A Centuries Old Practice

Driving down the dusty hills this morning, in the dark, preparing my mind to lead an early morning yoga class, the radio told me more than I wanted to know. The stock market fell 2000 points.  Immediately I switched the station, and my head, back to the present. I refuse to be drawn into the negative emotions of the money world, even as it is all too apparent that my IRA's will be of questionable worth, if and when I need them. My yoga practice is still worth millions though, and gaining each month. My practice is my health plan, my retirement happiness plan, my being a grama someday plan, and my staying creative and inspired plan.

One of my students today pointed out that yoga has survived worse historical times, in it's 5,500 years. It will prevail on, and those of us lucky enough to come together in the 6 am dark to share it are reaping the benefits.

What can we do when things look tough? Breath first, that is a natural place to begin.  Secondly, we can do our homework, what ever that is. Today my homework is writing, because I've been away from that part of my practice.

I just spent 3 days out on the North Santiam with a group event called "The Fishing Trip". We noted this year that it seems to be more about wine and food than fish. Of course most sport fisherman on the rivers now don't keep the fish, they throw them back to keep the populations growing. Grapes, however, are becoming plentiful, and wine is our consolation prize for being human.

The Fishing Trip consists of 50-75 people camping out in an old growth fir grove along Whitewater Creek. It has been happening for 44 years, always in early August.  The regulars work to create the campsite kitchen, showers, sanitary facilities, trails, bridges, food, firewood, and so many more things too numerous to list. Every year I am amazed, and every year I learn something about the power of human cooperation and altruism.  The camp goes up in a day or 2 and in 2 weeks it is gone, only the trees and the cold flowing snowmelt fed creek remain.

In camp, after a day of hiking, swimming, a group baseball game, even a golf tournament, folks sit about the fire in the evening. This, after some lovely healthy dinner, like stir fried veggies and salad, not many sugary or processed foods around camp.

We sing into the night, the same songs shared every year, and some new ones. The old and the young sing together. The trees I'm sure listen, I can feel them telling me they remember when my kids were little, and came here with their Uncle Tom to play with the other camp kids. Now all those children have graduated from college, and are part of the working world. The trees remember for me though. When I find my way back to the tent in the dark, I can feel the years, and the trees show the way.