what is VITALITY?
I’ve been amazed by the grass this week.
How full it has come up. Green, lush, alive.
Same for the weeds along the highway. Life.
There is a life in Spring that I long for in my own life, in my own bones and flesh.
And re-discovering it, I’ve found, doesn’t take much.
When we first founded VITALITY in 2010 and I decided to leave a career teaching and coaching two very successful high school sports teams, people thought I had lost my mind. Some people still think that.
Truthfully, high school students in the Meditation elective I was teaching were finding such power in their lives by doing the simplest things — resting and breathing and reflecting and moving gently and with ease. Surely, if high school boys could find such power in it, couldn’t everybody — especially people who might not ordinarily know such opportunities exist? Especially in communities torn by violence, poverty, despair?
So a few of us set out to make holistic self-care education affordable and accessible . . . opportunities that involve moving gently, breathing, resting, planting and harvesting fresh food, reflecting, talking with friends about life.
No real mystery here, for sure. Not rocket science. Not even woo-woo.
And yet many friends urged me not to do it.
A few friends even told me that I would lose my soul — they privately urged me not to “throw your life away on those evil Eastern practices.”
The funny thing is, though I had studied esoteric things of the East — even in college at Xavier University — I often found the very same holistic-minded things happening in the very Judeo-Christian tradition that I was paid to teach by the local and world authorities of the Catholic Church.
Jesus goes to the desert, to the lonely mountaintops of his Middle Eastern world. Repeatedly. Often alone. What on earth was he doing there? Call it whatever you want — meditation or reflection or prayer or relaxing or communing with nature both inside himself and within this dry, desert uncomfortable world — it was what we were doing in meditation class at St. Xavier High School and what we do at VITALITY.
So many of Jesus’ stories involve planting and harvesting — the key to survival in his world and ours, both to eat and to feed the soul.
Jesus reminds us that we are the light of the world. We. As in us. As in each one of us. No matter how “bad” we think we are. No matter how many times we try to dodge our light-ness and try to throw the spotlight on him and other greats.
Jesus sends his followers out to heal people, to trust that God would flow through them through something as simple as touch, as friendship, as compassion, as eating with one another. “Take nothing with you for the journey!” Jesus would say — that the only thing you need for healing is yourself, your presence, God alive within you and within the other person and between you both.
Elijah and Elisha — prophets from the Bible — do the same everyday, incredible things nearly nine hundred years before Jesus. And they apparently set up guilds of prophets to do the same and cultivate an appreciation of what is truly possible in life. Imagine that — a guild of people studying together all that is possible by breathing and moving and resting!
The ancient prophets about a hundred years before them were said — yep, in the Bible — to go on top of mountaintops, remove their clothes, and rest and breathe and move with the ecstasy of feeling God so close as their skin — even within themselves. No separation between God and them. The blood-thirsty King Saul was so moved by it that when he chased David to the prophets with the intention of killing David in his jealous rage that he fell in among the prophets and forgot about killing David — at least for a time. He found some peace, even in his blood-thirsty rage, even in his pained jealousy. King Saul, like David, like these mountain-top prophets, removed clothes and felt the air on their skin and knew God as only God could be known by human beings, in the flesh. It wasn’t some strange sexual thing they were doing. It seems to be simply about knowing God being so close, without separation. Nakedness is so often feared in our modern culture that we haven’t begun such things at VITALITY, though we wonder about just what these prophets knew.
There are countless examples of the power of breathing and moving and resting and healing in the Judeo-Christian tradition. And yet our culture all too often shies away from it. Sometimes even fears it. Again and again and again.
I’ve dedicated my life to it, and yet it is so easy for me to miss a day of being good to myself in this way — by taking even ten minutes to breathe and move gently and rest on the ground or in a chair or even to take a walk and notice the abundant beauty of life, of the seasons changing in this infinite world.
And that’s why we’ve begun our coming-together that is VITALITY. We seek to remind one another of the importance of taking some time for ourselves. Every day. To feel the life within us. To know all that is possible when we move gently, when we breathe with ease, when we rest, when we grow and eat the abundance of the earth together.
At VITALITY, we don’t try to make it all mysterious and speak in different languages — be they the ancient languages of the Bible (Hebrew and Greek) or the ancient language of yoga (Sanskrit). We strive to speak in English, in a way that is simple, in a way that communicates.
We have found ourselves — ordinary everyday people — and our communities coming alive through such simple, gentle practices. Bodies that were once full of pain mow move with ease. Minds that were jumbled with all kinds of thoughts now rest easier. People who used to not like one another now find love and light in one another. Blighted areas of neighborhoods where murder and violence was almost everyday have become parks for night-meditation and community gardens for growing food -- where neighbors gather to re-knit together the social fabric of their community.
We hope this new blog is a way for us all to share stories about what we have discovered together through self-care . . . through breathing and moving and resting. Call the practices whatever you want: yoga or Healing Touch or meditation or journaling or Movement Intelligence or Bones for Life or Feldenkrais Method or tai chi or whatever.
In studying all of these “modalities” for 20+ years, I can say with confidence that they are all the same. They all involve breathing and moving and resting and reflecting and noticing. Sure, each modality or brand or practice might have some different ideas that are helpful that another modality might forget or leave out.
But each “modality” gets at that deeper sense that is not that deep at all and yet is the most profound mystery we will ever encounter. That we are alive. Right here. Right now. On this earth. That life — though very difficult at times — is full of beauty. That love is possible to be felt — even with and among strangers. That it is all somehow deeper than we ever can contain and know.
May we all be so bold as to know such life as the ancient prophet-guilds and Elijah and Elisha and Jesus all knew. What a world we might know together through breathing and moving gently and resting, especially in this incredible season of Spring that reminds us that what was once dormant — grass! highway weeds! — can spring to life again in such fulness and such beauty, as can we. As can we.
Yoga and the Mountain - by Sarah
Yoga and the Mountain – by Sarah, a brilliant yoga teacher in VITALITY’s 11th Yoga/Healing Touch Internship
A step and a breath, a step and a breath, a step and a breath – a step and a breath and a pause –
I can’t do this –
I stared up at the rocky mound above me and put my hands on my hips. We had stopped for the second time in at least as many minutes, and this time neither my “hiking buddy” O. nor I seemed in a hurry to move on.
“You think that’s the summit?” I asked her again, squinting up at the mountain skeptically.
She shrugged and leaned on her trekking poles, sucking wind.
“I don’t think so,” I said again for the third or fourth time, more to myself than to O. “There’s supposed to be two false summits.”
We had started with four other hiking companions and two had already turned back. The other two had pulled ahead of us, and we had generally lost sight of them since passing above the treeline thirty minutes or so ago. I was now the only lowlander in our group – the other three being Denverites – and I was feeling the altitude on Mt Elbert, Colorado’s high point, and the second highest mountain in the contiguous United States.
I can’t do this – came the voice again, silently gnawing at a place in the back of my head.
I swatted it away. I had been training for this, meditating on this, planning on this. I couldn’t Not do it. I had been to over 13,000 feet before when I summited Nevada’s highpoint, Boundary Peak, last year, and I had planned this climb late into my Colorado vacation to ensure I acclimated to the altitude. Still, since crossing the treeline at a little under 12,000 feet, I was beginning to realize how truly high we were. The 14,440 foot mountain was a giant.
You don’t want to do this – tried the voice again, refusing to be reasoned away.
I rolled my eyes at myself and looked at O. who was playing with a rock under her boot toe, still not making any indication of readiness to continue.
Is that true? Do I really not want to make this climb?
After I’ve planned and trained, drug my friends to the middle of nowhere, told my family and colleagues about my planned attempt? I wouldn’t be the first to quit in our group, but I wasn’t a quitter. Not when it came to hiking, not when it came to mountains, not when I wasn’t close to my limit.
At this last thought, my body gave a little quiver. Would I know my limit? I breathed deeply again willing the oxygen to fill the entirety of the space within me.
It wasn’t a technical climb. In the event the altitude did get the best of me, I could be rescued easily enough… – right? A train of worst case scenarios flooded into my head. I tried to shift my attention to my toned quads and well-worn hiking boots.
Have a little faith, I coached myself. Have a little faith in the universe… Have a little faith in you.
But why do you need the climb? For the Instagram photo? To feed your ego… – the voice continued, digging into my darkness that it knew so well.
I sighed. Why was I doing this?
A deeper part of me rebounded with the answer. Because it was me, because I savored the challenge, because I wanted to know I was capable of difficult things, because I didn’t want friendships and experiences constructed of simple good times and easy living, because my father had nurtured the desire to climb within my spirit, and it craved to be at the top where it could look around.
Breathe, I told myself, and my body breathed.
I closed my eyes and tried to use the tools I’d been practicing in my kundalini yoga class. I willed my breath into a steady rhythm – up, down; in, out. up, 2, 3, 4, down, 2, 3, 4. I tried to hold the breath but couldn’t. Within a few seconds, I felt my chest seize and my body start to panic as it noted the lack of oxygen. My heart pounded in an effort to process the same amount of oxygen it was accustomed to. I abandoned the measured full body breathing and forced myself into a pattern of more rapid intakes and outs, maintaining regularity.
We had been talking about breathing earlier in the journey while four of us still hiked together.
“You’re gonna run out of air up there,” warned the most experienced mountaineer among us. “You can try to focus on your breathing but it’s gonna let you down. The air’s just too thin up here, and your brain is going to know it. Focus on your legs – your muscles are strong – they can handle this. Just keep walking upward. If you’re not lightheaded at the top, you’re not doing it right.” He had smiled at this last part, and I had been reminded again of kundalini with its repetitive movements, hypnotic drum beats, and long breath holds. If you’re not lightheaded by the end, you’re not doing it right.
I dug my trekking poles into the gravel and dirt at my feet and agreed, my legs felt fine. I felt my heartbeat slow at this acknowledgment. This year I was grateful not to be dealing with a knee injury as well. I smiled at this fact and felt my heart slow its rate by another second.
An affirmation drifted into my heart – little movements. Time, energy, and little movements had healed my knee. A gentle reminder. A mantra stressed by my yoga instructor – little movements.
I forced my gaze to meet the mountain again. My eyes caught sight of a large red and black rock about thirty yards up. “Let’s just try to make it up there,” I said pointing at the rock.
O. looked up as well. “Where?”
“There.” I pointed again and started up.
My breathing immediately intensified, but I let my lungs gasp and struggled onward. In a few minutes, we had reached the rock. We stopped and sucked air.
Another hiker was making his way down the ridge, wearing a smile, already finished with his summit, breathing easy with his downward descent. He greeted us as he passed.
“That’s not the summit is it?” I asked him, pointing to the peak directly above us.
He grinned mischievously and shook his head. “Not a chance – that’s a false one. But you’re getting there. Once you summit the second one, your work is done.” He waved and kept moving along.
The confirmation actually made me feel better. “I knew that wasn’t the summit,” I said under my breath. My breathing had slowed, and I savored the ease of it for a moment. I needed to move on – little movements.
I pointed to a pile of rocks. “See that – let’s go there next.” We pushed on.
I looked down at my watch a few minutes later and then down at the path we’d just traveled. It was 6:45 am, and we had just crested the first false summit. Time moves slow on the mountain, I reminded myself. The struggle made time move slow, but we had plenty of time. As long as we were off the mountain before the afternoon thunderstorms rolled in, we had all the time in the world.
The vertical drop of what lay below was dizzying – we had traveled so far. I turned and met the next false summit – high above and far away. I could see people moving over the rocks there – tiny dots.
Little by little, one travels far – I said to myself smiling. I couldn’t recall at that moment who the quote belonged to, but now in the middle of our journey, looking down at where we’d come and above at what we still had yet to do, I knew it was true.
“The altitude is bugging my stomach,” O. said with a grimace.
“Are you okay though?” I asked, and she nodded. “Okay good – cause we’re getting there.” I pointed to another stack of rocks. “Let’s go there next.”
We got to the second false summit around 8:15 am and officially summited Mt Elbert, the highpoint of Colorado, at 8:42 am. At the top, O. and I met our other two friends, and we shared giddy giggles, celebratory beers, and photo shoots in the cold mountain air. At that point, the self-doubt and mind games from below seemed unbelievable and distant. At the top, despite the thin air, I breathed in and felt full – I felt like myself. I gazed out across the snow covered peaks of the Rockies, and affirmed what I knew – I was not made for easy things. I was made to struggle, to suffer, to feel the pain and uncertainty of the current situation and to continue on in spite of it. Each day, each hike, each summit, after the end of that struggle, I had discovered a little more of myself.
Using Nature to Improve One's Health...
I’ve often wondered where all the holistic endeavors meet . . .
from massage to yoga to Healing Touch to acupuncture to aromatherapy to tai chi to Movement Intelligence / Feldenkrais Method to on and on and on . . .
what’s at the heart of all of them?
Could it be so simple as using Nature to improve one’s health?
Seemed to work for nurse Florence Nightingale — that opening the windows for fresh air and getting out in the sunshine and cleaning up the place effected such positive change for her patients.
Seemed to work for Jon Kabat-Zinn — to open a stress-relief clinic in a major hospital that became so successful that insurance companies began reimbursements for his ‘procedures’ of a few gentle yoga-shapes and simple breathing and breathing with awareness and meditation. And those reimbursements were in the 1990s! In Boston!
It’s a tremendous gift to live in a country where we have so many helpful medical interventions that can be accessed (by many, though not all) when needed.
And could it be true as well that breathing-moving-resting . . . in a thousand guises . . . even lazing away the morning walking brafeoot through the unsprayed grass . . . could improve one’s health?
— submitted by Brian Shircliff
What if health...
What if health — complete wholeness — was truly as simple as
taking a nap in the somewhat shady, somewhat sunny grass that has not been sprayed
growing food oneself and harvesting it and cooking it together
walking, hiking, exploring, with a friend or with the breeze
breathing, and enjoying it
feeling, sensing oneself moving, luxuriating in the smallest, simplest movements as babies are wise to do
seeing the person in front of us
trusting the erotic impulses that flow through us and creatively responding with them, just as we do with our dreams (not every thing we think and dream needs to be lived out, right? but they are invitations to a deeper knowing of life, yes?)
enjoying the taste and texture and pleasure of what we eat together, because we give ourselves the greatest gift…the time and conversation in between each bite to do so
being dazzled by the morning sky and the night sky, that only sun and moon and stars know how to do
discovering that I can learn something new every day, every minute if I’m wise (all too often I’m so sure I know something
that it’s impossible to know anything (new))
soaking in together the tremendous power of touch, even when I touch my own body, my foot, my ankle, my knee, between my toes, my whole self
delighting in the breeze, in clean water to drink,
give up teaching moral platitudes and instead inviting children (and our adult selves) how to sense and respond, sense and reflect, and wonder
knowing what we *really* want in life, and then both going after it and letting it come to us…
what if seeking health is really what it is…being alive, marinating in this sense of ‘aliveness’ that comes when we *enjoy*…when we uncover the joy within each tiny and ginormous experience…when we dance and be danced by the immense love within us and beyond us…
(by Brian Shircliff – 21jan18)
Reflection is the heart of life . . . as evidenced by VITALITY's friends!
By VITALITY co-founder Mike Eck . . .
What do you see ….
Some of us see the forest
Some of us see the trees
Some of us see the flowers
Some of us see the bees
Some of us see the dirt
Some of us see the seeds
When we all feel the Water
When we all feel the Breath
When we all see the root
When we all see the weeds
When we all see the Vine
When we all see the Fruit
We all sea the Divine
By VITALITY yoga teacher Liz Wu . . .
Yoga is the practice of deepening one’s awareness of the connection of body, mind, spirit & all creation, and flourishing within that connection.
By VITALITY yoga teacher Amelia Herold . . .
“Pinch Me – It’s Yoga”
A yearning for the Divine, a gift of amore,
An invitation to a sacred oneness,
A wellspring for wisdom and wonder,
A pause, a moment that morphs into a lifetime…
Of bliss and reverence,
Out of nothing -the All,
The breath,
Is the way.
Pinch me – It’s Yoga!
By VITALITY yoga teacher Jamie Thaxton . . .
In yoga today, we discussed “noise.” My definition – Noise: the static that resides in your body, induced by stress, exacerbating tension, creating a constant strain, and draining energy. I rarely notice the noise, unless I am quiet; my body relaxed, my brain stil l- but it takes it’s toll, and its effects are very apparent. However, once I am aware, the noise is so obvious it become visible. To me, the noise can be seen in a dance of bright colors behind my eyelids. Much like a technicolor TV static, it bumps around into the colors next to it, creating friction and building tension. The colors are mostly shades of reds, both bright and dark – but yellows, blues, and deep greens are there too. Yoga doesn’t quiet the noise. It doesn’t go away. Instead, yoga brings order.
In the Gentle Series, after constructive rest we begin by working our right leg. We pull it into our chest, breathe, release. Stretch the edges of our feet, and move our leg in circles, helping the hip release. We cycle back and pull our leg into our chest once more, then release it to the ground. It is in this moment my awareness of noise is most prevalent. My right leg feels longer, stronger, in alignment. But more than that, the dance of noise behind my eyelids changes. My left eye can still see the colors jostling, an exhausting, chaotic movement. My right eye, however, sees only order. The noise is no longer moving – the colors remain but their forms have been stretched, elongated into thin stripe of color. Similar to a solid metal rod, the colors are next to each other in a row, their tops stretching to the crown of my head, and the bottom of the colors reach my toes. The colors do not move – rather they keep this formation. So while the noise is not silenced, it is managed and it now creates a visualization of strength. Once we complete stretching our left side, the new ordered pattern in my mind’s eye is complete. And its calming and strengthening effects last throughout the rest of my practice.
I enjoy this visualization. It helps me deeply feel yoga’s positive outcomes. It calms my mind so that I can focus on my intention and brings me into a state of deep relaxation. The noise also provides a lesson that I needed to learn – Life can be stressful and the events that cause stress may not go away, but finding a way to create calm, to organize the noise, can provide stability and even vitality to the body.
From VITALITY yoga teacher Liz Wu . . .
These days I find myself watching the watcher.
Like a kaleidoscope, awareness
Reflects experiences in all dimensions
Colorful fractals spilled out in all directions
Side by side, flipped around, and upside down.
Sensations bubbling like so much eye candy
With each breath, less need to react, and more desire to relax.
Discomfort becomes simply one more color against the glass.
Who, one may ask, is hot?
Who is it that looks up and finds a seahorse in the shape of a cloud?
Who is it that quietly listens, calmly observes, slowly records every action and thought,
who stares up from the bottom of the well?
With each twist of these questions the kaleidoscope spins.
Sensations jumble together and then separate into geometric patterns of meaning.
Looking through the small spy hole, the universe distills into colorful fragments that
dance on a rotating, reflective canvass.
With each breath the canvass shifts, and I begin to recognize small patterns.
The placement of the shoulders.
The set of the jaw.
The habits that seek comfort, familiarity, and a path of least resistance.
In that moment of recognition, before the kaleidoscope turns with the following breath, there is a moment, a window, a space to choose something different.
To change the objects in the kaleidoscope and the images they cast.
With each breath comes opportunity.
And so, I have begun to watch the watcher.