Day 40 - The Great Vigil of Easter

Easter begins at sunset today (7:42 pm Eastern Standard Time), which is when 40 Days of Yoga ends. 

This is when the Paschal Candle is lit, when the Exultet is sung, when Alleluia returns. 

Yoga is all about restoration, healing and new life.  Yoga is about the resurrection I feel at the end of every yoga practice when I awake from corpse pose feeling like a young chick.

Thanks, everyone, for reading.  Keep in touch at The Sacred Ordinary (and the ordinary, ordinary). 

Day 39 - Coming Home

My husband and son have been gone five days on a college trip - an interesting and stressful time of life, choosing a school.

While they were away, my teenaged son and I had nice telephone chats.  

He asked, "What do you do while we're gone?" 

"Oh, work a lot.  Do yoga.  Play around with my blog.  I have a few posts I think you'd enjoy."

"Send them to me.  I'll read them as we drive to Boston."

OMG.  He wants to read my blog!!!  We can bond over writing.  Maybe he'll start a blog too.  We can get to know each other better.  I'll have another follower!

The road trip was serious guy time.  When they return the car leaks Red Bull, Amp, and Pringles cans, as well as a variety of disgusting cellophane bags.  Obviously Mrs. Fresh Fruit and Whole Grains did not go on the trip.

Happy to be home and to see me, there are hugs all around.  They've brought presents - Magic Hat pint glasses from Burlington.  (hum, what shall I use those for?)   My son gives me a bag of "Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno Cheetos" (made with real cheese)

"Try your Cheetos." 

"I don't usually like Cheetos."

"I know, but these have jalapenos.  You like jalapenos."

To show good will, I pop one in my mouth.

Father and son laugh hysterically as I wince and grimace at the "flavor" and try to figure out where I can spit it out or if I should risk swallowing it. 

"Why did you make me put this horrible thing in my mouth?" 

The 17-year old replies, "Well, you made me read your blog."

Day 38 - Practice And The Unconscious

After 38 days I'm now dreaming about it.  Long and specific sequences have been sucked into my unconscious mind.  In the words of Dave Barry, "I am not making this up."

In the dream I sit erect, mindfully placing each finger in its proper place.  My eyes concentrated at blogspot.com.

Save me....

Day 37 - Yoga Class vs. Home Practice

People often say, "I don't need to go to church.  I can pray at home."  Amen.  I hear you.

I don't need to go to yoga class either.  I can do all the poses and meditations at home.  At home I can even customize them to perfectly suit my needs.

The hitch is, when I'm home I have to deal with the gravitational pull toward the sofa - toward eating cheese and drinking beer. 

This not helpful first thing in the morning.

Day 36 - I Fell In Love And Fell Off The Wagon (Guest Written by Jeanne McCann)

A guest posting by triathlete, Jeanne McCann, whose popular blog Born Not to Run inspired 40 Days of Yoga.  Travel along her twisted path of healing and falling in love, which does not, btw, end up in Bali.


I discovered running late in life, at the advanced age of 48, after battling severe back pain of unknown etiology.  In other words, the doctors couldn't agree.  I spent two years in rehab and on drugs and then, in homage to the wave of religious technicolor movies in the 1950s, I literally threw away my cane, started walk-running, and completed the Marine Corps Marathon.

Back pain gone!

The next year I did the marathon again, only gave up the walking part.  By that time I had built a mini-brand as a blogger, joined a community of running bloggers, started training and the next thing you know I had morphed from a middle-aged slightly paunchy 11:30 minute per mile runner into a sleek (still slightly paunchy through -  sigh) 10:00 minute per mile runner.  I ran every race there was.  I knew all the runners.  I knew all the running clubs.  I knew all the running theories.  I read running books, listened to running podcasts, read running blogs, and had running friends.  One thing lead to another and before you could say Bob's Your Uncle I was out there doing triathlons.  I became, in short, an athlete.

I'm not telling you all this to make you feel bad.  God knows you're already feeling bad enough from watching Diane complete 40 days of yoga AND blogging (which is harder??  You tell ME.)  I tell you only so that you understand that when I fell in love, sometime around my birthday last year (February 7 thank you very much), it all went to hell in a handbasket.

I gradually replaced all that frenetic activity with, well, cooking.  Nesting.  Noodling.

It gradually occurred to me that I really really hated being rushed.  And if you've never participated in a triathlon, let me tell you:  rushing is required.  You actually train to rush.  You rush from one activity to the next and if you take too long, you lose time and you lose place and you lose face.

So I gradually cut back on my six-day-a-week training, never thinking it would signal the demise of my body.  

Since falling in love, I've developed Achilles enteritis, iliotibial band issues, and my back pain has returned with a vengence.  He's developed plantar fasciitis and bad knees! 

Whoever said love is pain wasn't kidding.

But now that we're settled and noodling and nesting all the live-long day, I'm finding there was a connection between feeling good and being active and being in love and getting gradually inactive. 

The straw was hopping on the scale this morning and seeing a horrible number.  A number that is so horrible it shouldn't even be allowed to exist.  When you reach that number, the scale should switch to binary or just start whistling or tell you a funny joke or something.  Anything but that number.

And I wouldn't even be hopping on the scale if it weren't for Miss Diane, a woman who watches her weight like it's her job.  Because experts be damned, apparently hopping on the scale every day actually works.

I've tried in vain to be kind to myself.  "I'll just be fat," I say to myself.  "Look at Rubens, he loved fat women!"  But Rubens is long dead and you know what?  Back then clothes were a little more forgiving.  You could wrap yourself up in long flowing robes and corsets and petticoats and whatall and also?  There were no sizes!  You needed a gown - someone took your measurements and whipped something up.  No need to fit.  Fit is so 20th century.

But I digress.  The point is, being in love shouldn't make your body fall apart.

Readers:  What advice do you have for Miss Lovebird?

Day 35 - In Front of God and Everybody

My advice is, if you work in a church, never, let's spell it out, E - V- E- R "take on" something for Lent instead of "giving up" something for Lent.  Extra responsibilities of Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil and Easter will drown you.  Between increasing services, practice sessions, and rehearsals, you will utterly regret ever "taking on" a discipline.  Stress will creep into your spiritual practice.

Having carefully counted the 40 days - 46 between Ash Wednesday and Easter with 6 Sundays off, I was shocked to hear the priest say during the parish announcments, that "Triduum" - Thursday, Friday and Saturday of Holy Week - is "not part of Lent."  WTF?  My blog is called 40 Days of Yoga.  Am I supposed to change it to "37 Days of Yoga"? 

The parish announcements went on - a rummage sale, a car wash - all the while I'm recounting on my fingers different ways to subtract three come up with 40.  By my estimation the priest is simply WRONG.  Now the priest is talking about the parish budget shortfall.  It's substantial.  The numbers are not good.  The priest gets to the end of the announcements and asks if anyone in the congregation has other information to share. 

I get off the organ bench and take the microphone, in front of God and Everybody. 

"I have just done a little calculating on my own - not about the church budget, but about the church calendar.  I want you all to know, there really isn't any way 40 days of Lent can end before Easter Vigil at sunset, even though I would be eternally grateful if they would because I've been doing 40 Days of Yoga.  Oh, You didn't know that?  Well, I'm sure you'd all like to hear more about it, so take the visitor's card out of your pew rack and pick up the little pencil next to the hymnal.  Write down this URL:  
http://www.40daysofyoga2011.blogspot.com/.  You can read all about my blog, and even, in the words of our Lord and Savior, "Follow Me!"  

I could see two lady ushers nodding knowingly to themselves in the back row.  They clearly understood my topic and my passion.   I testified a little more about yoga, India, exercise and all of the healing benefits available for everyone - what a difference it has made in my life and how they should take up yoga rather than watching American Idol.  Around this time two lady ushers emerged from the sacristy with a first aid box. 

When I woke up I was coughing and sputtering.  The usher ladies were putting away a little bottle of smelling salts.

I stood up, brushed myself off, walked over to the organ and played the offertory hymn.

Day 34 - Yoga Enhancement

The reason I love the studio's back corner has nothing to do with distance from the teacher or the mirror. 

It has to do with an extrasensory connection that happens only in that particular spot in the room.  To use language parlayed in alternative healing circles, that spot has "earth energy".  People who practice in that corner know what I'm talking about. 

In this corner, I dissolve, ameba-like, into Child's Pose.  Breathing into this primal position, my olfactory senses engaging with the studio's downstairs neighbor, enlivening and deepening the day's yoga practice through the much-loved aroma of Starbucks French Roast Coffee.

Day 33 - Vegetable Smoothie Recipe

This recipe came from Pat Newton of Columbus, Georgia.  Originally a Borsch, I've turned it into a post-yoga smoothie or even a slushy, depending on the desired temperature and texture.  Ingredients are flexible.

Ingredients:

a very large pot of water, beef stock or vegetable stock
finely chopped garlic - as much as you like
1 small head of cabbage chopped
3 - 5 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped
6 medium beets, including greens and stems, peeled and roughly chopped
2 - 3 peeled and chopped onions
3 peeled and chopped carrots
3 chopped leeks (wash very well)
dried or fresh dill

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until vegetables are very tender.  (at least one hour)  When cool, freeze in pint sized containers.  Defrost in the refrigerator, and when you finish practice, quickly blend the pint-sized soup into a post-yoga snack.  I drink it from a pint glass -  a cold brew to quench my thirst.

Day 32 - Bring Out The Violins

I asked Nancy before class, as nice nice nicely as I could, if she would mind having no music during Savasana (final meditation).  "Sure!  No problem."  Nancy is a fine master teacher and I was relieved that she accommodated my request.

Toward the end of class she put on Spiegel im Spiegel by Arvo Part.

A few words about this extraordinary piece of music. 

First - go listen to it on the internet.  It's awesome!  I would link here for you, but that's probably a copyright violation.  Second - don't listen to the recording Nancy played in our class.

It was too slow.  I like slow.  Really I do.  When I studied Kabuki Dance I was was the slowest student in the class.  The lowest setting on my metronome is 40, and that was how SLOOOOOOOW the quarter note was played on Nancy's recording. 

It was too soft.  I like soft.  Really I do.  You should see how small my conducting is when I want a soft sound from the choir.  A small twitch of the wrist instead of a beat.  But this piece is not only about the violin.   Arvo wrote delicious bass growls in the piano part and sprinkled in dissonances.  It's also the first piano piece I've played that uses the instrument's very top note. 

The real problem, though was the violinist's vibrato.  Spiegel im Spiegel is minimalist music.  It's a zen garden.  some moss.  a stone.  a little pond.  It's not rhododendrons and magnolias and tulips and ivy and bird baths and garden gnomes.  This music is restrained.  simple.  subtle. 

My violin partner, Peter, understands, as does Joshua Bell, that sometimes less vibrato means better music.  In case you're not sure what vibrato is, it's that Ya-ee-Ya-ee-Ya-ee-Ya-ee wavering that some instruments and voices make.  Think wobbling opera singer.  Think bold floral wallpaper.  Think fancy cocktail with umbrella and celery and plastic sworded fruit.  I prefer my pitches straight up, thank you.

So I'm lying on my back in Savasana, trying not to think unkind thoughts about the teacher who must have thought this would-be zen garden substituted for silence.  I'm frustrated at myself for being so opinionated and inflexible.  Isn't yoga all about flexibility?  Stretching to new places?  Opening up?  And deep deep gratitude when Nancy, per my earlier request, turned off the music.

Day 31 A Broken Record (Guest Written by Fern Lee, Yoga Teacher)

Sometimes I feel like a broken record.  I say the same things over and over in my Yoga classes, to my family, inside my head.  These routined patterns of thought fascinate me.  Fortunately, I've realized I'm not the only one who has this condition.  A lot of us do: we worry, compare, judge, fear...

I speak to this in class; suggesting that as we notice 'thinking' we get some space from it, or neutrality, that we don't own it as much.  After all, how trustworthy are your thoughts?  So, alongside the opening stretch of Trikonasana, open the mind, maybe even taking a faithful leap into Balancing Stick.  Feel the core strength of Chaturanga, while at the same time asking the heart to melt.  Let's kindly notice the "I can't" that starts a thought and go deeper.  What else do we think?  And what else?  And how does that feel?  Then, maybe, "Who's thinking?" Or not thinking at all, just being. 

A couple weeks ago I asked my Remedial and Therapeutic class to 'Compensate with Consciousness'.  I often ask this particular class to do this, but had never used the phrase before.  Nearly everyone has something going on in their bodies to be cautious about.  And this class has poets and wordsmiths in it; we love rolling words like penultimate, gestalt, ischial tuberosities and Tadaka Mudra around, and we loved my new phrase!  I wrote it on the white board, and started using it in all my classes, and meditating on it.  Going deeper.  Sounding like a broken record.

Eventuall, I realized it was a difficult instruction.  At the same time I realized it serves us to be broken; to get deeper into the essence of a thing, to grow in consciousness.  God, Yoga, Source, to be flawed, wounded, broken:  it's all the same.

Day 30 - Tomorrow's Music

Here's what I plan to do tomorrow:

• sit outside and ponder the trees
• learn to draw
• make more healthy dinners
• create a home yoga practice

All I need to make the home practice work is the right music.  One good song to keep me going for another set of Surya Namaskara B.

My husband is confused.  "I thought you didn't like music during yoga class."

Well ... it depends.

I don't like music while the teacher is talking.  Too much input.  How am I supposed to capture one foot behind my back (palm up) for Dancer Pose, breathe and be-in-the-moment while I note the chord progression and decipher words to the French pop song.  I love this piece of music and am dying to ask the teacher what it is, only I don't want to encourage her.

Because I hate music in yoga class.

I keep looking for the right music for my home practice.  I need a "mix".

I'll use Arvo Part's hypnotic "Spiegel im Spiegel" for opening gentle stretches.  "Here Comes the Sun" would be perfect for Sun Salutations.  I can time warp myself to age 13 when cartwheels, splits and backbends were part of the active repertoire.  Tree Pose doesn't really need music, but you know what happens when the sound track stops.

I'll take a short potty break, grab a drink of water and a little snack.  That plant needs watering.  Why not check my e-mail?  A note from Fern!  How lovely!  I should reply right now.

"Hi Fern!  I'm glad you had a nice trip.  What's new with your yoga teaching?  You would be so proud of my home practice.  I've created a music mix that motivates me to do poses on my own.  I've finally arrived!  xoxo  Diane"

Tomorrow I'll use bird songs for Tree Pose.

Day 29 - Transcendental Cucumber

40 Days of Yoga has not helped my healthy eating resolve.  There are only so many hours in each day, and cooking has recently moved to the back burner.

Earlier this week, my husband's doctor had words with him about eating less salt and fat and calories in general.  This was just before we went to all-you-can-eat Indian Buffet. 

So, this morning, while the coffee dripped through the filter, I sliced a cucumber for Raita - a simple and healthy dish. 

I peeled the cucumber, sliced it lengthwise and removed the seeds for compost.  I chopped it into medium small dice, and admired its delicate green.  I know the perfect name for that shade of green.  I will call it, "cucumber".  I almost fell into a transcendental reverie with the little cucumber dices and their pale cucumber color.  I've had this kind of experience before - once with an orange in the sunshine.  The only thing holding me back from transcendence this morning was that I had not yet had my coffee.

First things first.

Day 28 - Warming Up

Here's what you might see in our studio before class starts:

A 20-something woman sitting on her mat drinking tea with wires in her ears while she reads the paper. 

A 20-something man alternating down dogs with pushups, in case there won't be enough of these in the class.

Invariably there is a certain middle-aged woman with big hair, lying on her back in Supta Baddha Konasana with her hands on her belly.  Big-Hair reclines this way for 15 minutes before class begins.  Her hands shift position from time to time.  Sometimes they are on her chest, neck, or covering her already-closed eyes. 

Keep reading if you're curious about what she's doing.

Big-Hair is doing Reiki. 

Yes, your author is Big-Hair.

Reiki is a gentle healing art that promotes balance and healing by tapping into energy.  (which I like to define as spiritual energy, but you don't have to see it that way)  I like to begin yoga sessions with a Reiki warm-up.  Depending on if the Home Team is ahead or the Away Team is ahead, I sometimes offer "Distant Reiki", on behalf of a friend, who has asked for prayers for her troubled son (as one example).  Sometimes I soak in all the healing for myself, and my family will be glad, later on, that I took this preventative measure.   Reiki and prayer are synonymous for me.  Sometimes (again, depending which team needs a few extra points that day) I tap into this healing method on behalf of the world - on behalf of hurting land, waters, air, plants, and animals. including humans animals. 

A simple, wordless prayer.

Day 27 - Naked Yoga

I have a friend who teaches Naked Yoga in California. 

I would never go to this class.  In the first place, the class is in a gay men's club and I'd be worried that I didn't fit in.  In the second place, I haven't even gone topless on the beaches in France where c'est normal, n'est pas?

But I think it's great that there are naked yoga classes for people who want them. 

I'm guessing the room is heated so no one gets chilly.  I'm also guessing those yoga mats get pretty ... distinctive ... after a workout. 

But think of all the money yogis save on outfits.  And time saved without extra laundry!   Oh, but the extra expense of wax jobs.

Rien ne parfait.

Day 26 - Corrected Vision

After Sunday's experience, (see Day 25, Communication Issues) today's experience is just too weird. 

On Sunday two young metro riders thought my husband and I qualified for senior citizen seating.  (I'm 51 and in case you didn't know, and I do yoga every day!) 

Today as I walked home from noon yoga class, it was beautiful Washington spring weather.  There was also a spring in my step.  My jacket was tied around my hips and my yoga mat was slung over my shoulder. 

As I walked past Hearst School Playground, I watched the noisy children swinging and tried to guess their ages.  Hearst School used to be K - 3, but these children looked like 6th graders.  They saw me watching them and waved.  I gave a friendly smile and waved in return. 

It was hard to tell their ages.  There were both big ones and little ones.  Each was unique, so it was hard to categorize them.  The enthusiastic waving continues.  "Hi!" they smile and shout.  "Hi, Grandma!" 

Oh for Pete's Sake!

I shout back (a smiling kind of shout, of course), "I'm not a grandma!"  (see how I'm still smiling at these wonderful children.)

I kept walking and didn't give much chance for them to reconsider.  I knew that if they looked at my face again they would see their mistake right away. 

I hear words relayed one to another.  "She says she's not a grandma."  and then I hear "...gray hair."  and then I hear, "Sorry!"  "Sorry, ma'am!"

I understand.  My eyesight's not that good these days.  That's probably their problem too.

Day 25 - Communication Issues

A couple on the metro asked my husband and me if we would like their seats.

I shrugged.  "Only if you're getting off at the next stop." 

They didn't say, but looked like they wanted to stand up. 

I asked again, "Are you getting off at the next stop?" 

They clearly were native English speakers, but something in our communication was confusing.  They weren't from around here.  They weren't used to riding the metro.  They carried a guide book for visiting Washington cherry blossoms.  The couple stood up and we took their seats, but they did not get off at the next stop.  They did not get off at the stop after that.  They stayed on for the next five stops and were still standing in the aisle when we got off at Metro Center. 

You've already figured out why they offered their seats.  I'm slow to understand.  I don't really comprehend it at all.  I don't believe it.  I am denying that they offered their seats -

Because We Are Old. 

Hell!  I do yoga every day!  I'm only 51.  I'm going to live to be 104, so technically I'm not even middle aged!

As bad as that moment was, it gets worse.  The God's Honest Truth is that after the couple missed the second stop (giving them the benefit of the doubt) I made a spectical of myself saying, "You offered those seats because you think we're OLD!?!"

Aren't you glad you don't live with me?  Imagine spending your days with such a reactive person, unable to edit thoughts before they combust into speech.  If you want to read more about my communication issues, see Day 20 or Day 2.

Eventually I settled down and was able to look objectively at the situation.

I was able to turn to my husband with newfound clarity. 

"Honey, they didn't really think I looked old.   It was your gray hair they were noticing."

Day 24 - If It Feels Good

Simone used to be my favorite yoga teacher.  The first class I took with her, she smiled from ear to ear the entire time.  This cheerful countenance was immovable, throughout all of our sweating, stretching and trembling.  My first thought about the excessive dental display (perfection not withstanding) was WTF?!?!?  But then I fell into the rhythm of classes with Simone and the cheshire cat grin became as welcome and anticipated as a rum drink in the tropics.

Many teachers handle multi-level classes by giving layered instructions.  Something like, "level one take child's pose, level two do chaturanga, level three do 10 pushups balancing on the fingertips of your left hand and level four, time to levitate!"

Simone's multi-level approach was simply,  "If it feels good...", delivered with the aforementioned smile.

"If it feeeels good...." 

God, I miss Simone.

In addition to being a yoga teacher and a dancer, Simone was a dress designer and seamstress.  Before class she could be overheard using words like "bodice",  "flounce", and "something pretty".

Everything about Simone's class was pretty.  Even the way she called out "You can do it!" during ab work.  Not that I really could, but I liked hearing that Simone thought so.

During savasana Simone went around the large class adjusting heads as we lay in final relaxation.  If we didn't need adjusting, she pressed our shoulders down or stroked our foreheads.  Ah!  Simone! 

That's when I started buying lottery tickets.  My plan was to have Simone come to the house every morning for a private yoga class.  Once I won The Big One she wouldn't even have to say, "If it feels good..." because she would be focusing on me and me alone, so everything would feel good!  All of those smiles just to light up my morning.  Having won the lottery bigtime, I would pay her $2,000 for every morning class.  After a year I would double that amount.  I would give Simone an all-expense paid vacation to Hawaii, including a yoga clothing budget so that she could sport the newest and coolest in yoga wear and always have something pretty, with a little flounce.

Day 23 - Yoga c. 1977

Today, yoga in America is mainstream. People born after 1970 may not understand the subculture it once was - the semi-secrecy that came along with owning a yoga mat 25 years ago.  It was hard to even find one to buy.  Internet shopping was not an option.

As a church musician I felt extra pressure to keep my yoga habit in the closet. I worried that choir members or clergy would think I had converted to Hinduism, involved myself in devil worship, or had in some mysterious manner forsaken the wholesome way of bread, wine and coffee hour.  My liberation came the day that Reverend Louise said to the church staff, "I cannot make that meeting time, it conflicts with my yoga class." With that imprimatur I began to carry my mat without fear.

In 1977, when I was a teenager, the church youth group leader became a devoted yogi. She invited a small group of teens to visit at her home one weekend. While she practiced asanas on the living room carpet, we thumbed through the yoga book on her coffee table.  Good God! The twisted postures - arms and legs mangled together! Eyes rolled into heads, tongues sticking out, stomachs vacuumed up to disappearing. The book included confusing dietary recommendations and even more confusing cleansing methods for various entry and exit points in the body. We pointed and giggled as if it were a pornographic magazine.

Fast forward 30 years.  The three teenagers who shared that early experience with yoga are still in touch. One is a nurse. One is a yoga teacher. One is yours truly. We talk about how this holy woman touched our lives and remember how she welcomed us into the life she shared with her family and the love she extended to us.  We remember how she made each of us feel special.

We tried to find her through Facebook and through People Finders, to no avail.   She moved to an Ashram and was never heard from again.  She left the grownup teens longing to show their appreciation - wanting to say thank you.

Dottie, we still love you.

Day 22 - House Cleaning

The 40 Days of Yoga Substitution System strikes again.

Friday is my day off. Totally and completely off. Which means all I have to do today is read the papers, write my blogs, practice music for two hours, teach a one-hour organ lesson, have a 45 minute conference call, and make broccoli quiche and borsch because Mary Ellen, a dear friend from long ago and far away, is coming for supper!

Oh.  And I haven’t cleaned the house since Christmas.

Multi-tasking suggestions anyone?

My Jewish friends make a religious act out of cleaning their homes for passover.  Why can't I do a little holistic yoga/cleaning combo?

Not only would that allow me to fit in yoga, but I could conquer my home-yoga practice resistance problem (see Day 14) and clean the house at the same time!

I will set my timer for Two Hours! Practice will be self-motivated and self-lead. Who needs expensive yoga studios and fancy pants?  Who needs annoying yoga teachers that don't understand why I can't spread my toes and don't even know where my IT Band is.
　
Having set my intention, I will breathe deeply and engage my whole body as I carry the vacuum to the far reaches of my house. I will use my core to protect my back, engage Mula Bandha, stimulating Uddiyana Bandha. I will bend and bow. I will work my triceps, biceps, glutes and abs.   I will reach into dark nether regions performing Dust Bunny Asana.  I will kneel humbly at my floors - yea even the bathroom floor. This isn't just exercise. This is prayer!  My prayer of thanksgiving for shelter. My prayer for family harmony. My prayer of joy and gratitude that Mary Ellen is still my friend after 30 years.  My prayer of celebration for the source of all this energy. 

I will stretch my limbs to their outer limits and stretch my yoga practice to it's last inch of practicality.

Day 21 - Mirror Therapy

The studio where I practice has an enormous floor to ceiling mirror.  Subtract five points.

I’m not the only person who has experienced something in the range of displeasure to disgust looking into it.  I overheard a longtime student - an attractive woman in her 30s - say that she always chose her spot to avoid the mirror. The women around her commiserated.

If I was going to survive at this studio, something needed to change.

Jessica became my teacher. This beautiful yoga instructor wedged personal yoga practice between her classes. Looking through the window, one could watch her sitting inches away from the mirror, staring into her own eyes as she practiced. Long curly blond hair, always hanging free, large earrings adorning her dimpled cheeks. Jessica stared as though the very act had created the beauty - the act of not being afraid to love herself.

And so I began to practice in the front row.

At first I closed one eye and looked through the other. Then I opened both and stared mostly at my feet. And then I just pretended to be Jessica - began, for an hour or so during practice, to look into my own eyes.  I did this for three months.

I don’t practice by the mirror anymore. That’s headstand zone and I’m staying out of it. I moved to the back row, where I really belong.

But I’m no longer afraid to look in the mirror. Even if I don’t look like I’m 20 or whatever it is the media tells us we should look like. My belly isn’t concave. My yoga pants are not sexy hot. My arms look suspiciously like my grandmother’s.

But now, when I look in the mirror, I just see Diane practicing yoga.

Day 20 - Not Very Yogic

"That's not very yogic" is an expression tossed around in certain circles.  I'm not exactly sure what it means.  Inferring from context, I'd guess "not very nice." 

Being nice is something I ascribe to.  See ten rules for life on Day 18.

Maybe I need supplements to boost my niceness quotient.   A prophytlactic guard against situations like this morning's. 

I go into a crowded Starbucks, longing for a table, and just as my God-given good luck would have it, a man is packing up his table, putting away his laptop. 

"Excuse me, sir.  Are you leaving?" 

"Yes!"  He smiles. "Help yourself." 

And I also smile at my good fortune in finding the table and having such a pleasant life generally.  I place my blue coat on the table, reserving it, and order my coffee at the counter.

Tall skim latte in hand, I return and find my table is no longer there and my blue coat has been moved to a long laptop counter with no available seating. 

I am not in the mood for this.  I really want a table.  I announce loudly for God and everyone to hear,

"Who moved the blue coat I put on a table to reserve it while I picked up my coffee?"

A hush settles over the crowded Starbucks.  No one answers.  I am not giving up this easily.

I turn to the couple sitting at a table which might have been mine. 

"Did you move this blue coat?"

"No.  It wasn't us.  When we sat down the table was free.  We've been sitting here for a long time." 

But they probably know who the culprit is.

At this point there is only one likely suspect - a woman with laptop and earbuds who has been ignoring me.  I hate that she shuts me out with her electronic silencers and decide she is not getting away with this.  Interjecting myself into her presence I demand, "Did you move this coat?" 

She attempts innocence. 

"I thought it was left behind.  I thought the table was free."

Right.

"Bullshit you did!   Unplug that electronic crap and go drink your coffee at the bus stop.  I want my God-given table back."

The manager joins us at this point.  He stands beside me with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping his toes and staring grimly at the uber-wired table stealer. 

Ashamed, she rips the cord from the outlet, shoves her machine in her bag and leaves the coffee shop red-faced with cappucino spilling down her sleeve.

And so, kind readers.  Thank you for listening to all of the non-yogic things I really felt like saying this morning.

Day 19 - Om

Chanting Om can be uncomfortable the first time.

A friend from church relayed how much she enjoyed yoga until they started "humming" and then she was weirded-out and never went back.

A college pal from Texas says:

"If they start humming or doing any shit like that.....any vocalization of any kind......I just get to giggling. Maybe I need somebody to EXPLAIN all this to me.

 Today’s Blog Posting promises to make all things Om clear!

Om, for musicians, is a love-it or hate-it proposition. The aforementioned giggling and weirded-out friends are musicians. Heightened sound sensitivity is not always useful.

I, however, love Om.

Scroll back to the summer of 1986. The first time I experienced Om, the yoga class was held in a Sunday School room at St. Mark’s Church. We practiced Hot Yoga in the make-shift studio. Pre-yoga paraphernalia marketing, nobody had mats. We just practiced on the carpeted floor. I wore a t-shirt and khaki shorts. We didn’t know we needed straps, blocks, bolsters, blankets and special music. We had little idea where we were headed, but we were enthusiastic.

Six searching students handed over their trust to the yoga teacher. Per her instruction, we sat up straight. We counted our breaths. We felt the sweat drip down our temples. And then it happened.

As I sat in silence, I heard wind pass over the vocal folds of a corpse. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

Our teacher chanted Om.

It was the Real McCoy. No fako wanna-be Om. This woman had swallowed the universe. She had swallowed God whole.

Or maybe it was just a cool parlor trick. Either way, I was in and set out to learn chanting.

Wikipedia wasn’t around then. If it had been, I would have known that Om means "Yes" or "Will be" or "To become". That Om has different pronunciations and can be written in different kinds of script. I would have known that it’s interpreted differently in various kinds of Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism and Sikkism. I would have known that the Mandukya Upanishd is entirely devoted to the explanation of the syllable, Om.

But I still wouldn’t have known anything.

A pet peeve is teachers who have the class chant Om while recorded music is playing, which begs the question, should we chant on the tonic or the dominant? What if the background music modulates part way through the Om? What about the relationship of sound to silence. They’re creating noise upon noise. Eating a snack when they’re already full.

A certain teacher, Erin, didn’t explain Om, but she said that it could be translated according to one’s inclination - Allah, Alleluia, Amen or Mom. (Actually I just made that last one up, but it’s nice, don’t you think?)

Erin used to have the class chant a continuous Om for one minute. Students breathed when needed and filled the room with resounding vibration. I’d like to try that for five minutes.

Or longer.

How about Sunday night I’ll invite 40 close friends for an evening of Olives and Om. Starting at 7:00 pm we’ll whet our whistles, clear our throats and begin to chant Om. We’ll sing the sacred sound into the plaster and the woodwork. We’ll only stop sporadically as we get thirsty, and then continue on when we're fortified.  Pedestrians passing the house will say "What the f#!*!?" Especially the ones walking through the neighborhood with real estate agents.

House-hunting couples enjoying Washington, DC cherry blossoms will wake up and hear the music. "Honey" he will say. "Did you hear that?  The robins are chirping, the wind is rustling through the redbuds, and the neighbors chant Om when the sun sets.  Wouldn't you like to move to Veazey Street?""

Day 18 - 10 Rules for Life and Yoga

1.     be on time
2.     practice today so I can practice tomorrow
3.     remember the difference between pleasure and pain
4.     don’t buy anything new except shoes and underwear
5.     don’t drive when I can walk
6.     don’t get fat
7      be kind
8      even at home
9.     if at all possible
10.   the teacher is not always right.
　

Day 17 - Smiling

After 17 days of yoga, I find that I’m smiling more. I’m not doing this on purpose. Yoga is rearranging my facial structure.

By nature, I am not a smiling kind of person. It might be a very happy day, but friends and relations ask, "What’s wrong?"  When I attend weddings or smiling kinds of events, I come home with my face aching from unusual muscular effort.  My 10-year-old-son used to tell me to turn up the corners of my mouth when I picked him up at school so I wouldn't look so mean.  He poked his finger at my lips to show me how. 

Elizabeth Gilbert’s smiling meditation interests me. In "Eat, Pray, Love" her Balinese medicine man prescribes sustained smiling meditation every day. He tells her that not only her lips, but her entire body and especially her liver must smile. This was after meditating daily on her death in the ashram.  Death meditation I understand. Smiling meditation sounds too hard.

That seems to be changing.

The new positive energy reminds me of a certain high I experienced while practicing for an organ concert at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Each day, I spent long hours playing an enormous and beautiful organ that was situated in the loft of the basilica. The building’s soaring height, flooded with stained glass light, intoxicated me with pleasure. One afternoon, in the middle of this intensive concert preparation, I ran into a priest friend - a fairly ancient man who was a bit slow moving and stooped. "How are you?", the old priest asked. I obviously had radiance bursting out of my body. "Fantastic!" I replied. Then the old priest asked, with a twinkle in his eye, "How is your husband?"

Day 16 - Intentions

At the beginning of yoga class, teachers often say "close your eyes and set an intention for your practice."  Again at the end of class they will ask the class to recall their intentions.

My intentions vary.  Originally they were along the lines of, "Intention?  What the hell's an Intention?"  After a few months of that I began setting the intention, "To Survive the Class". 

Now my most common intention has been "Healing for Myself."  Some days I practice at a higher level and intend, "Healing for Others" or "Being a Good and Holy Person All Day Long" or the simplified version of that, "Not Being a Snot to My Family". 

Today the intention that came to me was "Strength".  To be strong in class and after class.  I'm not the strongest practitioner.  I'm a back row weenie.  I do chaturangas on my knees and side plank with one knee down.  Headstands are science fiction.  

But today was my Strong Day.  Even so, there came a point when I substituted a "Fuck That Asana" and just lay on my back while the rest of the class did ab work.  It was still a great practice - one of my best.  I like working out next to Josh who also modifies all of his poses. 

I'm going to start keeping a list of my yoga intentions in the word processing document where I keep a daily weight log.  Today will read:

March 24, 2011 STRENGTH  142 pounds

Which is not really my fault.  It must have been last night's salty Gruyere and Sausage Stratta that did it, or maybe it was the third serving.  So much for good intentions.

Day 15 - Yoga Riddle

How are advanced yoga poses like love affairs?
  (scroll down for answer)














They're easier to get into than to get out of.

Day 14 - Resistance

I don’t have time to attend a class everyday.  It looks like I have to create a home yoga practice.

And I am so RESISTANT.

When it’s time for yoga at home, the chores start shouting at me.  Urgent email, cooking, laundry, and ironing needs. Surely I should take those T-shirts out of the drawer and refold them neatly. When I’m really desperate I consider washing the kitchen floor.  It's about time I cleaned the attic.

Having spent years as a professional musician, engaging in the solitary self-discipline of practicing my instrument, I should be a natural at home yoga practice. I understand the daily commitment, loneliness and boredom required to prepare recitals. Now that I’m facing this yoga resistance, I am becoming very sympathetic to my young students who resist their assignments. But these lucky students have parents to sit them down with a 20 minute timer.

That’s what I need. A yoga mom to lovingly roll out my mat and set my timer. She will sit in the room with me so that I will not be lonely. She’ll tell me what a good job I did. This will make me so happy that I’ll look forward to the next time. I’ll carry the timer over and plop it in her lap, asking eagerly, "Can we practice now?"

Day 13 - Subtitle Contest

Calling all readers! 

40 Days of Yoga 2011 needs a subtitle.  Something pithy to let readers know its true nature right up front.  Something that will catapult it into international fame, spurring book contracts, stand-up comedy gigs, and full professorships at Universities in the U.S. and abroad.

Our first prize winner will have the thrill of seeing his or her subtitle ACTUALLY PUBLISHED ON THE INTERNET.

The contest begins today!  Don't delay!
 

Day 12 - Calling All Entrepreneurs

I have the greatest business idea and I am just putting it out there for industrious individuals and companies to snap up.

Anyone who practices yoga and travels by air will want this service.

Drop-In Yoga Centers at Airports

It has been projected that by the year 2030, 90% of Americans will practice yoga.* Not only travelers, but also airport employees will eagerly patronize terminal drop-in yoga centers. Conveniently located next to kiddie playgrounds, the yoga centers will, for a small fee, be a place where world-weary yogis can borrow a mat, stretch their aching limbs, and burn off fast food calories.

This being the U.S.A., drop in yoga centers will also sell sexy pants, DVDs, jewelry, sunglasses, magazines, energy drinks, tea, snacks, electronics, mugs, stuffed animals, eye pillows, aromotherapy oils, greeting cards, and healthy yoga fruit baskets that can be shipped anywhere in the world. These items will sport franchise names, such as Flying Eagle Yoga, Air Asanas, Skyway Sun Salutations or Half Way to the Moon.

Note to the business that scores big from this idea: I don’t need a cut, but how about a free hat?


* statistical projection from Heath Future Life Progression Services

Day 11 - On Zen Time

Even though yoga comes from India, this retreat has very loud Zen Buddhist overtones. Which is great by me. I love silence, simplicity, oneness. I’m very cool with Zen Buddhism. I read Alan Watts. I read Haiku. I even studied Japanese for about ten minutes. I think of Buddhists as being very y’all-come.

I’m not sure where I got that idea from.

Silent meditation is from 7:30 - 8:00 am. That’s too long for me to sit with my mouth shut, but I really love to sit silently for a few minutes. The first day of retreat I slipped ever so quietly in to morning meditation for the last five minutes and enjoyed a heady communion in the room’s intense energy. Later it was announced that people who miss opening bell can only do their meditation out on the cold porch.

At the church where I work, if people weren’t allowed in after the bell we would have a mighty intimate gathering. Opening procession is cross, choir and clergy with hearty numbers from the congregation following behind.

I knew a Lutheran pastor who wouldn’t let parishioners have communion if they missed the gospel reading.

Even that gives a person 20 minutes of wiggle room.

Day 10 - Retreat Essentials

What happens at a yoga and writing retreat on the one free afternoon?

My roommate, a sophisticated and well-traveled woman, took me on a trip to downtown Taos. We visited both upscale clothing stores and thrift stores, as well as a few art galleries. The cosmopolitan woman, who is well-versed in pacing this kind of exploration, explains that one hour and a half is enough. The body cannot really absorb or appreciate more at one time. She guides us to the patio of The Taos Inn where we settle into the more serious work of Margaritas and Harp Ale.

Yoga-like, we push our limits while taking care not to exceed them. I have been taught:

"Practice today in a way that will allow you to practice again tomorrow."

Day 9 - Veazey Street Ashram

Here's the short version of how it's going:

I stand taller, breathe better, smile more, and feel more confident. There is less need for sleep, my pimples are going away and my energy is almost manic.

So much for the common conception that yoga is for relaxation (although for you, it may be.)

All of this yoga makes me want to run track! Do jumping jacks, compose music, bake cakes, paint, and write books (or at least blog). What will happen at 40 days? What will happen at 41 days?

I think I’ll open an Ashram on Veazey Street. Every morning at 6:00 the chanting yogis will arrive, sleepy-eyed, mats tucked under their arms. I’ll hold court and chant to them, having learned all the ragas. The chants are very long. Maybe we’ll begin at 4:00. Pure sound resonating in our bodies and through the house, my teenaged son will press the pillow hard over his ears.

The altar will be adorned with figurines, stones, shells, and photographs of our teachers. I will not light the candles, neither will I extinguish them. Acolytes will do that. They will also clean the floor with sweet lemon and beeswax. Yogis will bring offerings of fresh fruit, cakes, tea and rice. No need to make breakfast!  They dust the piano every morning.

Then my day of music teaching will unfold.

The young piano students arrive, also bringing apples for their teacher.  We slice these and add them to the altar offering.  The students are filled with pride, accomplishment and joy because all week long they have practiced well and faithfully. They have tackled the tricky parts in their pieces, have practiced slowly and carefully, and never missed a single day.

Day 8 - Morning and Evening Rites

We have yoga TWICE daily. Do you think it’s fair to keep a tally and count the extra sessions toward the 40 days?

Morning yoga faces the Taos Pueblo, the Pueblo people's native land.

Afternoons offer gentle restorative yoga. Serious horizontal work.

Our famous writing teacher, whose identify cannot be revealed, brought the group, one evening, on a breathtaking sunset walk to the Morada, a traditional adobe church. We followed a path through sagebrush in sight of Taos Mountain, the Pueblo people’s sacred mountain where white people are not allowed. At the path’s end stands a large, simple cross - the first one Georgia O’Keefe painted. Behind we saw the Pedernal, a flat-topped mountain that was O’Keefe’s perennial favorite. The painter made a pact with God, our teacher tells us. If ever she got the painting right, the mountain would be hers. O’Keefe’s ashes are now a part of it’s soil.

At day's end our classroom serves as zendo, and we sit for a period of silence. Before the final bell, our surrogate priest/famous teacher frightened me with a low, growl of chanting. She dismissed us with the words, "Awake!  Awake!  Deeeath and Life are both the saaaame. This is your oooooonly life. Dooo nooot waste it!"

I ask her for a personal favor.   I want the teacher/surrogate priest to write down the haunting benediction. She refused. She said that she had stolen it.

I have also stolen it.

Day 7 - Too Much Too Little

The food at Mabel Dodge Luhan House is UNBELIEVABLE. Breakfast yesterday: scrambled eggs with Gruyere, asparagus, bacon, sausage, au gratin potatoes, croissants, bran muffins, yogurt, cottage cheese, hand-cut Irish oatmeal, fruit compote, fresh fruit. Lunch and dinner are similar. Shiitake mushroom soup, salmon, sweet potatoes with spinach and cheese, fancy whole grain rice, roasted cauliflower, rolls, orange cake. All of it homemade and fabulous. In the afternoon there are scones and homemade macaroons. I’m aching to be hungry again.

Confession Time

Yesterday’s yoga session was of the sitting in the New Mexico sun variety. Today my body is hungry for yoga and thrilled to be practicing again. I’m rosy cheeked, energized and happy.

Community retreats also carry a challenge of too much and too little. At home I long for people and ideas to bump up against. At the retreat I bump up against too many people and long for solitude.

Wisely, we observe silence from sunrise to 10 am. I sit silently at the breakfast table, facing the eastern window. I appreciate the heather plants in the window sill. I breathe a silent prayer of gratitude over my beautiful food. I am more circumspect this morning in my choices. plain yogurt. raspberries, strawberries, a nectarine. I breathe a silent prayer of gratitude for the life force of the woman sitting next to me. My eyes caress the fork in her hand. I notice the sausages on her plate and how many of them she has. I wonder how she eats them all and stays so thin.

I could have just one little sausage.

Day 6 - New Mexico Sunrise

Our bedroom window frames the Taos Mountain foothills, so this morning I watched a quick-moving and mesmerizing shift of colors as the sun came up. They moved in fast succession from midnight to iris, pink, cornflower and smoky cloud white. If you’ve ever seen the changing light facade at Frienship Heights, that’s a little what this amazing light show looked like.

New Mexico Sunrise would make a terrific screen saver. It also sounds like a good name for a fancy cocktail.

Today my only yoga option is solo practice. I am so RESISTING this. I’ll keep it very low key.

Mat/Breathe/Gratitude/Stretch/Gratitude/Breathe

Or maybe I’ll practice in a sunny armchair instead.

Just for Today.

Day 5 - Taos, New Mexico

Sundays are not in Lent, but I think it’s fair enough to have a substitution system. Sort of like having cole slaw (which I never do) instead of french fries or having someone else direct your choir (which I’m currently doing) while on retreat in Taos, New Mexico.

Yes, I’m a spoiled brat, writing from Taos, New Mexico where I’m attending a yoga and writing workshop with a famous writing teacher whose name cannot be mentioned and visiting an old friend who now lives in out west.

The retreat is at Mabel Dodge Luhan House, which has offered hospitality to the likes of Georgia O’Keefe, D. H. Lawrence, Ansel Adams, and Carl Jung. I’m sleeping in Willa Cather’s room.

When I arrived this afternoon, the welcoming woman at reception asked where I had come from. I told her that I’d come from Washington, DC and she said, "Oh, you’re from sea level. Taos is at 7,000 feet. You may have shortness of breath, fatigue or a headache. Tylenol should take care of it, and hydration. Be sure to stay hydrated."

I am carefully following her advice at the moment by beginning the writing and yoga retreat in New Mexico’s beautiful sunshine with a pint of Albuquerque Marble IPA.

In the words of Ben Franklin, "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

Day 4 - Peer Pressure

40 Days of Yoga started in response to the Facebook status question.   

My friends were giving up meat, ice cream and going car-free.  One friend actually gave up Facebook (which mortifies the flesh a bit too much in my opinion). 

It's been years since I've observed the 40 days in a meaningful way.  Many Lents ago I quit smoking (permanently).  One year I gave up alcohol (impermanently). 

I was feeling left out. 

Now I'm calculating how many more days of yoga to go until Easter and for sure not counting Sundays.  And all because I answered a simple question.

"What's on your mind?"

Day 3 - How Long Does It Take To Make A Friend?

Six Months.

Since September, Max I and have been saying how-do-you-do at the yoga studio, where he is manager and occasional teacher.

Max is a tie-dye wearing, earring sporting, sometimes long-haired gentleman.  The kind of guy that surely inspired the very word, "gentleman".  I love these gentlemen. 

Every table was taken at Starbucks, so we walked to my house where I made him bagels with cream cheese, mineola oranges, and camomile tea. 

He noticed our things.   The big black piano.  The funky kitchen.  My reiki binder.  The halloween photo of Melvin dressed like a cat. 

We talked about out families.  We talked about yoga, teaching, Christianity, Reiki, and healing. 

Lift your tea cups everyone.  I'd like to propose a toast.

To Max.  To all of our friendships.

Day 2 - A Yoga Hissy Fit

I like to think of myself as a very even tempered person.  A go-with-the-flow person.  A yoga kind of person. 

There isn't much in a yoga class that upsets me.  The temperature is 95.  No problem.  The temperature is 65.  No problem.  The room has just been mopped and smells like strong toilet bowl cleaner.  No problem.  The room is so crowded that not only is Joe's butt is in my face, but his puddle of sweat is sliding onto my mat.  No problem. 

However, we all have our buttons.  Mine have to do with the teacher or the music.  Because I'm so resilient, it takes both to push them. 

Pam taught today's lunch-time class.  She is the niiiicest teacher (maybe second nicest.  Simone was VERY nice, but she isn't there anymore.)  Nice will get you a long way in yoga teaching.  But Pam is scattered.  She sometimes forgets if she's on the right side or the left.  She forgets halves of sequences, leaving me feeling stretched out on one side and stiff on the other.  Because she doesn't calibrate moves for both beginners and advanced students, new students become confused, frustrated and a little bent out of shape (literally). 

But, did I mention that Pam is reeeeeealy nice?  This is her money in the bank.  At the beginning of class she puts eucalypus oil on our wrists.  At the end she spritzes us with rose water.  She has a beautiful voice, is pretty with a nice figure and smiles all the time. 

She does not budget time very well either.  When today's class was due to end in 10 minutes - that would the point when my arms are trembling and I'm having trouble standing upright  Pam says, "I thought we'd do a little work at the wall."  This means we have to pick up our mats, pick up our bodies, and find a new place to park them beside the window.  I TRIED to do this.  Really I did.  I dragged my mat to the only spot left.  Far in the corner.  And then I heard it.  VERY LOUDLY.  Blaring into the room from the stereo speaker, was Very Bad Music. 

Like many teachers in this studio, Pam plays music during class to amuse herself while soothing and inspiring the students.  This makes no sense to me.  The point of yoga practice is to focus on the breath and the body - to go within one's self and mine for gold.  Somehow I am the only person there that finds music to be an affliction. 

Being the even tempered person that I am, I decided that it would be alright if the second of my 40 days of yoga concluded 10 minutes early.  Not a big deal.  I understand that my music issues are unique.  I pick up my mat (again), and head for the door.  I try to avoid eye contact with Pam, who catches me anyway.  "Are you alright?"  I wave her away.  I'm fine.  She apologizes for the smell of cleaning solution in the room.  She asks me to make sure the management hears what a problem it was.  "Oh, I can deal with the smell.  That's not a problem."  Pam presses to know why I'm leaving early.  I don't want to tell her.  How can I explain about the noise and how hard it was to pick up my mat?  By now I feel upset.  I didn't want to move my mat to the corner where devils with pitch forks were coming out the the black box on the wall.  I don't like her demanding, in front of the class, that I explain why my spiritual practice has been cut short.  I was trying to just slink out the door, even if it meant missing the relaxing savasana.  She presses hard enough that it bursts out, "I can't stand your music.  It's just.....it's just.....YUCK!" 

Hopefully tomorrow will be better....

Day 1 - Ash Wednesday

The clerk behind the desk at the yoga studio has ashes on her forehead.  This is unexpected.  Yoga studios have kind of eastern leanings.  The ashes look out of place and make me uncomfortable.  It's so public. 

The kind-of-eastern-yoga-students ask, "Aren't those marks only for Catholics?"  "No", the clerk replies, "Protestants can also receive ashes."  The kind-of-eastern inquirer asks, "Why do you wear them in public?" 

The yoga clerk explained about witness to Christian community.  I am even more uncomfortable. 

What is it about this public display that makes me squirm?  Isn't our personal spirituality supposed to be kept private in the bedroom?  Certainly it doesn't need to show up on our skin or in other public forums.