Honoring my ancestors my way

In some spiritual traditions, at this time of year, people remember and celebrate their ancestors. We acknowledge our honored dead on All Hallows Eve, Day of the Dead, and All Saints Day.

I always see a lot of, "I honor my grandparents," and "You are here because of the love of thousands" sorts of posts at the end of October. And they always give me pause because I neither honor my grandparents nor believe in their love. I don't know much about my ancestors before them. They died long before I was born.

For those who don't know, I was born in the former Soviet Union. When we emigrated in 1973, it was with the knowledge that we would never again see those we left behind. Intercontinental communication was possible but calls into the Soviet Union took a great deal of doing. 

I was six years old when we left and understood that I would never see or likely hear from my grandmothers again. And I didn't mind one bit. That sounds harsh, I know. But that is the way of things.

I recall only missing one person after we left, my great grandmother, Golda (after whom my sister Golda Noble is named). Both my grandfathers died in World War II. So, the only ancestors we ever knew were both grandmothers and my maternal great grandmother. 

To say my grandmothers (coincidentally both named Rose) were evil, wicked women is both an understatement and a misnomer. Neither was particularly warm, kind, or giving. Both had the pinched and mean quality of someone who has suffered greatly and never healed. Then again, they lived through the hell that was post World War II Soviet Union. Both lost husbands. Both endured traumas I can't even imagine. And yet both survived. That must count for something.

To give an example of their lack of kindness towards me, personally, I became my own babysitter when I was two years old. Allow me to explain. Both women worked at home when I was born. Both lived a few blocks from my family. Neither wanted to watch me when both my parents went to work. I was watched by my sister, Emily until I was two years old (thanks for that, Em). Why the change? She started school at seven. My parents asked both grandmothers to watch me. Neither would. Great grandma Golda would have but she lived with my grandmother and had little power to sway opinion in either direction, from what I understand. I don't know the details of their reasons. I only know that my parents sat me down, told me what was going to happen, explained what I could and could not do (don't play with the electrical sockets, do put on your clothes, don't go outside) and then left me to my own devices all day while my sister was in school.

As a result, I never had any sort of loving feelings towards either grandmother. In fact, I feel a sort of indifference to both. When we left the FSU, I shed no tears for anyone we left behind except my great grandmother.

Grandma Golda was as kind as she could be under the circumstances. But I view her life and kindness through the lens of being in the FSU in the early 1970s. Few had anything. Most had nothing. We made do with what little we had, and children grew up fast.

Grandma Golda taught me how to read cards (regular playing cards not tarot) and stones. She talked to me about the traditions and for lack of a better term superstitions of our people. Some would call what she did folk wisdom or folk magic. She just relayed them as the way we did things. I was a sponge back then and I soaked her wisdom up. I still use a lot of what she told me in my work, and for that I am grateful.

Grandma Golda passed away when we were living in Israel on our year-long journey to immigrate to the USA. I remember the day clearly. It was hot in Dimona, in the middle of the desert. My father held my mother as she keened her grief. We had received a letter that Grandma Golda had passed away within a month of our leaving. It had already been a few months so we didn't know of her death for a long time. I think that was part of my mother's grief. She hadn't been there, and it had already been months.

As adults, my parents had both known the full impact of leaving everything they knew. They had known they would likely never see any family again (untrue in our case but we didn't know that at the time). But, my great grandmother had been 84 years old when we left. It was certain we would never see her again. 

Nowadays, the immigration experience is likely different. People can email, whatsapp, text, and heck skype across continents. Communication is much simpler for many. But back then, it took months to get word. And with the border guards often keeping what they felt like keeping, many letters and packages never arrived. When you left, you often said a permanent goodbye to everyone and everything you had ever known.

I can't imagine the impact that sort of knowledge has on the psyche. We are generally social, family-oriented creatures. Even the nomadic societies traveled in family-centered groups. But immigration? That's a whole different ballgame. It requires a separation and chasm that must permanently impact and influence the lives of those who leave and those who remain behind.

I am not a nomad. As someone who loves to travel, I also love having a home base. I want to leave and return with the certainty that I will come home. Immigration requires you to make a home wherever you settle. It amazes me how many people have done it and survived and thrived in the aftermath. My parents (who have their issues but that is for another essay) did the best they could as they embarked on the journey that brought them and their children to a new world.

A few years ago, I took my mother on a trip to New Mexico. We were going to drive around to the cool sites and spend some time together. As part of the journey, I decided to get some insight into our history. I brought a taperecorder and a list of questions. While we drove, I asked her the questions, and she recorded her answers. I still have some of those recordings. They illuminated, for me, the arduous lives my family and everyone led after the Iron Curtain cordoned off a chunk of the world. I listen to them periodically to remind myself of what we are capable of as a species and as people. We can cause each other unspeakable pain. That, I grieve. And we can muster up the will and resolve and strength to survive just about anything. That, I respect.

So, I guess if I am going to honor my ancestors, this last is what I choose to celebrate. I bow my head in remembrance and raise my eyes in hope that I will always have the will and resolve and courage to thrive.

 

A bikini and a swimming pool: A lesson in body image

(This might offend some, but it's what I'm thinking about so consider yourselves warned.) 

I'm too much a product of my upbringing. And that saddens me. But, I'm so proud of the people in front of me, and that makes me weep joyful tears.

I'm hanging out by the pool, and we are in "The Europeans have landed" mode. There are no fewer than four families from various parts of Europe hanging out by the pool before we all disburse to our various activities for the day.

A few particular people have caught my eye. Two girls, who are about twelve or thirteen are frolicking in the pool. Both are wearing bikinis. Neither is thin. At all. Both have bellies that hang out over their bikini bottoms. Both have full, big hips and thighs. Both are doing their thing without a care as to whether or not they "should" be wearing bikinis with the kind of figures they have. They are just doing it and having a blast making handstands and somersaults and giggles. 

When I was their age, I would not have dreamed of putting a bikini on my body. My breasts alone would have made wearing a two-piece suit an impossibility. Heck, to this day, I wouldn't dream of it because frankly the straps cutting into my shoulders would be too painful unless I pay big money for a custom-made suit, which I won't be doing (and I like my low-cut one-piece purple and pink suit just fine, thank you very much. :) ). But the big issue? Both my parents let me (and my sisters) know that we were too fat and that we should not ever reveal ourselves like that in public. They reinforced that message daily in ways big and small. 

So, while I loved the water, the pool, and the beach, I covered myself up. Some of you, who took swimming with me in high school might remember that I wore a t-shirt over my swimsuit. I was a great swimmer. I could do a backwards dive off the high board (and did and that was how I got an automatic A in the class) and not blink an eye. I have since learned how to scuba dive. And you know what? Never would I do it while wearing a two-piece suit. How strange and sad is that!

We all get messages from the world at large about what we should and shouldn't do. And the messages fall on a continuum. The hope is that our  parents would fall on the positive end of that scale. The wish is that they would land squarely on the "You go girl! You are awesome! And how great that you can dive off the high dive (regardless of what you are wearing)!" side of things.

But often, too often, we receive the exact opposite messages from parents and other elders whose job it is to help us develop a strong sense of self and a healthy ego. I didn't have children, but I like to think I would fall on the positive end of that spectrum. I certainly try to support the young people in my life as they stretch and grow. I do have some views on being too sedentary at too young an age, but that has little to do with body image and a lot to do with good health, wellbeing, and quality of life. 

I wish I could come up to these young women and tell them how incredible I think they are. And I wish I could give the parents a "high five" for doing such a great job raising their kids. Both girls are well-adjusted, happy, adventurous, and fantastic. And they have their parents' support as they develop. I would love it if everyone had the opportunity to feel that way as they grow up.

I also wish we lived in a society where what a girl or woman chooses to wear wasn't up for debate or discussion. As I said first thing, I hope that part of this essay doesn't offend people. I guess I'm a product of my society as much as I am one of my upbringing. I still wonder and question and ponder these issues and how they affect women and girls all over the world.

Right now, the dad and one of the daughters are hanging out in the pool. They are giggling and bouncing and having a great time. He is helping her straighten her underwater handstand. He is providing support, encouragement, advice, and a boundary as she explores this new skill. And as far as I'm concerned those are four of the biggest and best things parents can do for their kids.

Childlike fun is on the menu, today.

What fascinating cards today! We have Six of Cups, the Page of Pentacles, and the Sun! Today, let's think about children, or ourselves as children. What did you like to do for fun when you were a kid? Do you still do it? Or, has it fallen off by the side of the road? If the answer to the first question is yes, then good onya and keep doing it (or perhaps find a newer, more fun way to update it so it suits you even better as you are today). If you answered no, well then, it's time to return to your roots. Take a few minutes right now and write down a quick list of the things you loved to do when you were younger. Did you play make believe? Fight dragons? Climb trees? Read books? Ice skate? Take karate lessons? Play trumpet? What was fun? Once you have them written out, circle the top three that were your favorite activities. Your mission should you choose to accept is to find a way to do at least one of these things today. It doesn't have to be a big deal. If you don't have time to go out and find a trumpet that you can play, take a minute and find a youtube video that features trumpet. Then, listen, really listen and enjoy the heck out of it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGlApx8lTIg

If you loved climbing trees and live in a place where there just aren't any climbing trees around, why then you can perhaps go and sit under a tree for lunch. Or, again let the internet come to the rescue and look at some images of great climbing trees.

If you have kids, play with them today. After school, after homework, make an evening of it. Grab the latest fun game, video, book, etc. and enjoy it together. Make a dinner that's not entirely healthy (mac and cheese anyone?), eat it together, and laugh. If it's clear out in your area tonight, grab a star chart and star gaze.

On a slightly more sober note, be practical about your kids today. Make sure they're all okay and have what they need. They will always push their limits, but remember, you're the parent, and you will always know more than they do. :)

Whatever it is you do tonight, find the joy in it and you will be amazed at how much fun you have, even with the simplest things.

Today's Tarot: 3/1/12

3/1/12. Holy moly! It's March, and after last night's storm, it does seem like a new beginning. Today's cards are Two of Pentacles and the Sun. They are fabulous cards if you find yourself crazy busy and trying to juggle too many things in too little time. The Sun brings energy, vitality, and childlike wonder. The Two of Pents brings the ability to handle it all regardless of the stresses that will try to eat up your day. So, relax, get to it, and all will be well. One caveat: If you have kids, find a way to spend quality time with them today. You will feel closer to them (and to understanding what makes them tick, which can be even more important), and they will feel your caring and your love. It's a win-win! If you don't have kids, get out there and do something childlike. Does that mean finding the first ice cream truck of the season? Does it mean spending part of your lunch hour coloring? Does it mean finally giving in and putting that Kimba the White Lion temporary tattoo on your arm? It might.

Thoughts on progress

Today, while doing yoga, it came to me that a pose that was well nigh impossible for me when I started yoga comes easily to me now. And in fact, many do. The spark today was what some call wheel pose and others call upward bow or more simply, a back bend.

When I was a kid, I did gymnastics. Walkovers, cartwheels, back bends, splits - they all came easily. In fact, some of you with whom I went to middle school might remember that I was a basketball cheerleader. So, I did that stuff all the time. Then, came many years of relative inactivity. Sure, I exercised and worked out but I didn't work on my flexibility or balance very much and true to form, I lost both. Then, about eleven years ago, I started doing yoga with a book and then later DVDs.

I was stiff and sore and unable to do many of the poses that required flexibility, balance, and upper body strength. Slowly, ever so slowly, I built those up. For years, nothing moved. My body refused to remember the days when I could bend into a back walkover with ease and every victory was hard won.

I recall the day I first tried the first part of Marichi III (a twisting pose). One variation of it necessitates that you bend one leg so that your foot is under you and then the other leg over your bent leg and put your foot flat on the floor. Well, I got the first leg under me, but the second leg barely made it over and I couldn't even put my foot on the floor. I was somewhat distraught, but I kept trying. For years, when I did this particular pose, my foot did not touch the floor but still pretty much every day, I did the pose. Then, about four years ago, I suddenly realized that the outside of my foot not only touched but sat comfortably. Today, as I moved into the pose effortlessly and as my whole foot rested on the floor easily, I smiled at the me from eleven years ago and at all her struggles, because here I was doing the pose and enjoying it.

It came home even more as I moved into upward bow (back bend). As I pushed my body up onto hands and feet and as I arched my back and breathed into relaxation of the pose, I paid tribute to the twelve-year-old me who did the same pose but for fun or to cheer on her team. Upward bow was easy when I was twelve, a physical impossibility at thirty two, and is now back to being relatively easy. It's almost as if this is regression rather than a progression, and I look forward to progressing to the point that the twelve-year-old me comes full circle.

There are some who say yoga should be done for its own sake and that progress happens and can be noted but shouldn't be sought specifically. I think differently. I believe we as a species love to categorize and make hierarchies. We like seeing progress and in this case yoga provides it beautifully and consistently. Then again, we need to approach the practice of it the same way, beautifully and consistently. Then, we will progress and a certain peace comes on those days when something sparks us to look back and see our journey.

I love to teach and I particularly love to teach yoga to those who think they can't do it. Modifications to the poses are key both to learning the poses and to building the confidence to try them consistently. I always tell my students that they will want to be consistent - that this is a process of the every day not the someday. Too much is left to chance when the practice is sporadic and the best way to gauge it is both a long- and short-term awareness of our bodies, and their strength, balance and flexibility.