Serenity Circle Yoga

…..bittersweet

Yogis,
Every year August begs to be put into words. Not this year, I say to myself, yet she keeps pointing out that there is more to notice. She’s right. I love August so I listen and put pen to paper.

I love July too though. The bright days, vivid colors and intensity. A month filled with a partylike atmosphere ushered in by summer. Fireworks and parades. Scorching heat. Sweat and rollercoasters. The sun, like a late-night partier, still hanging out when I head to bed.

August though, feels softer. Quieter. The sense we have gone over the peak. Still summer…..still warm…..still colorful. Yet not quite.

Bittersweet.

I love how August begins to throw in some mornings where the thermometer reads in the 60s and an unexpected cool breeze blows through while dining outside. Blissful to the skin, yet deep inside a knowing that it is a precursor of what lies ahead, even while afternoons climb to the 80s. I push the feeling back down. Not yet.

There are still flowers left to bloom. Goldenrod is on the cusp of her time in the sun. Cardinal flower shines her brilliant red blossoms from the damp corners of my yard. A favorite for hovering hummingbirds. Yet many flowers are beginning to fade. Most of the echinacea is drying now. A bonanza for goldfinches who feast on their seeds.
Bathing suit departments cleared for school supplies.

Bittersweet.

So, I eat corn on the cob and peaches with a hint of urgency as they too will soon disappear. Pumpkins will replace watermelons in the blink of an eye. Next week glimpses of yellow passing school buses will join the hue of goldenrod.

No, summer is not over. The hum still remains. Peppers, basil and tomatoes continue making August dinners special and I still have a whole week at the beach ahead. Shorts, sandals and t-shirts. I will make time for more ice cream cones and boardwalk games.

But an image of me pulling on jeans for the first time lies just beneath the surface.

Bittersweet,
SARAH

…..to know a place

Yogis,
Running on the canal this morning I heard the familiar sound. The Star-Spangled Banner playing over a loudspeaker at the nearby navy’s model basin. A daily ritual. It must be 8 o’clock!

I know this place.

Growing up we moved every couple years. My father worked for Bell Labs and every time he was given a new role we packed up the house and moved to another state. Georgia, Chicago, New Jersey…… New town, new school, new house. As a child you believe that is how life is and pick out the new carpet for your bedroom. I think this is why I am so adaptable today.

Yet I have now lived on the same street in the same town for 37 years. I know this place.

We form relationships with place not unlike the developing of friendships. Each take time, curiosity, patience and a sense of humor.

In the first couple of years, you scratch the surface. Learning the roads and knowing where to shop. It starts to feel familiar but it isn’t until much later that deep connections form. A relationship where inner secrets are slowly revealed.

After all of this time I know her history. Every curve in her paths. When the hummingbirds arrive and where the deer lie to rest. It took time but now I know my way to the hidden patch of ramps which appear each spring without fail and which of the trees on the river are likely to offer hard to find pawpaw fruits in late summer.

Who to ask when I have garden questions and which mailperson gives out dog treats. The best times of year to climb over to islands usually submerged where Phoebe and I alone can explore terrain that feels other worldly. Where to sit and where to find shells.

But as with a friendship, you also unearth the challenges. The flight path overhead and buzz of the highway when the wind blows a certain way. The costs and at times stifling humidity. Yet you love them anyway.

A deep relationship with this place. A home. So grateful we met.

Where are you in your relationship?
SARAH

August......

……sounds

Yogis,
The melancholy sound of a train whistle fills the night, and I am brought right back to the bedroom in my grandmother’s apartment. Her building, located in a small town in upstate PA, was a short distance from the railroad crossing. Nestled in bed under her heavy quilts (my favorite) the sound always made me feel safe. It was one of the things that defined Jessup for me.

Every place has its own sounds.

I was reminded last week in the Outer Banks. Crossing the bridge to the island I always roll open my sunroof to let the serenade of insects who vibrate the hot summer air pour in. A symphony. I want not only to hear them but feel them. I have arrived!

The timing of that trip occurs when our bugs back home begin to rev. I return to their hum which is slightly different in tone. The undulating rise and fall in intensity is a soundtrack to my day. As the sun sets, the songs of night bugs waft through the open window next to my bed. I am lulled to sleep. I know it’s August and I know I’m home.

Every time has its own sounds.

I think back to college days when our townhouse sat on a busy intersection with a hospital in one direction and firehouse the other. The abrupt blare of sirens under my bedroom window took some getting used to. How professors knew to pause a lecture when the roar of low flying planes heading in for a landing filled the hall. Remembering puts me back in statistics class.

Visiting my family recently in northern New Jersey I remembered it is the land of chipmunks. Stepping out the door you are greeted by high-pitched chirps. Followed by sounds of tussling under bushes. Reminders of growing up.

Who doesn’t visualize a beach when hearing a seagull? The crash of waves and shrieks of kids on rides. Clanking and ringing of bells from an arcade. The song of Coqui frogs takes me to Puerto Rico. The bleat of goats lands me in St John.

What are the sounds that define a place or time for you? I would love to hear.

Listening,
SARAH

…..fun

Yogis,
The word ‘fun’ is thrown around. It’s fun to watch a comedy. It’s fun eating out on the deck. It’s fun to go to the pool or catch up with a friend. But are there degrees of fun? Can two things be fun but one of them more fun?

Well…..when 52 people all agree something is exceptionally fun, you know you are on to something!

We returned Saturday from an incredible 37th Outer Banks trip and the consensus is that this ranks as one of the most fun things we do. Every minute of it. From arriving in the driveway with hugs all around to the last evening’s conversation under the stars. Pure fun.

Why? We were discussing this.

For one thing we have been staying on the same block since the boys were born. They have spent one week of every year of their lives going to the same beach, with the same people, same smells, same activities and the freedom of a place with very few rules. In a world of rules, this is quite refreshing.

There is also someone for everyone to play with! There are fifteen in my age group, twenty-one in the next generation and we are up to sixteen little ones from ages one to nine. Built in friends! And everyone watches out for everyone.

We have the same traditions. From digging a big hole as the kid focal point, to morphing into one big adult circle of beach chairs by late day. A bocce tournament that lasts all week to frozen pineapple pieces soaked in rum brought for the group on Thursday. Olympic games on Olympic years and even impromptu parties at one of the houses (all 52 of us).

We all know what to do and when to do it. No need for planning. No one in charge.
And did I mention laughter? Wow. Lots of it. I think I may have even snorted once or twice. Dancing? Yep. After dinner. Music loud and us singing along. No holding back. Fun!

Even my grand dog has fun.

Life as an adult can get a little serious. Buttoned up. Confined. This week is always a great reminder to let fun in.

Where do you find the fun?

Still giggling,
SARAH

…..front porch

Yogis,
I love a good front porch! They are so welcoming. You walk out the front door, plop down in a comfortable chair and watch the world go by.

Our beach house has a screened front porch. Old pine floors and a bead board ceiling give a relaxed vibe. A couch, a few chairs and twinkle lights set the mood. It is where I am drawn after filling my first morning mug, sleep still in my eyes. Facing east, it receives the gentle early morning rays before the day sets in. Bikers ride by while new parents walk babies to get them out of the house.

We added a front porch to our old house next door. Adorned with incredibly comfortable sturdy wicker rockers, it offered a perfect view of our boys playing with friends in the front yard. Facing west, the porch was the place to sit with a beverage and watch afternoon storms roll in….. until Molly our dog let us know it was time to retreat.

The porch of the current house faces south. Thick stone columns. A fig bush graces the front edge while a holly stands tall at its end. Sitting on it feels like being tucked in a secret garden. A hummingbird visits.

Then there is Cape May. On our annual weekend trip, I was again awed by the porches. Deep and wide. Old and solid. The perfect setting for early morning coffee, late afternoon cocktails and dark evening group hangouts. Candles lit and soft ocean breezes.

They are no longer in our architecture. Focus has moved to behind the house. Decks, patios and pools. New homes that add a porch, do so for show. Too small for any true ‘hangout.’

We value privacy.

Porches harken back to a time before television. No phones. And no air conditioning. Entertained by life as it rolls down the road. Neighbors coming by. A social thread.

I vote for the return of the front porch! Front porches lead to connection and we need that right now.

Come sit and talk to me for a while,
SARAH

…..judgment

Yogis,
Recently I said something out loud that held quite a bit of judgment. My personal judgment. My feelings on a situation. It was heard by one of the people I was referencing. Someone I love very much. I realized it immediately. Thank goodness.

Thank goodness I had the chance to apologize. Thank goodness I was given the gift of discussion. And thank goodness for a reminder of how unhelpful our mind can be when it is judging. But how often do judgments harm without us knowing?

Our mind is wired to judge pretty much everything, with a training program that begins at birth. We are told what is good and bad. Shown how to act, dress, what to eat and even what to believe. From this groundwork a belief system is built which we internally label ‘correct.’

We go on to experience life which may change our judgments, but often hardens them. ‘I’ did something this way and it went well so this is the right way. We believe it and speak it; sure others will eventually see the error of their ways. Black and white.

Laughable when you take a step back to observe yourself.

Judgments do play an important role in our lives. Seeing smoke, we judge something to be hot. Our antennae go up and we judge something to be dangerous. A certain pair of shoes gives me blisters so I judge them to be wrong …..BUT they may be perfect for someone else. That’s the harder part.

Then there are areas where judgment is an obstacle. It has the power to hold us back from potentially deep relationships, adventures that may light a passion or even delicious foods! Judgments make our world smaller.

Most of this done unconsciously.

Until we are awakened by something turning out to be completely different than we believed….or when our silly thoughts make their way from the mind through the mouth and hurt someone.

I have now been reminded (thank you Universe) to watch my judgments. To question them. To see if I can exhale any away with my next breath.

Thank goodness,
SARAH

…..bergamot

Yogis,
Each summer I write about a few of my plant friends to get you better acquainted if you haven’t already connected. Every plant is unique. Every plant has a role. Every one deserves attention. And every plant has its own personality.

Today I introduce easy going beautiful bergamot!

You know those friends who don’t stress over their appearance? Wild hair, leggy, a little messy, yet always gorgeous? Well, that is her.

Belonging to the genus Monardo in the mint family, she is known to many as bee balm. There are several species of bergamot, two of which call my garden home. I have wild bergamot with lavender flowers and red bee balm. Both are in bloom now and make me quite happy.

With a name like bee balm, you know who else is happy!

Bergamot attracts many kinds of bees as well as plenty of butterflies. My resident hummingbirds too are drawn to hover and drink from tubular petals on crownlike flowers. In July it always looks like a party is going strong in the bergamot sections of the garden.

As a native and perennial, she is no fuss, no muss. Her four-foot-tall skinny stems appear each spring without fail and spread quietly over time. As a bud appears you get a hint of what is to come. Soon her glorious flower emerges. When I look closely, I feel I see ribbons and streamers. Delicate and fun. All surrounding an intricately designed center.

She is carefree yet hardy. Handles direct sun and part shade. Drought tolerant and not picky about the soil you place her feet in. Transplanting…..no problem. Leaning over…..no problem. Other plants around…..great!

She is also medicinal. Native Americans and early settlers used leaves to cure headaches, sore eyes, and colds. Her fresh leaves can be used for tea, although she is not to be confused with the bergamot orange that is used for earl grey. Dried leaves can be used in place of oregano or thyme in cooking.

Plant some bergamot today and let the party begin!

The birds and the bees,
SARAH

…..oceanfront

Yogis,
Big bold letters on the lease for the house we were going to rent on the NJ shore read ‘WE HIGHLY RECOMMEND PREVIEWING THE PROPERTY’. It goes on to talk about how opinions as to the condition of a property vary and are subjective.

The only reason we had to rent a different house was that the one we had been in was knocked down for a new build. In fact, I realized the only reason we ever switched houses in these past 40 years is because the current one was being bulldozed. We don’t like change and prices for newer homes are astronomical. This was going to be only our fifth house. I was a bit nervous.

It is an upside down house built in 1964 with pictures that do not impress. However……it is beachfront. We signed.

We pulled up last Saturday. Older, yes. A bit tired, yes. Stains on the carpets, yes. In need of a paint job, yes. Sand in the window wells, yes. Old tiled bathrooms, yes. But as I walked in the door, I fell instantly in love!

The house was absolutely perfect for us. Up to six kids running a path through the living room at any one time. Twenty for buffet dinner served from formica kitchen counters with room for all on four 1980s’ couches. A 1964 full set of encyclopedias brought entertainment while the multitude of broken remotes kept the toddlers busy.

I love older houses. They have good bones and bring back memories from childhood. And they are hard to break……

And did I mention it was beachfront? Big old original windows framed views from all angles of the dunes and happenings of the beach. Birds swooped while bunnies hopped. A large pink moon popped up over the ocean one evening while a perfect sunrise greeted me on the final day.

It definitely wouldn’t be a house for everyone……thank goodness for us that ‘opinions vary.’ To me it was welcoming and relaxed. Two traits higher on my list than any bells and whistles.

Rumor is the house may be sold, and you know what that means. Until then though, you will know where to find us.

Made for family,
SARAH

…..ode to birdbath

Yogis,
About a week before my next-door neighbor Danny became ill he nonchalantly asked if I wanted his bird bath. The old-fashioned type with a heavy-duty white concrete stand and a painted blue bowl. Knowing him, he probably was the painter.

Only a few weeks later he passed away. He clearly knew he was sick before any of us had a clue. I had not had time to get the bird bath. I knew that his intention was for me to carry on the watering of our feathered friends, of whom he had taught me so much. So, in the dark of night, we went and carried it over.

It has sat in the center of my medicine wheel garden ever since.

Friday evening in heavy 94-degree air I was cleaning and refilling the bowl with the hose. Once finished a wasp flew in and landed at the edge and dipped her face in for a quick drink.

Of course, the birds love it! Sparrows dip in and shake their feathers, becoming adorably round and fluffy. Bluebirds, cardinals, robins even crows take turns at the local watering hole. A rock I placed in the center gives even the hummingbird a chance for hydration.

Yet the wasp reminded me all of us need water.

Over the summers I remember seeing bumble bees in there. Dragonflies and butterflies. Even Phoebe knows how dependable the bird bath is when we return from a steamy walk. The perfect height! The deer too know where to come when heat waves make water scarce.

In fact, the other day the mother deer brought her two fawns to check out the garden. All three munched away on my goldenrod and black eyed susans (oh well) until one of the babies worked up a thirst and found the birdbath. Again…..perfect height! Now she too will know where to come.

Recently birdbaths have gotten a bad rap from mosquitos. But throw in half a mosquito dunk and no eggs will hatch. Safe for all.

Birdbaths offer lifesaving water for all of earth’s creatures and provide great entertainment out my windows. Thanks Danny!

Thirsty,
SARAH

…..mercy

Yogis,
I’m sure you have noticed. The bugs are back!

Big ones, little ones and some so small we can’t see. They may fly, walk or slither, come in every color imaginable and make this life we live possible. Each has a unique role. I know many of you are grimacing right now saying ‘no thanks’, and wishing they hadn’t returned. But it is all in perspective.

As you know, I love to photograph insects. There are those that arrive with a flourish, like a butterfly and getting a quick shot is easy. Others appear like a spec of dirt on a leaf and unless you zoom in you don’t’ realize they are living beings. Yet to really get to know any of them takes patience.

A friend saw her first butterfly recently and wanted to get a picture. She told me it let her get very close and wasn’t afraid. Yes!! When approached with an energy of curiosity and kindness, most will stay or keep returning. The beginning of a relationship. A connection.

Even the tiniest ones when I get soooo close have faces, with eyes, mouths, antennae that will all turn my way as I steady my phone inches away. I watch them chew, wipe their mouths, reach with a leg and even in their most intimate of activities. Sorry!

What has developed over the years of getting close to bugs is a deeper sense of compassion. An understanding that anytime I purposely step on or squash one…..especially when it is out in it’s own home, I am extinguishing a life. Regardless of how small.

I was reminded this week of the poem ‘Mercy’ by Rudy Francisco.

'She asks me to kill the spider.
Instead, I get the most peaceful weapons I can find.

I take a cup and a napkin.
I catch the spider, put it outside and allow it to walk away.

If I am ever caught in the wrong place at the wrong time,
just being alive and not bothering anyone,
I hope I am greeted with the same kind of mercy.'

Do bugs ever have to be killed? Yes I suppose, but even a mindful pause to consider options opens a door to mercy.

Hello beetle,
SARAH

…..trickster

Yogis,
Running down my street I spot some bright yellow in middle of the road. Getting closer I see it is a small stuffed duck. It is a little worn but intact so I place it on a big rock on the side of the street so that whoever lost it may spot it. A few days later it was gone.

Next I am running down and in almost the same spot something red catches my eye. A small rope tie. The kind a dog would love to tug on. Again, I shake it off and put it to the side. Now I am getting suspicious.

A few days go by and the red rope is still there but now on the other side lies a small stuffed lamb. I recognize it as lambchop since Phoebe has one which she adores. I am now putting two and two together.

We are in fox kit season and they are now big enough to be wandering out of the den and are eager to play. Therefore, like any good mom would do, toys found around town are brought home for the youngsters. I have often seen the parents crossing in this area. Mystery solved!

It reminds me of the shoes. A couple years ago while cleaning out debris that had fallen in the firepit I uncovered a kid’s sneaker. I mention it to our next-door neighbor and she exclaims that things had been missing from their front porch. Having blamed the kids for being forgetful, we now decide fox is the culprit.

Just last week I found a pink flip flop in our wood pile and a blue croc in the woods. The trickster has been up to its wily ways again.

I love fox.

The way they stop when you are approaching, often sitting to assess the situation before scampering off. Sometimes coming back once you pass and following for a bit. Curious.

And even how they leave a small single p**p in a conspicuous place where you spend time to announce their presence. On the front walk, on the rock in the center of my garden and even on a straining bag I had forgotten outside. Really?

They are beautiful, clever, nimble and smart. Do you have fox stories?

Thankful for fox,
SARAH

....the you channel

Yogis,
Are you old enough to remember the k**b that was used to find a station on the radio? When looking for a particular channel, you would turn the k**b until you found the music or show you wanted to listen to. Called a tuning k**b, as you turned it in different directions it would pick up the different frequencies that each of the radio stations were broadcasting on.

It required some precision. Turn a tiny bit too far to the right and there would be static. A little too far left and a different station would come on. Often it would take patiently turning it back and forth several times to finally land right on it. It would then become crystal clear.

You had tuned in…….

Like radio stations, each one of us has our own inner channel. A frequency unique to us. And also like the radio, tuning in to our channel can be challenging.

Your unique frequency is the true you. That you that lays far under the clatter of the outer world. Deep below the noisy layer of thoughts. Below the constant static of that inner chatter. Beneath the distraction of ever shifting emotions. Under the worry and the fear. A part of you that is always there. Never changes. Completely at peace.

How do we tune in?

It’s a practice. In order to tune a radio you have to stop everything else you are doing, get quiet and place your focus on what you are trying to connect to. It is no different for us. This is what is called meditation.

It doesn’t have to be an hour. It doesn’t have to be sitting in lotus in a quiet room. It can be even a few minutes a day, but it does require stillness. A time when doing and movement stops and where focus is shifted to what it is you want to connect to. Searching inward for the channel you know is there.

When you land on it, you will know. It will come in crystal clear. For a moment the rest of the world fades away and you feel complete.

The more times you tune in the easier it is to find,
SARAH

…the piano

Yogis,
The pandemic left a mixed bag of effects. One of the positives for me is teaching from anywhere. For example, when I go to NJ to spend time with my parents, I can do so without cancelling classes. I did that this week.

This is not the first time I have set up my traveling studio in their living room. My mat framed by a couch and a director’s chair, with a baby grand piano as the anchor for my backdrop.

This week people asked who plays the piano. A simple question that started me on a path.

Memory is a funny thing. You tell a story for so long you believe it to be true but when put to the test you begin to question yourself. My recollection is I took piano lessons from first through fourth grade, and then switched to violin. Never to go back to piano.

My mom though, seemed to have always been able to play. She played well enough that she was my accompanist for numerous violin concerts. I remember practicing together.

Now the piano sits quietly.

After another asks who plays, I finally go over and sit down. The music was opened to Beethoven’s For Eloise, a song I played innumerable times. I set my fingers on the keys and watched as my brain tried to reconnect the pathways that take black marks and magically turn them into music that fills a home.

Things started returning, like ‘every good boy deserves fudge’ for notes on the right hand. Left hand…..not so much, yet at times it knew exactly where to go. Flats. Sharps. A lot to process. My brain felt creaky, but slowly began loosening. It felt good!

My dad came in. ‘I didn’t know you knew how to play piano.’ I told my story as I remember it. He didn’t remember that. Later I was playing again when my sister arrived. ‘I didn’t know you knew how to play the piano.’ Hmmmm……

Into the picture albums I dove. Yes! There I am at 6 at the piano. At 8 playing as my sister joins in. Clearly what we learn when young stays deep inside and only needs a spark to reignite. Who knew? Obviously not my family.

I asked my mom to try to play. We sat together and her fingers too began finding the keys that turned black little circles into music we could feel.

What do you have buried?

Reigniting,
SARAH

Live Class in Studio!
Music, movement, breath.......

This Saturday - 5/18
9 - 11 am

The playlist is ready. We will pick oracle cards for inspiration, move our bodies, make some noise and reconnect with the calm inside.

Great way to kick off the weekend!

……seeds

Yogis,
My phone rang a little before 9 on Friday morning. It was my mom telling me a bouquet of flowers had been hand delivered a little earlier that morning (flower deliveries at 8am?) and that they were gorgeous.

Probably ten years ago I started sending flowers for Mother’s Day, with the arrival always scheduled for Friday so they could be enjoyed the whole weekend. My dad agreed to take a picture and send it to me so I could see for myself. I knew right where the flowers would be sitting.

My mom then went on to say that there were so many different colors and types of flowers and that simply looking at them was proof that there was a God.

This has been a running theme throughout my life.

I can remember being very young and her sharing this message with me. That anyplace or anything that inspired a sense of awe or wonder was an easy place to feel the connection of a greater power. Seeing a sunset. Looking over a vista. A rainbow.

Back then, as a good Catholic girl, I pictured God as a man up in the sky that I felt I was supposed to be a little afraid of. Over time my image and beliefs have shifted, yet I always feel the presence of a benevolent force behind the awe. A divine creative power that swirls things into being.

Over the past few weeks I have been planting seeds. Dried out and so tiny, I prep the soil, sprinkle them about, shower them with a little water and wait. And every time I spot one of them poking their little heads up to reach for the light, I am astounded that nature can make that happen. That earth, our universal mother, can create life so effortlessly.

Before long these flowers will be big and bright and able to become a bouquet that sits on a mother’s kitchen table. And then from those, seeds can be saved and scattered once more. Amazing.

My mom planted many seeds in me……. Be kind to everyone and everything. Be sure to laugh. Never wear underpants with holes in case you are in an accident. And always stay connected to the awe.

Happy Mother’s Day,
SARAH

…..simple (take 2)

Yogis,
It’s hard to believe we are in May! Seems so recent that the new year was launching, and I was sitting here writing about selecting a ‘word of the year’. A word that encapsulated your vision or intention for the year. One that had the right feeling tone. It’s time to check in.

Did you pick one? Do you remember what it was? How is it going?

The word I selected this year was ‘simple.’ As much as I still relish the word, I will admit that choosing it hasn’t had a great impact on my life so far. I want it to…..or at least I believe that I do. Yet, like most changes it takes more than wishing. It requires an inner shift.

I have taken a few steps. Cleaned out a couple of cabinets. Donated a bag of clothes. Cancelled a few subscriptions. Spending less time on my computer. But as some things clear it seems others fill in. Life and I do not feel simpler.

I receive daily contemplative emails from Richard Rohr’s organization and each week there is a theme. Last week was simplicity which was what got me thinking about all of this. What struck me most were some quotes by sister Jose Hobday. A little of what she said:

“Some folks admire simple living. They would love to declutter. They would love to walk freely. But they don’t really want to do it, because they don’t do it. You must take the actual steps. We can’t do it in our heads. Simplicity is not an idea.”

I love that! It is not an idea. So what is it?

She goes on to talk about how simplicity must walk through our lives with us. Go to work with us. To the store. We must wear it. Something we embody. My head was nodding with each sentence. I can see that I am treating it like an idea and hoping it will happen. Not a good plan.

When someone who lives simply walks into our lives we can see it on them. We can feel it in them. It is them.

I would imagine this to be true for any shift we are wanting in our lives. Positivity…. Courage…… Trust…… Growth…. They can’t live in our heads. We must begin by putting them on.

I will be doing a ‘take 2’ on simple.

As spiritual writer Paula Huston says about living simply, ‘it is infinitely more enjoyable’,
SARAH