Greetings from Provincetown -- a small, queer oasis at the tip of Cape Cod.
My first day here was 49 degrees with 27 MPH winds. When I took a morning walk, picking up little shells and crabs, I noticed an older woman slowing walking along the blustery shore with her white-haired black lab, his legs wobbly in the wind.
The next day, I was meditating by the ocean in 63 degree sunshine when I saw the same woman come out of her home with her old dog and begin walking the shoreline once more, this time strolling easily in the balmy breeze.
I keep thinking about this pair -- how they show up every day at the shore, no matter the weather. And thinking about how much of healing and spiritual work is just about showing up. No matter our internal weather.
Because I've been travelling a lot, I've been working hard to support my digestion -- eating ground flax seed, wearing pants that let my abdomen breathe, and practicing vastkar douti kriya daily.
And my challenges with digestion aren’t just about travelling. A Tibetan doctor recently told me that at least some of my digestive issues are caused by resentment I’ve been holding onto since I was a kid.
If you ever experience digestive challenges, please know that you’re not alone. More and more research is showing close connections between trauma and gastrointestinal health. Luckily, we have the gifts of yoga and meditation to help support our healthy guts!
Whatever challenges you’re working through, I hope you'll join our online Woman Warrior workshop this Sunday, May 19th from 6:00-7:15pm ET. Our theme is “Breaking Through” -- we’ll practice a yoga set to help break through any mental / physical / emotional blocks you’ve been experiencing, and practice a meditation to balance emotions and help you see beyond duality in a challenging situation.
Like so many survivors, I find deep comfort, peace, and solace in the ocean. So I hope you enjoy this piece by Mary Oliver, survivor and Pulitzer prize-winning poet who lived most of her life in Provincetown.
I am in love with Ocean
lifting her thousands of white hats
in the chop of the storm,
or lying smooth and blue, the
loveliest bed in the world.
In the personal life, there is
always grief more than enough,
a heart-load for each of us
on the dusty road. I suppose
there is a reason for this, so I will be
patient, acquiescent. But I will live
nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting
equally in all the blast and welcome
of her sorrowless, salt self.
– Mary Oliver