Resolutions

As we head into a whole new year and the celebration of our beautiful planet’s successful orbit around our sun, my mind turns to the concept of the passing of time. Isn’t time a human concept after all? Is age really just a number? And when do we start getting a pass on making resolutions?

My birthday was in December and a larger, more ominous number looms before me less than a year from now. Should I be concerned? I don’t really feel very concerned. I am more interested in my day to day happiness and my day to day mindful, creative, loving existence. It’s really difficult these days for me to plan anytime too far in the future. Good thing I’m not running a large corporation. A really good thing.

Becoming a yoga teacher has changed me. Losing a child has changed me. And perhaps growing older has changed me. For real my growing relationship with God has changed me. Sometimes I feel like I live in my own little world, but I kind of like it here. 

I rebel a little when people talk about the passing of time and the difficulty of growing older. Sure it’s hard on us physically, but emotionally and spiritually it’s way easier (and lots more fun) these days, in my experience anyway. What once felt like really hard challenges seem smaller with the perspective of age. I enjoy knowing, really knowing, that “this, too, shall pass”. Growing older is a privilege and doing it healthfully is a joy. 

As I ponder this new year and people are asking about my resolutions and goals, I find myself balking at this idea as well. Why must I plan and strategize and control and make bold statements about my year to come? 

I do have a trip coming up that I am pretty excited about. Thank you friends and husband for mostly planning the whole thing! I did find a yoga studio I want to visit while I am there. That’s something. I also have some ideas for new children’s books and perhaps another video like the one David Rowen produced for me to go with the book that came out last month. I want to keep teaching yoga and deepen my own practice. I want to continue to learn more about how the practice can interface with my spiritual practices of contemplation, prayer and meditation. I want to practice forgiveness and compassion wherever possible to heal wounds from the past. I want to be there for loved ones who need me and make more time to be truly present for them when asked to be. If acting and voice over jobs show up that seem fun, I look forward to them. They are always welcome challenges.

A couple of years ago I wrote down some goals in a New Year’s Day yoga class. I wrote that I wanted to work on three films that year. Funny, I did work on three films that year. Should have written four. Intentionality is powerful. I am not denying the power of goal setting and visualizing and focus and all that. I like flow. I know flow. I want to be in the flow all of the time. Or at least more of the time. Being in flow means I surrender to the mysterious forces that guide and empower me to move through life and love and work with grace and ease. In my first half of life I tried to control and manipulate and create my life according to my will. My ego believed it was in control and had quite a bit of power. 

Now that I am fully in my second act, the second half of life, I am more content to let things unfold as they want to. It’s more about Thy will over my will. I’m not being lazy, although this past week has been an enjoyable week of rest for me. I am surrendering to the flow and trusting that God’s got my back. She has proven time and time again that She does, so I am done. I am all in. She knows what is best for me and will guide my 2019 whether I plan anything or not. It’s all God and it’s all good. I just need to be open to guidance and be ready to act when the time is right.

When I consider the truth that on this New Year’s Eve Eve as I sit here writing in my kitchen on this computer, in my yoga pants (and my vest and hat - I just went for a run) that at my age I am happy and healthy and so fortunate to be in this life, I am acutely aware of the improbability of it all. And so grateful. So darn grateful that my parents, my sweet loving adorable parents, married almost 62 years now, came together in the nifty fifties, did the deed, sperm and ovum united, became cells that subdivided, then an embryo, a nervous system, a whole body that has been my home for all these years. It’s really pretty amazing to consider the enormity of it all, let alone the idea of the passage of time. 

That said, I have recently read an interesting book by Dan Pink entitled When about how to schedule your life. He shares interesting research findings about why mornings are probably best for a lot of things over afternoons (there are exceptions of course) and how to maximize productivity by planning your day around your “chromatype”. Find out if you are a lark or an owl by checking out this link to determine your circadian rhythm type. Avoid the dreaded “trough”, that time when energy levels bottom out for many reasons. It could save your life if you are having surgery in the afternoon in a hospital that doesn’t practice preventive measures to combat this dangerous phenomenon. Interesting stuff. In his book Pink describes how different people arrange their day to take advantage of optimum times for creativity. I am particular to Tchaikovsky’s daily routine: early waking, walking, breakfast, composing at the piano, a two hour afternoon walk, dinner, light practice, bed. I don’t play or compose like him but I will have to work on my own daily routine as the days get longer. I do believe in getting sunshine when we can during the sunnier winter days. Maybe I will practice the piano more. Thanks Tchaikovsky. Can I call you Pyotr?

Time is a human concept perhaps, but we do have to respect the changing of seasons and the movements of the planets and stars. They have a marked effect on our physical bodies and our psyches. Sensitivity to the external world is part of our human experience. Living in more harmony with the natural world is an intention I am putting out there, especially in this second half of life. To kick this off I am excited to share a Happy Healthy You! podcast, co-hosted with my daughter Caroline Bowman, about living a more zero waste kind of life. We do produce so much waste. I do anyways. I want to do better. She introduced me to her friend and fellow Kinky Boots castmate Julia McClellen who is extraordinarily and contagiously passionate about the subject. We both learned a lot and it was fun to co-host with her. Watch for that podcast toward the end of the month.

OK, so maybe I do have a few resolutions or intentions for 2019.  Whatever. But I am still going to go with the flow, be in the moment and up the faith factor. I trust you will do what's right for you when considering the opportunity for a fresh start that this new year brings.

Whatever your relationship with time, and I am sure it is just perfect for you, I wish you the happiest of New Years, the healthiest of every year from my loving heart to yours. Keep on living your best, most authentic life from one moment to the next and you can’t go wrong. And if you need a little encouragement don’t hesitate to reach out to me or someone else you trust.

We are here for one another. Trust me, I am old. I know these things.

Namaste,

Connie

Connie Bowman is an actress, author, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and yoga teacher who teaches at various places around Howard County, MD. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.

Traditions

The Christmas season has so many traditions attached to it, the familiar carols being one of them. I know most of them well as a professional caroler for more than fifteen years. Dressed in traditional Victorian costumes quartets traveled, soprano, alto, tenor, and bass, to private parties, public celebrations, grand foyers of government and corporate buildings. We sang outside in cold, wind, rain, and snow and inside senior centers and assisted living facilities where the temperatures were toasty warm.

A couple of years into my retirement from this gracious a cappella group I look back with fondness on the memories of singing these beloved carols for thousands of (mostly) grateful audiences.

Sometimes we would come upon people, like at a mall or shopping center, taking them by surprise. Seeing the delight in their eyes was gratifying as they softened into the spirit of what we were offering. Oftentimes people were moved to tears hearing the familiar melodies. Many people sang right along with us over the years, even the souls in the nursing homes whose memories had long faded but could from somewhere deep inside retrieve the words to these carols.

What is it about a tradition that is so comforting?

My daughter and son-in-law live in a primarily Jewish Orthodox section of New York City. There is a beautiful synagogue on the corner opposite their 1928 apartment building. Many of the people who live in their building are elderly immigrant Jews who keep kosher and practice the traditions of old. They have their ways and they are staunch defenders of their traditions.

I find it comforting that my young newlywed children are surrounded by this community with rich cultural and religious values and traditions. They are slowly getting to know their neighbors and their customs and finding an appreciation for the sweetness and gentleness of their practices. There is respect and honor and a genuine curiosity there. 

As we enter into this last week of holiday preparation and shopping fervor I wonder if you have taken a moment to appreciate the traditions from your past that have given you comfort. Perhaps it’s not the carols for you.  If not, what brings you comfort and joy during the holiday season? Is it a particular dish once lovingly prepared by a beloved grandmother? What do you know of that dish? How is it woven into your story and heritage?

At a Thompson family cookie exchange last week I found out that my grandfather, my father's father, loved kippers for breakfast on Christmas morning. I didn’t know much about the fish that my grandmother soaked overnight in a pan of water on the counter of their sprawling kitchen in Maxton, North Carolina. My grandfather was of Scottish descent and eating those kippers no doubt brought him comfort and a connection to his ancestry. Oh, and grits. We always had grits. In that same conversation my cousin, the senior of our group, reminded me that when my grandmother passed away the only memento my father asked for was the double boiler in which my Granny prepared the grits for breakfast. We forgo the kippers, but each Christmas morning my Dad is in charge of fixing a big pot of southern-style butter-drenched grits.

In a conversation on the Happy Healthy You! podcast last week I spoke with author Anna Gatmon, Ph.D. about bringing more spirituality and meaning into our holiday celebrations. She offers some great ideas for gift giving and meal sharing for those of us who appreciate tradition and meaning and memory-making. Take a listen here and let me know if any of these ideas resonate with you. Perhaps you have your own ideas to share. 

May you enjoy this upcoming holiday and perhaps find comfort, joy, and peace in celebrating traditions that serve you and your loved ones. Maybe you will even belt out a few carols while you finish wrapping those gifts.

Merry Christmas. 

Peace, Shalom, Namaste,

Connie

Connie Bowman is an actress, author, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and yoga teacher who teaches at various places around Howard County, MD. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.

Stories We Tell: Grief and the Holidays

When we so fear the dark that we demand light around the clock, there can be only one result: artificial light that is glaring and graceless and, beyond its borders, a darkness that grows ever more terrifying as we try to hold it off. Split off from each other, neither darkness nor light is fit for human habitation. But the moment we say “yes” to both of them and join their paradoxical dance, the two conspire to make us healthy and whole.                  

                                    ~~Parker J. Palmer

Accepting the bad with the good is part of life, or so the idiom goes. Grief and loss happen throughout a lifetime, but then also come great gifts of joy and happiness. It’s an irony of the greatest degree that the holidays, these festivals of light that we celebrate, happen for us at the darkest time of the year. Or perhaps it’s a beautiful gift. At the most basic level, the stories we tell around the holidays can be healing at very deep levels.

“God rest you merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay.” 

The carol suggests we take heart and implores us to rest in the awareness that Christ the Savior was born on Christmas day to take us out of our grief and darkness. The chorus brings us “tidings of comfort and joy”. A nice sentiment. 

Easier sang than done.

Like the holiday stories of our childhood, our own lives are stories unfolding. It is interesting to observe the things that show up in our lives. Our lives are stories that have meaning and wisdom and we are meant to pay attention. They are clues to our true selves, as mystic Thomas Merton would say. For Merton, doing away with the false self was our life’s work. 

We take on this false self by believing the stories we tell ourselves about what is good and bad and right and wrong based on false culturally derived assumptions and flat-out survival instincts. Father Thomas Keating, who died last month, said this of the true self: “Our basic core of goodness is our true self, its center of gravity is God.” He also said, and I love this, “The false self doesn’t drop dead on command.” Unfortunately. 

We live our lives mostly on the surface. Surface-level living gets us in trouble with our souls and with one another. At a surface level, we take for granted that the Christmas story is accurate. The truth is we don’t really know if the baby Jesus was born on the date that we celebrate Christmas. We don’t know for sure if the stable was a thing. We don’t know if Mary was really a virgin. The story is a stretch for our modern imaginations. 

What if that’s the whole point? What if we were to look more deeply with our amazing imaginations and our extremely capable and compassionate hearts? What if we looked at it, that Christmas story, as a gift; a story of hope for our dark, grief-filled lives. The same could be true of the story of Hannukah. What if we were supposed to let our imaginations take us more deeply into those stories that have undeniably stood the test of time? What if, by letting our imaginations run a little wild, we could shine some light onto our own unfolding stories?

This December I have a happy, joyful thing happening right alongside some very sad, stressful things, as many of us do. On the 10th of the month my children’s book, There’s an Elephant in My Bathtub comes out. It’s so happy, a sweet gift for children - sorry but all the kids in my life will be getting one. (Now I’ve gone and ruined the surprise.) There will also be a sweet children’s sing-along produced by the super talented David Rowen, featuring some of my favorite Broadway stars. Now that’s fun and happy and joyful and beautiful. This children’s book will become part of my story.

It’s the good and the bad, the dark and the light, the joy and the grief that is our life’s journey, our own personal story, that we are living out every moment of our lives. We experience them all and they don’t have a calendar. Only in the movies do the enemy troops stop and pray together on Christmas, going back to fighting the following day. Grief and loss and conflict are part of the human condition. So is joy, happiness, love...

Author Cynthia Bourgeault writes: 

Deeper than our sense of separateness and isolation is another level of awareness in us, another whole way of knowing. Thomas Keating, in his teachings on centering prayer, calls this our “spiritual awareness” and contrasts it with the “ordinary awareness” of our usual, egoic thinking. The simplest way of describing this other kind of awareness is that while the self-reflexive ego thinks by means of noting differences and drawing distinctions, spiritual awareness “thinks” by an innate perception of kinship, of belonging to the whole. The only thing blocking the emergence of this whole and wondrous other way of knowing is your over-reliance on your ordinary thinking. If you can just turn that off for a while, then the other will begin to take shape in you, become a reality you can actually experience. And as it does, you will know . . . your absolute belonging and place in the heart of God, and that you are a part of this heart forever and cannot possibly fall out of it, no matter what may happen. In the contemplative journey, as we swim down into those deeper waters toward the wellsprings of hope, we begin to experience and trust what it means to lay down self, to let go of ordinary awareness and surrender ourselves to the mercy of God. And as hope . . . flows out from the center, filling us with the fullness of God’s own purpose living itself into action, then we discover within ourselves the mysterious plenitude to live into action what our ordinary hearts and minds could not possibly sustain.

The children’s book came about when I woke up one morning with a line in my head. I made a beeline for my computer to type what was rolling around in my mind: “This morning I was rather shocked to find an elephant in my bathtub.” When six-year-old Isaac visited during the holidays with his family he left some of his toy animals around the house. As I was cleaning up from our holiday party I found a plastic camel on the sofa cushion, a lion on the floor, and a gorilla on the ottoman.  That's how the book was conceived.

I try to pay attention to things that happen like this, seemingly out of the blue. Think about the things in your life that have shown up unexpectedly. They might be "God things" as my friend Barb and I like to call them. I have learned to pay attention when these unusual things happen because a sub-plot of my story is beginning to reveal itself. This life is fun and interesting and mysterious like that.

One of the many reasons the Christmas story is so magical is the spectacular imagery in the story of the birth of Christ. There is the famous star that appears in the sky, directing the three wise men to the exact place of Jesus’ birth. That ancient GPS was important to those three guys. They needed that star otherwise they would be lost. We know how men hate to ask for directions. And how about the angel that appeared to Mary telling her she was going to have God’s baby? Whoa, that would be a shocker for any young girl to hear, angel or not. Fortunately, the angel preceded his announcement with the admonishment to “fear not” before he unloaded the good news on her. Take a deep breath girl your life is about to change radically and, by the way, so will the rest of the world. Quite a story unfolded on that starry silent night in that stable in Bethlehem.

"O star of wonder, star of night,

Star with royal beauty bright,

Westward leading, still proceeding,

Guide us to thy perfect Light"

Those two images, the star that led the wise men and the angel’s visitation on this teenage mom-to-be, can be woven into my own story. Here’s an example. Paying attention to the signs and wonders of the day like those wise men, who didn’t have a Waze app on their iPhone, is something I try to practice. When an idea for a story pops in, I take it seriously. Sometimes it turns into a book, sometimes it’s just a passing fancy. When I am seeking guidance I look to these sacred stories. 

For about a year I played with the story and the images of the elephant and the other larger-than-life animals as a way to handle grief. It turned out to be great therapy.  You might give it a try as another tool for journeying through grief. Creativity is healing. It takes us out of our minds. The mind can spin things over and over until the truth is so obscured it is barely recognizable. The Dr. Phil dramas that we create up there in the mind are not the real deal. When we explore our subconscious mind for the creative gems that are hidden there we are able to uncover deep heart-centered wisdom.

The truth of our lives is our story. What is your true story? Take out all of the spin and take a good hard realistic look at your true story. Did you have a less than happy childhood? What stories have you been telling yourself it? What do you know about your people and their own stories? How separated do you feel from loved ones and others in your community? Where is there common ground? Tell the truth. Just the facts ma’am/man. Just the facts.

What we know about the Christmas story is that a child was born and he grew up to be a teacher and a preacher of love, a rabble-rouser from the get-go, a healer, and a leader. We don’t really know what he looked like although he was probably not much over five feet as that was the average height at the time. We’re not sure he was actually born in Bethlehem. Details are murky at best, but the similar stories in the gospels point to something with historical veracity. The fact that we are still celebrating that birth two thousand and some years later is telling. I could only dream of that for my little book.

I am enjoying this Pray as You Go website which provides an opportunity to experience the nativity story in a deeper way. It is beautifully done. It is especially nice for families. Check it out here.

"How silently, how silently

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming,

But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive him still,

The dear Christ enters in"

After submitting my story and getting lots of rejections, I was contacted by the publisher back in January. They were interested in my story. What? We began work on the book shortly thereafter. 

The holidays are tough for a lot of people. I know that after Meghan, my first child, died (Back to Happy, my first book, was about healing from that loss) I didn’t have much passion for creating a festive holiday for my family. But I had to drum up some enthusiasm for my three-year-old daughter Caroline. I also had a newborn son, just two months old, that first Christmas. What a story! Somehow we survive these things that seem so devastating and life-changing. Many of us thrive through adversity and develop more compassion, resilience, and a sense of justice. Others become bitter, hopeless, deeply depressed. A lot of us fall somewhere in the middle. Our stories go on. Like the animals in my story, the big things become smaller with the passage of time. When we share our stories truthfully we find common ground.

We took the Amtrak train from Baltimore to New York City recently and as my husband and I emerged from Penn Station onto 34th street in Manhattan he commented, “I think I just saw more people on this block than I have seen in the last month.” So many people. And they each have stories. There’s common ground for you.

How will you honor your story this holiday season? Will you look to the Nativity or the Hanukkah stories for inspiration and an awareness of a deeper truth of your own. I recommend it. Take some time to ponder the meaning of your life in light of the mythologies we have come to know and cherish. How do you relate to the characters in the stories? How will you move forward in relation to the characters in your life in light of these stories? How has your relationship to your Creator changed in light of these stories and your own?

The Christmas story will always be a source of comfort and joy for me, especially in darker times. Each year my relationship with the mystery that is God deepens as my story unfolds. The staying power of these stories is evidence that life goes on despite hardship and personal struggle. My faith is deepened every Christmas morning when I remember that the Light of the World, that innocent child who grew to show us how things could be, was a gift, is a gift of love to all of us always, and especially when things appear darkest.

I will breathe through this season with all of you who are experiencing similar dark nights right alongside the happiness of holiday festivities. Yoga, a healthy diet, and good sleep will help, as will some of the other lessons I shared in my book Back to Happy.

Also, look for my ten-day course called Sacred Grieving available on the Insight Timer app. I will be using it as well this season to gracefully navigate the trials to come. I would love your comments on the course.

If you love animals like I do, buy my sweet children’s book here and share it with the children in your life. And don’t forget to check out and share the sing-along video on YouTube. You might not thank me after the children have played it for the hundredth time, but your kiddos will love it!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Blessed Happy Healthy Holidays to you and yours.

Namaste, Shalom, Peace.

Connie

Connie Bowman is an actress, author, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and yoga teacher who teaches at various places around Howard County, MD. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.

Laughter as Medicine

Want the change

by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.

What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.

Pour yourself out like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.

Every happiness is the child of a separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming
a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.

This morning as my chair yoga class at the Florence Bain Center in Columbia finished savasana and gently drew their hands to their hearts into prayer to whisper the closing “Namaste”, I was overcome with emotion. These seniors who show up to practice yoga, despite their physical and cognitive limitations, have taught me much more than I could ever teach them.

Many of them battle pain, depression, chronic illness, and the challenges that come with aging, yet they make their way to our sweet sacred circle every week to breathe and move their bodies; to practice yoga together.

Today we practiced laughter yoga. It was a bit of a risk for me, a relatively new yoga teacher. I have been teaching for three years in Howard County. I never thought I’d be teaching seniors. I started teaching because I really believe in the healing benefits of yoga, having experienced them myself. Years ago, after the death of my six-year-old daughter Meghan, yoga was a practice that helped get me through the grieving process. I wrote about it in my book, Back to Happy. The physical practice, the meditation, and the opportunity to slow down were saving graces for me as I faced the difficult task of learning to accept that my daughter was gone.

When I introduced the idea of laughter yoga, I wasn’t sure how it would go over. With a couple of the students in wheelchairs, there are always modifications to the traditional poses that need to happen. But this was something altogether new for this brave class that typically ranges in age from 72 to 92. They are usually pretty game for my antics, but still, I had apprehension about trying something so new and different.

One of the chapters in my book Back to Happy is all about acceptance. Losing a child is hard to accept. Darn near impossible to be more precise. In those early days, months, and even years, I looked for almost any way to avoid the reality of her loss. I kept myself impossibly busy; too busy to think, too busy to breathe, too busy to hear the beating of my broken heart.

The class started with a “pranayama” exercise I called Ha Ha Hee Hee Hee, which we chanted for several rounds. By the end, a few students were smiling as I suggested they close their eyes and notice the effects of the exercise. We deepened and slowed our breath and sat in silence together, enjoying a short meditation. That went well, I thought to myself. Maybe this will work after all.

In another chapter of my book, I wrote about the day I learned to surrender. I had been trying to go on with life, being a mommy to my other two young children while deeply missing my daughter Meghan. The sadness was affecting me physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn't know what to do anymore. I had reached the bottom I suppose. That day, it was afternoon as I recall, I got down on my knees in my living room and cried out to God.

God and I had not exactly been on speaking terms after Meghan’s death. I was brought up in the Episcopal church, a generic enough religion. I knew all the proper prayers. They just weren't getting me anywhere. Until that day in my living room when, in desperation, I let down my armor and told God out loud that I couldn’t do this alone and I really, really, really could use a hand. 

After our meditation, the class loosened up a bit with some gentle neck stretches in preparation for phase two of laughter yoga. The next part of my little experiment involved an invisible telephone which we held up to our ears. Then we imagined that we had just been told the funniest joke ever over that phone. These obliging, funny, enthusiastic yogis went for it! They started with small chuckles which soon grew into roaring laughter. As they looked at one another their laughter became contagious. They kept it going for several minutes until this group of around ten sounded like an audience at a comedy show. One yogi snorted (or maybe that was me). When we finished our laughter yoga, all of us closed our eyes and observed the physical, chemical, and emotional changes that we knew were going on inside.

I thought I learned a lot from my grief journey, and surely I did. I never dreamed I would be teaching yoga to the senior population. The honor of teaching this courageous group of souls has given me much more than I ever expected, certainly much more than I give to them. I'm pretty sure it was a God thing.

Happiness is an inside job. Life is hard and if we’re lucky, we have the privilege of getting old.

To do this life thing well, we’ve got to keep moving and breathing and loving one another. 

I am still on my journey back to happy and grateful to be on it with this fantastic and incredibly wise group of yogis.

Namaste,

Connie Bowman

Connie Bowman is an actress, voice-over talent, yoga teacher, and author of Back to Happy, a Journey of Hope, Healing and Waking Up, and a new children's book entitled There's an Elephant in My Bathtub. For more info: www.conniebowman.com

Ego and Soul

If you fall I will catch you. I will be waiting. Time after time.
~~Cyndi Lauper

The leaves are beginning to change. Already. And I have a summer cold.

One is asking me to move forward, to do something. The other is forcing me to slow down, be still. 

Changes of season can be challenging. New allergens in the air cause the respiratory system to adjust accordingly. Sometimes our systems balk at and try to resist this call to change. Our bodies attempt to rebelliously override the external change. 

Likewise, when our bodies ask us to slow down and take notice of an inflammation, an ache or a nose that runs like a leaky faucet,  I/we often want to ignore this invitation with things that mask the symptoms, like lozenges or drugs. We can be feisty, we humans.

What if we paid attention to both and allowed movement and stillness to happen together?

How could that possibly work?

Our ego is the part of us that wants to prove something. “We got this!” “We’re better than the other guy.” “We’re special.” Our souls are our eternal guides, our protector, our connection to our divinity.

Both of these guys are part of us. The ego keeps us alive here on this 3D Planet of density and danger and drama. It pushes us forward through the muck, reminds us to duck under a big wave and notices and is sometimes drawn into the storms of life as the drama reinforces the ego’s hold on this reality. I loved Wayne Dyer's acronym for the ego. It was Edging God Out.

The soul, however, is the true captain of our ship. The soul was there before we were born into this world and will still be when we leave this body. The soul wants us to succeed but not always in the same way the ego wants to get things done. The soul knows the big picture and steers us toward our highest good always. 

Why then don’t we always listen to our soul's calling?

We don’t listen because often we cannot hear the voice of our soul over the loud voice of the ego. The ego is that annoying guy at the bar who has had one too many. He wants to be heard and, dammit he will, even if he offends everyone in the place.

The soul is more soft and quiet. The soul works in kairos rather than chronos time and sees no need to rush. The soul will wait until the ego quiets down, often after deep disappointment, humiliation or perceived defeat.

We can practice movement and stillness together on the yoga mat. As we move our bodies we can slow down our breath and listen, letting go of the need to perfect any pose and really listening to what the body wants. (Maybe it’s to slow down and be still in child’s pose.) We can move and we can listen for that still small voice of the soul. When we do this we unite the soul and ego. The ego can relax it’s hold and feel secure in the knowledge that soul has the wheel. The ship will be safely steered to harbor. 

Waves will undoubtedly rock us but we need not fear. This is union. This is yoga.

What if I/we allowed the ego to rest in the soul and let the soul steer our course from here on in? How would it change things if the ego only moved in service of the soul?

Good questions to ask as we move through the seasons of life. Good questions to ask when we have a late summer cold. 

Achoo! 

Bless you!

Connie

XO🙏

Connie Bowman is an actress, voiceover talent, yogi, podcast host, and author of Back to Happy, a Journey of Hope, Healing and Waking Up, available on Amazon and other book retailers. For more information about Connie visit www.conniebowman.com.