned to me that I have talented hands before, just as she mentioned I have a nice large forehead that shows how big my heart is and beautiful cheeks that show my fortune.

She is my mother. 

And she is more than the gentle woman holding my hands in the night that I’ve been thinking of all these years.

Medicine Ball

When he laughs 

I die a hundred times 

And my soul climbs 

to the bells that chime 

In heaven 

Until I sublime

And am sent back to earth better each time,

Healed of all wounds

And made whole again. 

Musing Nude #14 on compassion 

I couldn’t sleep last night. I had one student tell me yesterday how horrible her balance was and I responded,” that’s ok, just take your time.” Which I feel is a very common response from a yoga teacher because we encourage students to accept their practice for where it is at and then Grow from there. However my student responds,”no it’s not ok, maybe.” And the actual reason that could be causing her difficulty balancing is a regrowth of a brain tumor. And I told her,”I will pray for you and hope for the best when your results come in.” We spoke more about how great a tool meditating and yoga is and all she can do is try not to worry until she knows the results, but I felt bad. I honestly don’t like some of the yoga language such as “let it go” and this idea that if we just put out positivity that is what we will receive. I do agree that there is away to find peace of mind through hardship, but it is usually difficult depending on the hardship. However, I decided after yesterday when a student tells me they had difficulty in something, rather than assume it’s because they are just learning and growing, I will ask, “what made it difficult” and go from there. 

I stayed up late and read the chapter “the ugly duckling.” For “The Women Who Run With Wolves” and that hit home too, because painful experiences are real and we cannot just let it go or we will become apathetic, insensitive, or cycling the same mistakes. I meditated before my practice today and really focused on Compassion. 

Compassion is acknowledging pain is real. 

Then we agree to let that pain in so that we can work towards finding a way to heal the pain. Hatred and ignorance are real. We cannot live under a rock and not expect the world to destruct. We must allow ourselves to feel this sadness or anger and all the unpleasant emotions that are a part of life. 

Broken Pyramid


Wake me to the scent of coffee,

Nina Simone on the record player

Soft white goose down comforters cold against my flesh 

With morning light peaking through the blinds,

Beads of dew settling on blades of grass reflecting a hundred little prisms on my bare feet,

And stillness. 

Yes that’s perfection, 

But most mornings are similar to a broken pyramid. 

It looks and feels beautiful, but a little more effort to hold,

And little more strength to carry me through. 

The Avocado Tree

Two years ago I married my love.  

And we each brought our own baby,

One girl, one boy. 

Four years ago,

We found a cozy home with a big empty backyard. 

We literally found it in the middle of the night riding bikes and walked through an enchanting green gate and sat and talked about our dreams sitting on the cool green grass moist from the autumn dew. 

Within a couple weeks, it was our home. 

I uprooted grass, tilled the soil, planted seeds and found out I was pregnant as the seeds were sown. 

Right before our wedding, this avocado tree began to sprout directly from our compost as we promised “I do”

It seems impossible to measure time, but this tree right in the heart of our backyard is as tall as our home and in another couple years it will bear fruit. 

We’ve set roots in this place exactly four years ago,

And I realized today, 3 kids, and 3 chickens later that this is 

The longest my gypsy feet has ever stayed put in a place.

And my wild heart has been tamed. 
Love you Jose  😍😘

Super Mom is a Myth


There’s no fucking thing as a super Mom.

When the kids are off to school and baby is sleeping, we debate, shall we clean or shall we sleep?

The devil sits on both shoulders with a warm heart in each hand and on some days we keep pushing and other days we sit idle. 

Sometimes we cry out of exhaustion, sometimes we laugh at the beautiful disaster. 

But at the end of the day we are tired. 

Upside down, holding the world upon my head and shoulders, I see there is way more to do than I realized upright with mop in hand. 

When we finish the work, we are not super, we are women.

Strong yet soft,

Fierce yet sweet,

Impenetrable might,

Yet vulnerable heart. 

We are woman. 

Do not call me super,

Call me woman!