Taming the [Inner] Beast

The journey with Yola is fairly epic. She is now an 80 lb. mini-Beast, 90% German Shepherd and 100% Puppy. I've been genuinely struggling with her of late, as much physical as mental and emotional. She can anger me like no one else. Our biggest debate is leash pulling.

For quite some time, I've been showing her that I am her alpha. When she was a mere 3 months and 35 pounds, I'd show her who was boss by running faster and further than her. I'd run her 3 miles until she collapsed with exhaustion, simply flopping on the ground and refusing to move.

By the time she was 5 months and 50 pounds, however, she had far outpaced me in the running department. I'd run 8 miles on steep trail, and the entire time she'd sprint circles around me, chasing every squirrel, bird, and buck she could find. I conservatively estimated that she sprinted 2.5 miles for each mile I ran. It's still a goal of mine to find her adolescent distance limit, though I think it will require me running upwards of 20 miles in a stretch to find it. Stay tuned.

Along this quest, I started running off trail here in Marin. Yesterday morning I was gleefully galavanting down a steep slope, in the tall wet grass, unable to see my feet. I was revelling in the fact that Yola was a bit scared of the steep terrain, and I charged onward...

Yola on trail, atop Mount Tam

And I charged... right into a nasty hole. As my foot absorbed the surprise impact, I heard a sickening crunch of bone on bone, and collapsed in agony. I screamed not just from the physical pain, but from the emotional agony surrounding it. So much of my life and joy revolves around physical activity: acrobatics, running, hiking. In that instant, I saw the next few months of practice and teaching evaporate before my eyes, and it HURT. My barbaric yawlp echoed across the valley.

I then lay there still for a few minutes, allowing the soft tissue to recover, hoping it was simply a minor sprain. Within an hour, timidly hobbling down the mountainside, I knew it was worse than that. I call Bec to come pick me up in the car. Argh.

The rest of that day, I lay upon the couch, my foot covered in ice, pondering what could have possibly gone wrong, and what lessons I could learn from this. Here's the short list I wrote:

LESSONS, DAY 1:

• Slow Down
• When you push too hard, things break
• stay on marked trails
• persevere: teach my acro classes even when crippled
• corollary: enlist help of friends
• obtain health insurance
• visit my brother in Grand Rapids

Fast forward 24 hours. In ankle brace, moving far slower than 1 mph, I take Yola on her walk. 90% of the pulling behavior has magically dissapeared. Who knows why. I rationalise that it's because she has no way to match pace with me that slowly. When it takes a full three seconds for me to descend a single stair-step, she is forced to take one simple step at a time, and look at me quizzically, waiting for me to ambulate, before taking her next step.

LESSON 2:

by slowing things down to ULTRA-SLOW, 

the training is actually starting to work.

This lesson translates to the playground as well. Where I once had 1 in 4 odds of being able to leap and tackle and catch her mid-stride when she didn't come right to me, now I have only one option: patiently wait for her to come to me when called. A dog will simply never come close to an angered owner; The only way to lure them is with kindness, sweetness, and or food... or in Yola's case, the most effective manner of all, a ball or stick, the promise of play... which brings me to Go Fetch, what I actually feel is at the true core of all the training.

I had an epiphany the other day regarding "Go Fetch"... When Yola was a mere 2 months old, she accomplished that skill flawlessly and perfectly, retrieving the stick and bringing it right to my feet every time. Somewhere along the line, she decided that it was more rewarding to parade around with the stick and growl than to bring it back for another throw. This has generated an immense amount of confusion and frustration on my part, and my general solution is to make her sit 30 feet away from me, then approach her slowly and make her give me the stick. Sometimes I get it and sometimes she runs.

Once again, being a gimp simplifies this game greatly. As I am largely immobile, she either brings me the stick, or we stop playing. That simple. While she still has yet to bring the stick right to my feet, we are getting a lot closer.

And so my latest:

LESSON 3:

Stay Still, Remain Calm, and 

train from a place of Power.

The story continues...
Stay tuned.

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Play Hard: Guided by Providence

In Moab today. Utah is "Life Elevated".
Moab is "where Adventure Begins."
Here's how.

Slept under the stars last night just outside the gates of Canyonlands National Park. Dream visions  were basically: slow down... and, another strange driving vision. For me, the dream metaphor of driving has always been about how in control, or lack of control, I have over my life at any given point in time. When I was at PlayMotion, I had a recurring nightmare about being in the drivers seat, passed out, eyes barely open, in the night, in the rain, in a car whose brakes didn't work and whose accelerator was stuck on full throttle. The metaphor seems totally clear now.

Other times I've been in the passenger or back seat with someone else driving. Again, fairly clear.

Last night, though, I had a very unique vision: I was in the back seat of my Suburban, the Big Black Truck, and JuJu, one of the young founders of Alchemy, was in the front seat. The odd thing was, I had a steering wheel mounted to the back of the front passenger seat. And JuJu wasn't really paying attention to the road that much, because I was steering from the back seat. Need to think about this one a little more. While a gut preference would be to be directly in the drivers seat of a capable vehicle, Being in the 'limousine privelege' seat and maintaining steering control might just be the best of both worlds.

Now, back to waking life.

Arriving in Moab for unknown reasons. On my way in, a fleet of 10 or so Porsche Cayman's zoom out of town. I stop by the Holiday Inn Express for a free breakfast. And there are literally tons of bicyclists mulling the in parking lot. They have racing shirts on that say "DC Metro Area", and I ask one of them what's up. "We're here for the Moab Century Race." Cool. Eat breakfast. Afters, stop two girls in the parking lot, ask if they're from DC. They are. They encourage me to enter the race. I think about it for a little bit. You Only Live Once. YOLO. Here we go.

I can't quite believe I'm doing this. But what the hell, I was just thinking about how little exercise I'm getting on this trip. Time to step it up.

So, tomorrow I will rise at 5:30am, don my biking gear, down a large breakfast, and head out into the wilderness of Moab for a race. w00t!!!

a vision for life 2.0

At Burning Man this year, I experienced the absolute turning point of my vocational life.

I was wandering through Center Camp, looking at the art in the gallery. One of the panels was empty, and a small hand written sign said:

"Sit in front of me,
look into the mirror, and
see your Heart's Truth."

Leaning against the ground was a mirror mosaic with a heart in the middle. I sat down in lotus position and stared into the mirror. As expected, I saw a multi-faceted reflection of myself. A bit wild-looking due to 4 days in the desert, but still, at its core, my familiar face.

I stared deeper. It was then that I noticed a small gap of a few inches above the mirror. Shifting my gaze to the gap, I was fascinated to see a delicate hand, painting with a brush on heavy artist paper.

The Artists Hand by Alex Grey

My mind started reeling: was this the metaphor of the mirror? Was this person painting me? Who was it? Was there a hidden camera so they could see me? Where were they? Were they in a hidden room? I moved my head slightly and looked closer. The painter was a woman. She didn't appear to notice me. So I leaned in conspiratorially and whispered "pssst!". Slowly, curiously, she turned her head, then leaned closer to me, and calmly responded: "Yes?" She was at attention.

I explained to her the stated purpose of the mirror, saying "So I was seeking my heart's truth, and here you are, painting!" Unexpectedly, she began to weep. She gasped, then blurted out: "I used to be an artist, that was my path, and then I sold my soul to commercial success and the corporate world." She continued to cry, tears running freely down her refined face. I decided to breach the gap, telling her: "Wait one minute."

I got up, determined to find physical access to the other side of the mirror. I wound my way around the gallery labyrinth, and sure enough, there she was, a petite woman in a chair, at a table, painting with watercolors, crying. I had her get up and gave her a big hug. We both sat down, and I listened to her story. Somehow we got to the subject of acrobatic yoga. She called it acroyoga. It turned out that she was planning to attend a workshop in Costa Rica, with a teacher who she used to practice with as a child. It just so turned out that that teacher was an acrobatic friend of mine. The world gets smaller every day, in a good way.

Lux rocks deep metta acro on playa

I invited her to practice a little, and we found a nice quiet spot and  worked through some therapeutics and basic acrobatics. It was in this flow that I realised that even experienced dancers needed very clear and explicit instruction from the base; every school of movement has their own vocabulary. I also realised that there is a very sensitive balance between agressive, tight, beautiful, fun acro and gentle, loving, careful metta antigravity massage. I try to balance the two. In the midst of this thought pattern, Jennifer reached down from the air and tickled me. It was the most natural and fun thing; luckily I'm an experienced base and giggled and laughed while maintaining balance.

We shared a little more conversation, exchanged contact information, and parted ways with a deep and lasting hug.

Of all my playa experiences, it is this energetic exchange that I've returned to most often.

Life 2.0, here we come!

home again

arrived once again at my second home... lovely SF! Let the grand adventure begin!!!!

Blackout? How to be prepared.

the house next door didn't fare so well

This is fascinating. The DC area suffered a massive wind and lightning storm, as close to a tornado as I've ever witnessed. Terrified by the incessant banging of branches on the house, I ran outside to the park to get a better perspective. The sight was truly epic. Blue and Pink and White lightning, howling winds, massive trees swaying 30' in either direction as the winds tore through them. I'd never witnessed colored lightning before, and the gale force winds were so strong that I momentarily wondered if this was in fact a nuclear incident.

So now, PepCo is telling residents that it will be 4 to 5 days before power is restored. In a first world country... the nation's capitol, no less! Amazingly, or perhaps naturally, all the prime commercial locations are online, with massive diesel generators. So the mall is air conditioned and online, but none of the traffic lights work. Amazing. And so it goes that I find myself at the Mall, along with hundreds of other refugees, chilling out by a working power outlet, charging my arsenal of Apple devices, and availing myself of the gloriously free wifi. All I need now is a haircut, a manicure, and a sultry waitress bringing me an ice cold beer.

In all, I like the effects of the power outage. It brings people out of their shells, bonds them in a common struggle, and opens up channels of support and communication. I've found many more people out of their homes, and the whole situation at the traffic lights, massive intersections with only courtesy to guide them, both fascinates and delights.

So for myself, and all of us, I've compiled my "things to make sure you have ready in a blackout".

Enjoy:

General Knowledge:
- It gets darker inside before it gets darker outside, by at least 90 minutes
- It makes a big difference if it's a new moon or a full moon
- Headlamps are the bomb
- ICE IS KEY : ACQUIRE SOME QUICKLY
--- not just for meat / dairy preservation, but almost more importantly, for
- COLD BEVERAGES
- You get up at sunrise. Period. Daylight is precious.
 - Your car is your generator
--- which is a good reason to have a full tank of gas at all times, or in the words of a good friend, always fill up your talk when it goes below half.
- and a good reason to have a car charger for your phone
- if you want to go full bore, get a good 750W inverter at a truck stop. For about $100, you can have normal AC power in your vehicle.
- Batteries are good - new, all sizes AAA to D... and make especially good gifts for neighbors.

Recommendations / Wisdom:
- The hour before sunset is hyper critical::
--- Clean things up and get everything in order
- Before Dark, Know exactly where your essential items are!
--- Flashlight
--- Cellphone
--- Water
--- Glasses
--- Toothbrush
- HAVE A HEADLAMP ON WELL BEFORE DARK

Casual Observations
- not having coffee is a challenge
- It's a little scary at night. Houses seem vulnerable.
- People are generally good and function well in groups
- Major traffic intersections with no stoplights, and everyone gets along... wow.
- People go outside more and socialize more when there is no TV or AC
- It's eerily quiet at night... and pleasantly quiet.
- ...except for the damn generators. Here in suburban DC, it appears that about 3% of houses have gennies. Impressive, actually. Except for the damn noise.
- this is the first time I've been excited to wield my 4-D cell MagLite.
- Various lighting options witnessed throughout the neighborhood:
--- Solar, genie, gas lamps, flashlights, candles. the gas lamps were especially charming.
--- Love the candles... Even in stores!
- People go to sleep at nautical twilight

credo

Reward success. Learn from failure. Link to evidence. Honor integrity. Show your work. Seek truth. Correct mistakes. Make new ones. #credo

— Alex Howard (@digiphile) June 1, 2012

The Peaceful Warrior

Today's wonderfully enslaved and ultimately guilty and satisfying pleasure was to buy a bunch of songs I'd wanted for months, load up the iPod, roll out the BlockRocker, kick back with a Rolling Rock, and wash first my new car, then my dad's classic roadster.

The realization didn't hit until the second beer and the second car.

Throughout the entire car washing project, I had multiple flashbacks to the [original] movie Karate Kid, where Mr. Miyagi instructs the young boy on precisely how to wash all his cars. The circular motion, unbeknownst to him, is meant to teach him some of the fundamental flows of kar-a-tey.

Rocking to that wonderful soundtrack, I embodied all my best dance, yoga, and martial arts moves as I circled, squatted, and polished the cars. And sometime in the midst of the roadster, I felt this wonderful feeling overwhelm me, of service, of gratitude, of fun. Yes, I was washing my dad's car. No, I didn't need to. Yes, I was enjoying it. And I glowed in the light of the service, son to father. Me getting my workout, him getting his roadster sparkley clean.

When I was done, music still playing, he came out and I gave him the honor of inspecting my work. He shook my hand, and like a little kid, without hesitation, with a huge grin on his face, hopped in, put the top down, and sped off into a new adventure... like it should be.