I remember the evening this photo was taken in February of 2015. Elliot and I had landed ourselves in Baja, on the Sea of Cortez. Olive was a glimmer moving closer to us like the brightest Star in the sky. I would be pregnant with her three months later. This trip, where we learned to sail together, work together, and get from Island to Island together, I am convinced is what tended to my resentful and confused heart, that made our marriage feel whole again and what reminded me of why I choose, again and again to spend my life with this man. I learned to love the earth the way my husband does. And I learned to love him all the more for the way he tends to Her. 

My husband, Elliot, has always fastidiously made sure we are connected to the whispers of this planet earth. And for years he had been asking me to go on a prolonged wilderness trip with him. In truth, I am not a backpacker. I like my bed. I like fresh food and kind of think trail food is gross. I love being outside all day. But I like sleeping at home. Elliot, on the other hand adores sleeping under the stars and I would go so far as to say this is not just a love, but a deep core need of his Soul. Like the way I long to be alone inside my body. It is not just a love, but a need for the quietude and solace of my own body home. Elliot loves the home of the earth. I love the home of the body. And so our union has always been about marrying the inner and the outer, the need for home and the longing for adventure, the pleasure of being earthly and the discipline it takes to tend this. 

And having a child. 
Parenting.
This is the union of DNA.
And Samskaras.

Anyway, back to Baja...

What I learned (or perhaps re-learned) on this trip was the importance of the wild, the rhythms inherent in the wind and the sea. And the importance of letting yourself be changed by the one you love. The pace of mother earth is slow but fierce. She demands your exquisite attention. And in return she will rock and cradle you with an ever-lasting spirit and love. The pace of evolution is also slow and attentive. We do not become enlightened with a pill or miracle drink. And when we surrender to the one's we love and also uplift their passions and soul's journey, we also remember that this life is not just about our own dreams. We learn that stewarding someone and something else is also a great gift. We orient toward a North Star as a glimmer of hope and chart a corse through all the elements towards that glimmer of fastidious shining light.

It is far too easy to forget that we are made from this earth. It is far too easy in the age of sole-preneurship, to forsake an evolution as a collective expedition into the unknown sea of becoming. It is easy to forget in those challenging seas why we love our partners in the first place and why we brought our kids through. But we must remember. We must. Maybe this Earth Day sends you outside. Maybe today you surrender to the rhythm of your kids. Maybe you take a big leap with your beloved.

When we remember the majesty of our earth we literally Re-Member ourselves.
 

I was a teenager once and trust me I was no peach.

I understood two emotional states. The first being the absence of emotion, as in some monotone neutral state. The second being anger. I was angry when someone tried to extend love and angry when someone didn’t. I was angry when someone made a mistake effecting me and I was angry when they apologized.  Otherwise I was dull, keeping all my thoughts and feelings trapped inside. I never smiled. God forbid a smile crossed my face indicating a hint of happiness.

The only ways I understood how to express my anger was through explosion or implosion. Now, I never pulled a knife, physically abused or threatened harm. But I lashed out. I yelled. And when I say yell I mean screaming banshee yelling. The kind of yelling and slamming doors that would make you call the cops.  But the yelling was a reprieve from the lashing in at myself. My chosen knife were the two fingers I stuck down my throat daily, sharpened by my stone-cold willpower to shut out family and friends and experiences.

I did not just grow up and out of this.

I learned other emotional options (like happiness, sadness, etc) as I matured, but frankly it wasn’t until my late twenties that I actually truly developed the capacity of emotional literacy.  I am still learning this. Emotional understanding seems to be forever evolving. Though I do believe we can learn the foundation well. At least I have that, even though I am still becoming. We do not one day understand how our emotions work and how to best express ourselves. The expression of our emotional repertoire is a practice. If yoga helps us to stretch and expand our bodies then there must be ways to stretch and expand our capacity for emotional expression.

By emotional literacy I mean the capacity to identify, experience, and express emotions productively in oneself as well as seeing that and withstanding that in others.

I will never forget the argument I had with my husband several years ago where he shook his head and said to me clearly, kindly, but very firmly, that my anger was welcome but my explosive behavior was not. It was the first time I not only understood how abusive my behavior was but that I could actually DO something about it to be better. I was incredibly touched by his statement that my anger was welcome. I was never in a relationship (other than one with my therapist) where it was overtly stated that my anger was welcome. In fact, I bet that because he said my anger was indeed welcome and okay in such a tolerant way, I felt I didn’t need to expressive myself in such dramatic fashion. Trying to shove someone’s rage into a corner does not work. Fire must run its course.

As a society we have become sterile and compartmentalized in the expression of emotion and then it leaks out like sewage or explodes in fits of disaster. Unlike my enlightened husband, We do not allow people to feel anger or rage. And by people perhaps I mean anyone other than a white man. White man expresses rage and he is showing power. But if a woman expresses wrath she is a bitch. The black man becomes a menace to society and the trans youth becomes mentally ill. Grief, quietude, melancholy, downtrodden is more the acceptable box for those of us not in the white male iteration. It is a birthright to experience emotions. Not a burden. Often when we acknowledge, welcome and work with emotions within tolerable ranges we grow and we sequence through their healthy and useful expression.

Most people I come in contact with have some pretty significant wounding around base emotions such as fear, anger, grief, and excitement. Most have stories about being too big or too much or too emotional or not enough forth giving in their emotions. It is a human skill set to identify and move emotions. It takes skill to steward ourselves and so often we need the help of others to help us cross at first. Over time though, we learn to navigate our emotional riverbeds and we can cross the raging rapids skillfully and often alone.

When was the last time someone celebrated your capacity to express your emotions fully? We have put a valence on our emotional life. Something akin to happy equals good and sad/angry/spiteful equals bad. In the body at a cellular level these emotions are electrical charges not value judgments. We made the value judgments.

I wonder how different our lives would be if we learned how to effectively direct our emotions not necessarily at each other but just as a natural process of releasing a charge. Imagine all the free space possible when our emotional lives are given voice overtly instead of suddenly, subconsciously and covertly taking us over and co-opting our lives. 

This is what I like about being Jewish-- the teaching that we can always begin again. On this evening as Yom Kippur (the day of atonement) begins at sundown, the gates of heaven are supposedly open for us. We can repent, lay down our burdens, our sorrows, our wrongful past. We can begin again.

And this is what I love about being a mommy too. No matter how hard the day was, we always begin again. Smiles and love are the sunrise of our darling girl and she calls me to begin anew each day. 

This is what I love about yoga. We can always begin again. For me there is a strikingly strong resemblance between the Yoga Sutra 1:1 Atha yoganusasanam, and our evening prayers of Kol Nidre.

Atha yoganusasanam meaning roughly, Now is the time for yoga. And Kol Nidre can be expounded to be; Now is the time to come, to rise, all of us together--here.

Both of these are prayers for humanity individually and collectively. Both call us to action. Both call us to begin again. Both call to our presence, asking us to come out of hiding. We are called to yoke ourselves to truth and honor once again. 

The goddess sprinkled many different avenues to understand her amongst her peoples. In the end, and in the beginning and for all time she is always calling us to attention, to presence, to here. To now. Again and again.
We can always begin again.
Now is the time.
Here.
All of us.

No matter what your religion, your color, your preferences, yoga is waiting for you and she is calling to you on this evening. For those of us Jewish yogis, may you each be filled with the release only forgiveness can bring and the ferocity of heart only passion endures. May you walk through the open gates with dignity. And begin again.