how the Light — gets Out…

"The gatekeepers must change." — Prince

I started seeing Scott about three weeks ago.

He of the 8 mismatching massage tables scattered about his space, and the odd office hours.  He of the "Buy Bulk & Save" school of Healing, wherein for a set monthly, lump sum, you can journey to his domain up to five days a week - have him lay his sinewy hands upon you - and work his mysterious brand of magic.  

​It was a hip thing.  It hurt.  Like - a lot.  And all the damn yoga-ing was not doin' it this time.
We started there - in the benign yet crotchety region of my hip - but quickly moved on to more esoteric turf.
So far, inside the context of journey back to health, we've discussed:::

• my chakras & the surrounding nadis
• his time in the Himalayas & the work of the Guru
• unmodified potato starch - I'm s'posed to consume gobs of the stuff, he tells me
• the month-long juice-fast he'd like me to begin to speed up my healing
• cranio-sacral work
• pressing up upon the "god-room"
• & candle-gazing

So far I've just mostly been able to stick to the candle thing.

----

Last week we lost another Bright Light.  
The day Prince died I scrolled through the feeds of my oh-so-worldly, slightly cynical & very cheeky online friends and was a bit taken aback to witness the palpable level of grief inside their words.  
A presence deep inside their world had been shifted, torn from them without forewarning or consent.  
"I never met this man," their stories tell, " but me made a mark inside my being."

We were not ones to hold intimate knowledge of the spark he possessed, but we all warmed ourselves by its' glow.

I'm an oddball.  And a dork.  When these conversations pop up.
Growing up inside a Protestant, born-again Christian home, my musical choices were carefully filtered & watched.  
Pussy Control was not on the menu for me, so to speak, until well into my college years.
My own youth was contained inside a soundtrack of hymns and show tunes.  
Indeed, I will probably be the lone 30-something to weep openly on the sad day that it is announced that Bernadette Peters, Debbie Reynolds, or Stephen Sondheim has passed on.
Barbara Streisand and I will gather up our dust-soaked vinyl and play "People Who Need People" & "Send in the Clowns" on endless repeat on that sad, sad day.

I can admire, and in my own way, lament, the extinguishing of such a luminous, artistic Flame - but Prince only ever danced inside my imagination.  He never had a chance to touch my heart.

...

A funny thing happens inside my brain these days when I hear about another great, celebrated figure lost.  
Another light gone out.

I think about that tiny candle that Scott's instructed me to light each day - and follow the quiet pulse of the flame.

I can see that a great, eclipsing constellation has been removed from the swirling human sky.  
But what space there now exists for other, smaller lights - to rise up and fill the void.

I watch the tiny flicker in the wee hours of the morning, attempting to stay with my breath.  
Watch how the glow responds.

I think about the humble but generous Lights that I can see -- the red & green & blue & brown dwarfs lighting up the world inside my tiny sphere.  
No nearby blazing Supernovas close at hand, but a glorious array of twinkling gems, just the same.
My sweet, soft-spoken artist friend who crafts things of minute beauty with her hands.
My pal who finds time inside each hectic day, between two high-octane kiddos, an unfinished house, and a mile-high to-do list - to document her handstand victories every morning for the few hundred folks who follow her journey and are inspired by her verve & sweat.
The woman nestled close to my heart - married to an un-nice man - who, in spite of it, somehow manages to make the world a little kinder & sweeter - everywhere she lands.
My gorgeous poet friend(s).
My frenetic musical genius buddy.
Every writer/healer/yogi/artist/old soul/seeker/trailblazer with whom I have been gifted some shared portion of the Journey.
Bright Lights.  Each of them.  
In their own way.

I think we live in a time where celebrity may, in fact, be coming to an end.  
For each great star we see go out inside the cultural galaxy, we see no equal brilliance rising up to take its place.  
A Kardashian is a bogus stand-in for a Bowie.
A Real Housewife is a shameful substitute for a Severus Snape.
Katy Perry, or Beyonce, or Ke$ha or the well-preserved Gwen Stefani, or whomever the latest fresh-faced American-Idol, lip-synching, twerk-master "It" girl of the minute is - may well be the reigning Princesses of Pop, but they cannot hold a candle to, well... ya' know.

And, frankly, that’s just fine.
For while it may be grand to, at times, get swept away in the current of another’s Brilliance - use our Life’s precious Energies of Time, ATtention, Money & Devotion to fan some pretty, distant Star’s Magnificent Flame…
it takes patience, courage & a certain humble tenacity - 
to show up, each day, and stoke the fire of Your own Great Light.

May you continue to step into the tools, time & practices it takes to hone your unique & beatific Light.  

May you unafraid to Sparkle - if only for an audience of one.

May you not doubt the Divine spark that’s within you.  
We are all - just Cosmic Dust, after all.

May you carry that knowledge in your bones.
And when you are called to - may you step forth - and Shine.

Light & Love to you all,
  xo,
    ~a

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*Mark your calendars for the final, pre-summer Full Moon event at Tosha Yoga, Saturday May 21st, from 7-9 pm. These sessions have become a sweet & potent way to explore movement, myth & meditation inside a warm, inviting sphere.  Join us before we take a little seasonal break.  

*We will also be offering a small, online circle ​June 5-20th open to anyone who would like to commence their Summer season by tuning into the Rhythms & Ways of the Sacred.  Altar building, Creative Ritual, Movement & space to share Intention.  For more info, drop me a line.