called back to basics

Above is a photo of my home office showing the place where I (used to) sit each morning, catching up on emails, sipping coffee, watching the sunrise over lower Manhattan. . . If I had been sitting there yesterday morning around 9:00 am, I am not certain I would be writing this now.

My experiences at the Centered Riding International Educational Symposium in Brattleboro, Vermont this past weekend confirmed my feeling that it is time to expand the structure of this cyber “space” I have so enjoyed inhabiting. Although the events of yesterday put a slight kink in my plans, stay tuned for two additional spaces with links here (to follow). One will present information and capture reflections specific to the Alexander Technique and another separate space will do the same for Aikido.

In the meantime, below are links to pertinent entries on this blog regarding the Alexander Technique (you can also view the blog by category – choose one from the sidebar, or you can search using the box in the upper left-hand corner). Links to the Alexander Technique bibliography provided at the Symposium, as well as the outline and summary of my presentation will also be available here shortly. See Website Links in the sidebar for some Alexander Technique-related websites of interest.

This morning, I awoke before dawn and drank my coffee sitting on the floor of my study, reflecting on the scene before me. The debris had not been touched and I was trying to glean something from the juxtaposition of the books (formerly from the top three wall-to-wall shelves above my desk which had come tumbling down). I saw it as a kind of casting of the Runes. What message might I decipher by meditating on how the titles had arranged themselves? Their subjects differed, but they were all somehow related: Albinus on Anatomy, Light on Yoga, The Ease of Being, A Course in Miracles, Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson, Vibrational Medicine, The Practice of Freedom, to name only a few. It struck me that this could have been a close call -- or maybe it was a wake-up call.

The Symposium was so very rich with inspiration and information and supportive friends, new and old. I was extremely honored (and more than a bit intimidated) to be sharing the Alexander Technique portion, along with an amazing group of presenters on other bodywork modalities, consisting mainly of senior Centered Riding instructors – all incredibly knowledgeable and highly creative and seasoned teachers. I learned a lot and, in addition, for me it was a call back to basics – a call to get back on the mat and renew my Aikido training which has been interrupted by a stint of PT rehab for a shoulder injury; a call to continue to deepen my understanding of Centered Riding and an impetus to continue to grow in my teaching and expand my relationships with my Alexander colleagues in the wider world.

Entries with an Alexander Technique perspective:

a moment, with Marj

fitness without stress

mind like water

weaving in the threads

axis mundi

imprisoned splendour

swing time

better living through imagery

buoyancy

greater than the sum

first things first

poise

harmony – includes video of aikido women instructors (myself included!)

gypsy in my soul

Around Halloween especially, I fondly remember my Grandma Pauline, who always took such great joy in preparing us for this particular holiday, with its pagan roots. She was certainly a colorful character in my life, in stark contrast to my other grandparents who will have a dedicated entry with a photo which should be titled "American Gothic." When I shared this poem with my mother several years ago, she commented, "well, you know, it's all true!"

Last night, as I traveled home on the subway after working late, the car filled with an amazing assortment of creatively costumed New Yorkers of varying ages, I recalled my poem of remembrance and the photo of her shown above, inherited on a recent trip to the Midwest.

Pauline

my father’s mother loved to dress us up as gypsies

traveled with the carnival, hair always permed and red, toenails too
first husband alcoholic, second husband flew hot air balloons
but was killed in a car accident

wore Tabu and costume jewelry with rhinestones and plastic feathers
sewed her own clothes -- I remember that chartreuse polyester blouse
a zipper up the front, a gold metallic fish dangling from the tab

watched religiously The Edge of Night and As the World Turns
barmaid by profession, smoked and drank beer
had a series of Pekinese dogs, each one bad with children
and always named “Ty-Gee”

lived in a trailer surrounded by her garden
philodendrons in donkey-with-cart planters
were trained to grow around the entire inside
of that place

gold plaster elephants up on hind legs trunks curled
matte finish with tiny shiny drops all over them
lived on either side of her couch
a framed print torn from a calendar:
dogs around a table playing poker

she often wore a two-piece bathing suit

once a year we put on the red tiered skirts
with pink and turquoise rickrack trim
draped in scarves, hair flowing free
we became her gypsy band

husky voice, laughed a lot
she lived her gypsy life

and she told me I had rosebud lips
as she painted them bright and deep

like the wind

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears
~ Arabian Proverb ~

“How did you ride last night? Someone will invariably ask me this on a Wednesday, since many of my friends know how much I cherish my Tuesday evening rides at Lord Stirling Stable. Sometimes I laugh and report that I drew “Garfield” the pony and he really got the best of me – say no more! But sometimes I answer with “I rode like the wind”, only half-joking, because when you first learn to canter and you join with the horse’s motion taking you ‘round and ‘round the big outdoor ring in the crisp autumn air – that is really how it feels. And never more so than last night, riding my favorite paint horse, “Amigo.” A cold front moving through with a brisk wind gusting from the north roused the horses out of their usual subdued states and we had an especially lively class, yet without incident.

It was a ride where things “came together” and everything simply felt good. I seemed to have chosen just the proper clothes, the right number of layers to keep me cozy, yet still able to enjoy the freshness and the exhilaration of the wind. My stirrups seemed the perfect length, my hip joints flexible, my pelvis relaxed, my center low and my attention easily re-centering me when necessary. Time and space opened up and I found I could play with noticing how soft my joints could become on the down of the posting trot or could remind myself to free my neck, soften my eyes, breathe – and smile! No worries intruded and I found myself to be very present. No fear welled up, as sometimes happens -- old scares triggered by a fast trot or sudden movement of the horse. Last night I felt calm and fearless.

When you sit astride a 1,000 pound creature and sense the power and grace contained within, you know you are interacting with a “force of nature” -- an expression sometimes used to describe a gifted athlete or a person of great charisma. You begin to realize the wisdom in cooperative leadership -- blending with, going with, joining with or becoming as one and then exploring how to assert influence and give direction without disturbing that connection.

The dust swirled in miniature tornadoes and stray fallen leaves danced around cheerfully. My mood seemed to feed on the energy and I savored the experience throughout the hour, hoping to prolong the special time, sensing the ephemeral quality. On the walk to the car before the drive back into Manhattan, I usually take a look around and appreciate the peace of Lord Stirling Park. This week my gaze wandered somewhat wistfully out toward the lights in the distant ring where others had taken our place and were now riding . . . like the wind.

“Air is not one of the traditional five Chinese classical elements. Nevertheless, the ancient Chinese concept of Qi or chi is believed to be close to that of air. Qi . . . also ch'i or ki (in Japanese romanization), is a fundamental concept of traditional Chinese culture. Qi is believed to be part of every living thing that exists, as a kind of 'life force' or ‘spiritual energy’. It is frequently translated as ‘energy flow’, or literally as ‘air’ or ‘breath’. (For example, ‘tiānqì’, literally ‘sky breath’, is the ordinary Chinese word for ‘weather’).” – From Wikipedia

Searching for a photo to capture my feelings, I found an image from the website of a family living in the San Francisco Bay Area -- here one of their teenage daughters lives my dream of galloping down an open beach (photo cropping and enhancement mine).

mind like water

For many years the background image on my Alexander Technique business card has been a beautiful “water drop” photo, suggesting the expansion of awareness and energy which takes place in a person who applies the principles of the technique in their activities. By taking a split-second to notice the possibility of ease where the head rests atop the spine, at the moment just before a movement is initiated, the quality of the movement can be substantially improved.

“Mind like water” is also a metaphor used in the martial arts to describe an ideal state of quiet readiness. It is similar to the Chinese concept of Wu Wei, which was discussed here under “The Power of Connection,” and speaks about appropriate levels of effort and proper timing as well. David Allen uses it in his next-generation time management method which has achieved a near-cult-like following, “Getting Things Done” (aka GTD). His system holds the promise that it is possible to both stay relaxed and accomplish meaningful things with minimal effort. GTD provides tools and concepts which, when practically applied, help keep our minds empty of extraneous detail so we can function from that calm, still place. From the book:

“Imagine throwing a pebble into a still pond. How does the water respond? The answer is, totally appropriately to the force and mass of the input; then it returns to calm. It doesn’t overreact or underreact. . . . Anything that causes you to overreact or underreact can control you. . . .Most people either give more or less attention to things than they deserve, simply because they don’t operate with a ‘mind like water.’”

I have long known that Alexander’s discovery brings us the possibility of choice – how will we respond to a stimulus? According to habit? Or will we remember to take a moment and allow the possibility of a different response to emerge? Will we react out of habit and will that cause us to have an over-reaction, an under-reaction or make an appropriate response? Learning the Alexander Technique is a process of finding the moments of potential which occur immediately before a change in activity and developing the dexterity to take a split-second and notice ease before making our response.

Those of you who are involved with horses will recognize that learning to make the appropriate response at the proper moment with just the right level of energy forms the basis of the interaction we have with them which is called “riding.” In the best moments of my aikido training, I find that calm place where I can blend smoothly with my attacker. Many years of re-training my initial reaction to an oncoming aggressive movement allows me to choose a calm, appropriate and effective response. Time spent on the aikido mat reprogramming reactions carries over into my daily life. Having a practical foundation in the Alexander Technique has certainly influenced my martial arts training and I am hoping, and beginning to find, that creating space for an appropriate response is teaching me a lot about horses.

In the above photo, taken with my iPhone last autumn from our kayak on the lake at Mohonk Mountain House, the still water responds with subtle rhythmic movements and a lovely reflection of the stunning surrounding foliage.

look into their eyes

The platform and the cars of the subway were eerily empty this morning – quite a contrast to yesterday’s crushing commute when New Yorkers exhibited not-their-best behavior, pushing into the packed train and tossing rude comments back and forth. This morning, before I left the house, we exchanged a few words: “you know it’s 9/11, yes, I’m running late, the subway has been a nightmare, not looking forward to that, call you later" etc. My preoccupations kept me from kissing him goodbye.

As soon as I hit the street I felt it. The past few years I’ve tried to pretend that this day could be just like any other day again. But it never is and the tears welled up, as they invariably do, and I headed down into the subway, wondering what I would find. Wouldn’t you know that I found I missed them, all of those New Yorkers. Where was everyone today? Were they afraid to ride the train, right at this time, the time the first plane hit? Were they home watching the ceremonies at Ground Zero on TV? Were they grieving loved ones lost?

As I took stock of the other riders I wondered if we should be nervous. Was I imagining the mood to be somber? Remember, after 9/11, when you could sit on the train and cry, and know you wouldn’t be alone in that -- not have to feel awkward or know why you were crying. We were all crying in our own way. And during that time we actually looked at each other. You felt you could speak to people and you knew you could ask for help if you needed it. You knew you would give help, if asked. The world had changed and New Yorkers started looking into each others eyes.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something special today?” my co-worker asked this morning, her eyes reddening as she turned to her calculations and spreadsheets. I said I might meet a friend for coffee – someone I had watched the TV with at work as the second plane hit that day. We had left the office together and bought flip-flops for the long walk home. She talked about her best friend from high school whose brother died in the Towers, seven years ago. He would have children by now she mused -- he had been engaged to be married. We all know someone. Each year we hear the stories, old and new.

Tonight at home when I stand quietly at a south-facing window and look downtown, I’ll see the gap in the skyline, filled this week with the beautiful and symbolic tower of light. I’ll remember the heavy smoke and the long-lingering odor of that dark time. And I suspect, like many New Yorkers, the day will have been marked yet again by a very personal mourning and reflection and possibly a remembrance of the softening and opening of our hearts, and our eyes.

The photo above was taken to promote a recital my daughter sang in June, 2002. We were not trying to capture the flag which appears on the subway car, but somehow it seemed appropriate – a full year had not yet passed since 9/11 and a certain special patriotism was still very much apparent here in New York.

Hear her album "Maya's Idyll" here.

weaving in the threads

Right about this time last year, I was still quite intoxicated from that first Centered Riding® Clinic, which was attended when I could almost still count my riding lessons on one hand, and I had to think about how to hold the reins each time I got on the horse. I knew that Centered Riding would change my life, but could never have imagined the depth of the process which was initiated over those four days.

Many of the patient teachers I met then have become my instructors at Lord Stirling Stable and the clinician, Gail Field, has become a friend, Alexander Technique colleague and riding mentor. The early entries on this blog document my meeting with the infamous Annelie, now my dear friend, horse riding idol and most recently, aikido protégé. More than one fellow aikidoist has been inspired by my stories of learning to ride. One has started Centered Riding lessons herself, riding again for the first time in over 30 years.

Last year, one of my aikido women role models, Karen De Paola (Skylands Aikikai), visited me at the Lord Stirling clinic and immediately saw the correlations between the groundwork tools and aikido principles and began making connections to specific aikido techniques. She gave me the timely opportunity to teach at her dojo that evening – a precious hour to take some of what I had been so eagerly absorbing in the riding arena onto the aikido mat. And so the year continued -- with synergy and synchronicity abounding.

It has been a year full of new friendships, renewed relationships, reconnecting important pieces from my past, and integrating parts of myself. I have been very fortunate to attend a variety of Centered Riding clinics and to meet the founder, Sally Swift, last November at the International Symposium in Vermont. So, it was a very happy anniversary last week as I once again attended Gail’s annual clinic at Lord Stirling. This year she asked me to assist her with some hands-on Alexander Technique, I traveled back and forth with Annelie and hosted her at my house, we spent each day in an arena which has come to feel like home and I rode a now-familiar horse.

This process of learning to ride seems to be weaving together all the various threads of my life. It has reminded me of long-forgotten childhood experiences, reconnected me to old colleagues and friends and enhanced and reinvigorated my aikido training. A recent email from a new Alexander Technique mentor, Tommy Thompson, spoke to me about “following your thread carefully” – it's a metaphor which has particular meaning for me now.

Karen De Paola is shown in the video (Part 1) above, taken during an aikido demonstration at the Hoboken Aikikai last autumn (watch Part 2 to see the action escalate!). When she mentions that she “read some things” I know that one thing she read was the book “Centered Riding” by Sally Swift. Karen has always been a great inspiration to me – she embodies the qualities of calm, relaxed concentration and stillness within movement which are so important in martial arts, horse riding and living!

welcome to middle-earth

photo © Asni
It is dusk on a perfect evening in late summer, a full orange moon is rising, and we are leaving the confines of Lord Stirling Stable, heading down a broad grassy path, past the outdoor riding rings, towards the trail system at the far edge of the property. It’s getting darker by the minute.

The night is balmy, the humidity is down and so are the bugs, except for a couple of “bombers,” the huge flies which like to plague both horses and riders. We have our orders: let them land on your horse, smack them with a flat palm, and then, if possible, squish them -- luckily, only our instructor executes that maneuver! We turn our attention to the bats which flitter above us. A screech owl calls from the distance and rabbits stop frozen in their tracks.

We shift our weight forward to make it easier for the horses to climb the steep hill which leads up into the trees. As we enter, I am surprised that we can see anything at all inside – am I still in New Jersey? My eyes adjust and suddenly transported, I find myself in a fern-carpeted forest – majestic, yet intimate. The horses seem content but not overly-impressed – after all it’s not their first trail ride.

We approach a tangle of trees, following our instructor as she weaves through them – a rustic obstacle course. My horse trips, stumbles deeply, but regains his balance. As a slight squeak of surprise escapes my lips, the teacher reminds us that we must always keep our eyes up on the trail, shining out like car headlights on high-beam. And we must keep our awareness of our center low and close to the horse.

Lord Stirling Park borders The Great Swamp, a 7,500 acre wildlife preserve. Our instructor makes sure to let us know that we are approaching the area known as the hiding place of the Devil of the Great Swamp, and some of the younger set of riders express an uncharacteristic hesitation to continue on -- usually they want to do nothing but canter like mad around the inside arena. However, soon we are trotting, up the trail, through the dark, ducking the low-hanging branches and marveling at ourselves -- at least I am! And I am incredibly relaxed despite it all.

Riding a horse out in nature – somehow this feels just perfect. Then I realize it is also distantly familiar, reminiscent of the ponies we used to rent from the neighboring farmer for 50¢ during those childhood summers at Clear Lake -- we would ride them through the woods bareback, by ourselves, on the unkempt trails, before the era of helmets or waiver forms. Sometimes they would brush us off against a tree and simply trot back to the barn.

Tolkien said that "Middle-earth was not at a physically distant time, but rather 'at a different stage of imagination.'" Now, just as I celebrate the one-year anniversary of that first clinic, which introduced me to both Centered Riding® and Lord Stirling Stable, I begin to imagine a whole new dimension of riding.

The lovely photo above captures the mystical quality I experienced when we first entered the forest. “It was just like something out of Lord of the Rings” I told my friends. Sure enough, I somehow found the image I was looking for in the work of Asni -- harpist, photographer and Tolkien aficionado currently living in New Zealand (photo above taken in Germany and used with her permission). Please visit her website to see her other beautiful images and listen to her magical music, including her new album "Travels in Middle-earth."