Author Archives: Paula Josa-Jones

the edge of the sea

I love listening to Abraham, the entities channeled by Esther Hicks.

One of Abraham’s  themes is that we are constantly expanding, and that it is our job to keep up with that expansion.  The problems arise when we expand, and then don’t keep up with that expansion.  Call it resistance.  Or fear.  Or habit of mind.

Yesterday I had a big expansion and immediately wanted to suck back.  “Oh, I can’t do THAT.”  I felt it – like a wave that comes in, and then myself pulling back.

So my question is this:  What if I visualize the edge of the sea moving in, moving in, moving in.  Myself as that edge, finding the contours of the land, exploring the new ground?  And the sea dissolving that resistance?

How are you feeling your expansion today?

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catching the wind(horse)

Photo:  Jeffrey Anderson from the performance of Flight, by Paula Josa-Jones and her company.  Paola Styron, dancer and aerialist with the stallion Capprichio ridden by Brandi Rivera.

Twelve years ago we adopted our daughter from Nepal.  Doing that was a leap of faith, requiring great steadiness of purpose.

During the seven weeks we spent battling American and Nepali bureaucracies, we hung prayer flags, poured rum into the belly of the Mahakala (on the advice of a lama) and sought the counsel of Tibetan Buddhist seers, who threw what is called a mo, and told us time and again that things would eventually work out.

We harnessed the windhorse – the bearer of prayers.  Which, in my experience, requires a certain kind of diligent daily yoga.  Again, you show up each day and begin again.  Take a daily leap of faith.

Little ones count.  That is the theme this week in The Journal.

How are you catching the windhorse?

water horse

Photo:  Gabrielle Boiselle

I am deep in a book. I read the review in last week’s Sunday  New York Times, and immediately dove in.  It is The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater.  It is a taut, breathtaking gallop of a book about the capaill uisce (water horses) – beautiful, ferocious creatures that live in the sea and rise out of it to attack whatever roams too near the water.  

“These are not ordinary horses. Drape them with charms, hide them from the sea, but today, on the beach:  Do not turn your back.

Some of the horses have lathered.  Froth drips down their lips and chests, looking like sea foam, hiding the teeth that will tear into men later.”

I am halfway through, so this will be short.

I give The Scorpio Races a 10 out of 10!

What are you reading?

 

horse yoga, part 2

For many years I studied Iyengar yoga.  I loved the precision and rigor of the form and the way that it pushed me into the details of my physical experience.

What surprised me was the way that entering an asana could unlock layers of feeling.  I remember lying in savasana shuddering with tears, as my teacher invited me to soften my tongue, my eye sockets, the soles of my feet.  Opening, opening.

My instructors in horse yoga (the stallion Capprichio, above) are both demanding and forgiving.  They insist that I am present, that I am awake, that I am listening.

The horses ground my experience, both physically and emotionally.  There is nothing terribly abstract about being around a 1200 pound flight animal.  You have to wake up.  Open to the moment.

The yoga is this:  I show up every day and begin again.  (By the way, my daughters teach me the same lessons.)

In her book Adam’s Task, poet, trainer and philosopher Vicki Hearne, says that humans must first learn to become “kinesthetically legible” to themselves in order to become legible to other creatures.  That until we can read our own bodies, we can’t communicate with other beings. I love that challenge.

Here are some questions to chew on:

What is your yoga?

How do you ground your experience?

Are you kinesthetically legible to yourself?