Hi Friend,
I planted daffodils.
Of all the yoga classes, deep discussions, reunions with old friends, delicious meals, mind-bending meridian lessons, nature’s beauty, and extraordinary synchronicities during my recent trip to Upstate New York, my favorite moment was planting daffodils on my yoga teacher’s land.
I felt honored and deeply grateful that she invited me to stay with her for two nights after the training. It’s a rare gift to experience the personal life of someone you admire—someone who truly embodies their teachings. I’ve learned not to put gurus on pedestals. The ones who want to be up there? They’re not for me.
I am a seeker for the realness in life—and in search of the nuance of applying 3,000-year-old wisdom in the here and now. As far as I can see, my teacher not only understands the scriptures of enlightenment and liberation, and she’s doing a damn good job living it. Daffodils and GriefWhen I planted those daffodils, my mind wandered to February 8th—a date I’ve started to dread. I’m not going to hide from it, but I want to face that day in the sunshine, tapping into the joy of my brother Jack, rather than the grief I feel in his absence. Maybe one day I won’t hate that day (it's the day he left), but for now, that doesn’t seem like a reasonable possibility.
At his funeral, the florist created the most exquisite arrangement of a forest floor with baby daffodils on his casket. They were perfect because she knew Jack, and she wanted to represent something wild and innocent and something against the grain of stiff run-of-the-mill funeral flowers. Her flower shop was right beside Jack's favorite coffee shop. She loved him too - Everyone loved him. Jack had this rare gift of listening intently, caring deeply, and responding in a way that made you feel heard and seen.
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We both loved daffodils.
Growing up, my parents planted daffodils along our driveway, and every spring, they bloomed in abundance. When I was about 4 or 5, I remember coming inside after church one Sunday with a basket—full of daffodil heads. When my mom asked, “What have you done?” I said, “They told me they were cold, so I brought them inside to be by the fire.”
So, when my yoga teacher asked if I wanted to help plant daffodils, it felt like pure synchronicity. I planted new life in a new place close to my heart, and now February is beginning to take the shape of a different meaning. I didn't expect it but somehow I’ve planted love, abundance and renewal into a month that was heavy with grief.
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Embracing Pain and Letting It Go
This month amongst other things, I'm going to invite you in yoga class to stare hard at the hurt, ask why it stings, and ask again, and again—until you get to the root. The pain doesn’t have to stay just because it grew there. Meridian yoga and Emotion Potions can help release what’s no longer serving you. (Stay tuned for the winter schedule next week).
Sometimes, our desires get tangled up in painful memories, and the vibrant energy they once held feels heavy and hard to reach. But we don’t have to carry that weight. Releasing the Past, Nurturing New GrowthIf you have desires that once felt full of possibility but now feel tied up in past pain, it’s time to release them. Together, we’ll release the emotional weight of past memories so you can bring fresh energy into your goals and dreams.
I’m excited to announce my Winter Schedule of Classes next week, where we’ll use Meridian Yoga, acupressure points, mindset work, and Emotion Potions to help you shift those old stories and open up to new possibilities.
In the meantime, here are a few mantras to plant new seeds of abundance and joy this week: "I release the past and embrace the new with grace." "I plant seeds for new experiences and embrace the abundance that follows." "My life is rich—in love, in purpose, and in possibility."
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