Is April the Cruelest Month?

It's April 15th and all of my daffodils are filled with snow, bowing their golden heads down and waiting to rise again into the warmth and sweetness of sunlight, with the rest of us.

Ever since I began to plan my transition into Down Dog Yoga Center, I have had lots of lists of things needed; picking out frangipane and sage as my paint colors was the first thing, and I brought my biggest and heaviest massage table, of course, and even invested in a new bookshelf, and a nice chair for my clients to settle into and have a cup of tea, if they want, before receiving a massage.  However, the one thing that I have quietly and eagerly waited to do happened yesterday.  I've been open for two weeks and gave 13 sessions last week alone, but I knew that my vision would only be complete when I could bring a flower from my yard and place it in a little vase in the therapy room for my clients to enjoy.  And so it was that as I was leaving for 9:00 a.m. session yesterday, I noticed that the daffodils had arrived.

So, even though the snow arrived under a pink moon last night, there was one bright daffodil that I managed to save, and to bring to my new therapy room yesterday.  As I walked from my car with it in the grey light of morning it shone as if lit from within, and it is currently standing proud and strong in a little antique blown glass bud vase that I found while garage sailing with my Busia (Polish for grandmother) twenty years ago (and yes, I know "sailing" is a funny way to put it but it kind of felt like sailing, riding around with my Busia in her big old burgundy Buick, searching for treasures in the springtime).

T.S. Eliot said: April is the cruelest month.*  Besides the Springtime tidings of renewal that April brings, we may also be vividly reminded of past loved ones who have passed away, of beautiful moments that will never again shine on the altars of our present lives.  Lilacs will ever remind me of just two days of one Springtime many years ago, after I and a number of other students had overwintered in a barely insulated cottage while at college in Southampton, Long Island.  We lived on the edge of a nature preserve and could see deep blue waters on the horizon from the second story, and lilacs seemed to be growing under every window, and the ocean breeze (and honestly, my own hands) bore the lilacs into our rooms and hearts and turned everything softly purple like a new dawn.  At the time I was planning on going to India and my friends were gathered together in a house filled with memories for the last time ever, and I'm so glad to have that memory nestled in my heart, which has grown big with memories and love intermingled.   T.S. Eliot was not the only one to make this connection between Spring time and mourning - also Walt Whitman's poem comes to mind, "When lilacs last in the door yard bloom'd."**

Today, I remember very much the Easter lilies that my uncle, Joe, always bought for my Busia.  He was her only surviving son of four (sons).  Every year she would set out her Ukrainian painted Easter eggs and the lilies would weigh down the lace covered corner of her dining room table in her tiny house, in front of lace curtains.  The sun would dance through the opened windows and lightly moving curtains, causing beautiful patterns to dance on and around the powerful Easter lilies, who would only sigh their sweet aromatherapy into the living room and kitchen on either side of them.  It has been several years since Busia's passing, that great lady who built the strongest connections with everyone who loved her. The bitter sting of loss has abated over the past couple of years, while I remember her with respect and love. I think it is fitting that I brought my little bud vase - which she once encouraged me to purchase with my hard earned dusting money - to work.

One of my clients yesterday was feeling sad, because someone she loved very much had passed away a year ago that day.  Although my support was virtually wordless, I was listening, and I did my best to hold the space for her with love and deep understanding in my soul.  She loved the daffodil so much, and even found a way to laugh in the midst of her sadness.  She inspired me so very much that day.

We Michiganders are a resilient bunch, and we know that we can't have light without darkness, and we can't have love without loss.  But true loss, the loss of a loved one, is possibly the worst thing that can happen to anyone.  Awful cold weather and scraping our cars off mid-April doesn't make anything easier, and for moments April really is the cruelest month, bringing with it a deluge of snow and sadness.  But in the end, this little snowscape will do nothing to stop us from collectively smiling even brighter, and opening our souls to new memories even as we honor the old.
                                                                             
                                                                                   ***

I heard the most beautiful piece of music on the radio the other day, called Musica Celeste.  It is played on strings without pausing, with the effect of giving us just a taste of the Infinite.  The program brought tears to my eyes, it was so beautiful!  Here is a link to it, I heard just moments of it while driving, en route from watching the demolition of a condemned house and while going back to work.  If you have even one or two minutes only, you can taste it here:

http://performancetoday.publicradio.org/display/programs/2014/04/14/

In my search for that piece of music this morning, I ended up on the phone with the director of WMUK, and I explained (a little awkwardly) that I am a massage therapist looking for beautiful and meaningful classical music for my sessions, and I asked him for his personal ideas of classical music that might be calming and relaxing in the therapy room (I have so much modern massage music but sometimes people ask me for more classical, and it's hard to find calm classical music as classical music is often so passionate and loud!  Cannonballs and cymbals and tubas, oh, my!).  ...And so through this kindly and calm voiced gentleman I found Massanet, Arvo Part, and John Tavener (two John Taveners a few hundred years apart actually).  I got off of the phone and added it all to my collection, because life does continue to expand and I want to be open to that.  I didn't catch his name and I didn't give him mine, but I'm so grateful to him for sharing his thoughts. One never knows what another person might want to hear on the massage table.

See you soon - in the sunlight!

*Reference to The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot, found here:  http://www.bartleby.com/201/1.html
**Reference to a poem by Walt Whitman, found here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174748

April 6th, 2014

Relocation with Gratitude

Happy Spring!  

I spent a good part of yesterday hanging pictures with my husband at my new therapy room, at Down Dog Yoga Center!  I've relocated my massage practice - although I am still giving my Wednesdays to a local spa and salon to help them with the transition, I will soon be available six days - rather than just five - at Down Dog Yoga Center.  Please see my home page of my website for more information!  

After practicing in my home office - first as a student, and then as a certified practitioner, and as of March 2013 as a licensed practitioner - for a total of three years, and at a local salon for over a year, I have spent the past week moving my practice into a therapy room of my very own at the new Down Dog Yoga Center! 

Down Dog Yoga Center is ten walkable/cyclable blocks from my home in the Vine Neighborhood, which makes me feel more rooted than ever. I have completed this business transition only with the blessing of my sacred community, and so I must give thanks to my wonderful experiences at Sangha Yoga, teachers Karina Ann Mirsky, Jerry Givens, Anne Beattie, Marne (her Candlelight Yoga is amazing!), Kama Mitchell, Jessica Grosel, and so many others at Sangha, and also to Gina Green (my first certified hatha yoga teacher!), and many, many others whose work helped to guide me to the present moment, and to my childhood spiritual guides for helping me find my way into the last several years, which have been powerful and wonderful.

Teachers at Down Dog Yoga Center whose work I can already speak to are Kristin Fiore, Suzie Batdorff, and Kyle Thompson.  I look forward to continuing to take many more classes from our beautiful yoga community and to be able to share my favorite aspects of them.  It means a lot to me to be able to share some of my favorite aspects of my life right here.  Thank you!