Click here for more pictures from the Dancing Coyote Canyon Retreat

Click here for more pictures

For my last afternoon on the ranch, I hiked to Girls Sunday Rocks to clear the anxiety from my body which sat stagnant behind a computer screen for too long today.  I stopped at the top of the granite outcropping, my seat found a spot seemingly meant for it, and I sank into the rocks.

The aspens, quivering, mesmerizing below, seemed to yellow in front of my eyes.  The breeze was warm.

I lost my conscious mind after not too long, staring into the shimmering leaves, and came radically into the moment.  I felt more present than I have in weeks, gazing out toward the majestic Pikes, toward the bold outcropping of A-Bluff, and down again at the changing aspen.

After awhile I lay down upon the rock, sprawled open on my back, my head hanging behind me, my arms outspread.  My heart opened with every inhale, expanded toward the mountain, the sky.  Opening, opening, I felt safe in that place: my mind clearing, my body calming.

After awhile I found myself walking down the path toward Hidden Valley, meandering through rocks, beneath, beside Douglas Firs.  Chickadees sang me along; I followed a rabbit partway, hopped over a log, and ended up in a clover patch in the sun.

I started doing yoga postures, my initial reason for hiking this afternoon–a bit of exercise after such a long sit at the computer.  As I descended into a low lunge, I was drawn–almost pulled–to simply lay on my belly, legs outstretched, my face cradled in the green, sweet clover.

Bees buzzed around me, gently landing on flowers then moving on.  Soon I felt a mellow, slow sinking feeling, a lowering into the Earth.  I truly felt this lowering; in stillness I sank, then was cradled, held, in that clover bed with the sun warming me and the bees buzzing and the rocks and the birds and the aspen stand around me. It was almost as though I felt arms–tens of hundreds of thick, gentile arms–enveloping my body in spongy warmth and holding me there.  Every cell in my body exhaled as I lowered deeper into the cushion of the Earth.

I have loved the Earth since I was a small child; concerned with environmental issues, wanting to save the whales, urging my family to get reusable water bottles, picking up trash, and that connection–that love–has only grown since my arrival in Colorado.

I understood the Earth’s love through her gifts–trees, clean, pine-smelling air, beautiful sunsets.  We take–unconsciously and consciously–so much from the planet.  I have tried to become conscious of that and honor it, reducing my impact and increasing my gratitude.  I have seen the Earth, like most people do, as something that gives us physical things–water, air, resources with which to build, and recreational things–space to play, to breathe, to enjoy beauty.  Here in Colorado, I’ve started to learn that nature gives me more than those things, and my love for nature increased as I experienced more peacefulness and sense of purpose in my life.

Today was different.  I have always had a love for nature, but never have I experienced a love from nature.  Earth embraced me today, held me, and I experienced a tremendous in-pouring of love, filling up my entire being.  Perhaps I’m anthropomorphizing, but I cannot deny the sensations I felt today.  I was embraced, held, loved.

I think this love is a practice.  I’ve been here for nearly two years and this is the first time I felt an embrace.  I think it’s because this planet is so wise and its slow and it’s waiting for us to slow down enough to hear it, to feel it.  I’d felt it in subtle ways before, building and receding, and today it came with depth.  It took this much time and self-study and silence in the outdoors for me to experience this depth of connection …  I wonder how long it would have taken me to gain this depth if I’d stayed in Chicago.

My next step takes me back to a city–the third largest in Colorado.  With this new place I will have to stay mindful of my practice, my need to make time for quiet connections with the natural world.  I am full of gratitude for this incredible, almost unbelievable farewell-gift from Sanborn, and I honor it as a reminder to slow down and experience each moment fully.  There is infinite depth in the lives we live, but it takes silence and awareness and intention to access it.

My walk back from the clover bed was teary-eyed and grateful.  This place changed me.  I glanced toward Pikes Peak to the East–its permanence and ever-changing beauty: the perfect metaphor.

This life is full of wonder.

I’m leaving camp tomorrow.  I can’t really consider it leaving, though, for I have big plans for a return in the distant future, and in the meantime I’ll visit for climbing weekends with Izzy, BC and Tromey and to teach yoga at the Stalking Education weekend and hopefully to ride with Maren, Rosie and Ashley.  I’m in the middle of making rounds to say my “See ya laters” to these people who have impacted my life in so many ways.  I get tongue tied when I approach each of them; memories flood back so readily that I can barely speak, so I mutter about my future plans—Fort Collins, teacher certification, moving in with Nathan—and scoot away smiling before I can tear up.

These six thousand acres of aspens and trails have created me—they have evoked, from a deep place inside me, the person I always yearned to be.  The people here, loving and supportive and real, have seen my greatest potential and pushed me to live up to it every moment of every day.  I have become my truest self among dense forests and high hills and encouragement from “two steps back.”  I have been allowed to fail, applauded for it.

I arrived at camp insecure and nervous and worried, hiding behind a smile, afraid to mess up.  I messed up a lot, and discovered it is in failure that I grow the most.  That is something that is easy to say but difficult to practice.

When I arrived, I knew intellectually that nature is good, that growth is sometimes painful, that love is the best attitude.  Being here, engaged in moment-to-moment games of Itchie Minnie Hoy and teaching a ten-year-old camper how to hold her reins and tripping over a downed Ponderosa log and setting up a campsite beneath lightning and hail and trying to catch an aspen leaf in my mouth as I ride under a tree on my horse, I put these truths into practice.  I learned that my job is not to please everybody, but to be true to myself.

Thanks to the initiation, interest and support of my peers, I began teaching yoga.  I experience a profound connection with nature and Self through this practice and through sharing it with kids, horses and adults.  I cultivated my teaching voice while pretending to be a Prospector digging for quartz, yelling “We gon’ be RICH!” at the top of my lungs in a hillbilly accent, then empowering high school students to take over that role.  I know that sometimes last-minute planning evokes the highest level of spontaneous creativity.  I fell in love four separate times, once each season, and finally hit the jackpot.  I learned that Saddle Seat is not necessarily the supreme style of horseback riding, that Western is thoroughly rewarding and just as detail-oriented in its pragmatic approach.  The best way to see the countryside, from my perspective, is from the back of a horse, and I know deep in my bones that horses heal me.

I understand succession in a forest; I see metaphors in leaves and branches and trunks and roots; I can identify more plants than I can count; I know that all I need is an afternoon laying on my back beneath a tree to feel whole again.

Sometimes I feel Laura Sanborn, whom I have never met, joyfully celebrating my arrival: Here at Sanborn, I have become my Authentic Self.  This place, these people, heals people, in ways that words can’t document.  Simply, in silence, in the outdoors, in a teachable moment of awe at the natural world, I have arrived.

I know that all these things, all these experiences, can be taught to children.  Not from a lecture or even a classroom standpoint, but by walking alongside a young person and pausing to bend down and marvel at the texture of a rock.  Empowered to show others what I learned, I know that I have transformed lives.  This profound sense of purpose drives me in a way I’ve never been driven before.  I can be goofy and still convey a sense of deep respect and awe at the world; I know this attitude is contagious and fun.

It has been six seasons since I drove the Expedition, packed with all my possessions, across the plains to meet the mountains of Colorado.  Now I am at home: in my body, in my mind, in this place.  A new chapter opens next, and I will carry with me the lifetimes-worth of memories and deep friendships cultivated here at Sanborn.

I’m about to head on to continue my “See ya laters” and I won’t be able to articulate to each individual what an impact they’ve had on my life.  But I will trust that each will have a sense for it, as I do.  We will talk about future plans, I will smile away tears, and we will each carry on with our impactful lives until we meet again.

Thank each of you sincerely.

Love,

Jessie

Setting good examples

Those crazy lady wranglers sure do clean up nice

Sanborn Outdoor Leadership Experience

Being in love

Well Oiled Machine

Me and Sweet Pete cruising Fish Creek

]]> http://jessietierney.com/?feed=rss2&p=1015 0 http://jessietierney.com/?p=1001 http://jessietierney.com/?p=1001#comments Tue, 10 Aug 2010 15:20:26 +0000 Jessie http://jessietierney.com/?p=1001

FRIDAY, August 20 – Day 1

10:45am – Noon
See the Ranch Yoga Hike to Tipi Village and Beyond

New to yoga?  New to the ranch?  Check both out while you see the sights in this accessible introduction to yoga and NewHomA.  Suitable for all levels.  Meet at the Information Booth (a short drive, a ½ mile hike, then 1 hour of yogaposes).

2:00pm – 3:30pm
See the Ranch Yoga Hike to the base of Little Blue

This is a hiking-based practice, where we observe mindfulness in every step and pause along the journey toward the base of NewHomA’s “mini-mountain,” Little Blue.  Meet at the Information Booth (1 ½ miles of hiking and yoga—all standing poses and walking meditation).

SATURDAY, August 21 – Day 2

9:05am – 10: 30 am

Morning Yoga on Sunday Rocks

A gentle morning practice to help awaken the body.  This practice, with a beautiful sunbathed view of Pikes Peak, will emphasize awareness of the breath and the opening of the body/mind to fully experience the day.  Suitable for all levels.  Meet at the Information Booth (a short drive, then 1 hour of seated and standing postures).

11:15am-1: 30pm

High Point Yoga Hike at Little Blue

A more rigorous uphill hike coupled with an active yoga practice.  We will enjoy the journey toward the highest point on the ranch and engage in an inspired, active sequence of yoga poses in view of the majestic Pikes Peak.  Suitable for those who are looking for a challenging practice.  Meet at the Information Booth (a short drive, steep hike, and high point practice).

2:30pm-4: 30pm

Distance Hike and Yoga to Indian Meadow

A hiking-based yoga journey through aspen and pine forests to a secluded meadow nestled below a granite rock outcropping.  This yoga hike will combine mindfulness walking meditation with standing postures along the way.  Suitable for all levels.  Meet at the Information Booth (2 ½ miles of hiking and yoga, then a short drive back to the festival).

SUNDAY, August 22- Day 3

8:15am – 9:00 am

Restorative Yoga on the Festival Lawn

A series of gentile postures to help balance and restore the body and its systems.  This class is suitable for all levels—especially for you recovering thirsty night owls.  Meet at the Information Booth (on the festival lawn).

.   .   .

These aren’t your typical yoga classes.  I enjoy integrating yoga into all aspects of life and teaching people on all walks of life.  If you are new to yoga, I invite you to explore this mountain practice here on the ranch.  If you are a seasoned yogi, I invite you to open yourself to allowing place to impact your practice, and to see how much deeper you can go surrounded—and inspired—by nature.

–Jessie Tierney,  your NewHomA yoga instructor

Note: Classes are $10 and all proceeds go to the Colorado Outdoor Education Center. Capacity is 20 people per class: please reserve/pay for your class during the festival at the Information Booth.

Living in the city offered so much that I often sat dazed in my apartment, overwhelmed by the possibilities.  Adjusting to the fast pace of urban life, I began to operate at hyperspeed: if I wasn’t doing—going to a yoga class, putting on a student bodywork clinic, shooting photos for the department, tutoring, working on an essay, running my writer’s group—I felt lost.  There was the emerging green movement in Chicago to explore, ideas about the mind-body connection to unveil, the owner of the nonprofit Iraqi-Art gallery to profile—I felt I couldn’t afford to slow down.  This nonstop productivity became my city identity.  Meanwhile, my writing never felt quite right.

When I graduated from Columbia—with a 4.0 GPA, honors, a BFA in Creative Nonfiction, and completely burnt out—I stopped writing completely.

Second session 5-day pack trip!

In a search for meaning and motivation to write again, and wondering why I’d spent four years, insane efforts and a load of money at a writing school if I was going to work in a bookstore the rest of my life, I knew I needed a change.  I decided to move to Colorado.  Moving west had been a vague notion ever since I’d done conservation work one summer in California, and I figured since nothing in my present life was fulfilling me, what was there to lose?

I became a wrangler—a horseback riding instructor—at a girl’s western camp in Colorado.  Still not writing, I guided groups of kids through the rocky mountain backcountry on the backs of horses.  We camped five days straight, out of cell reception and out of sight from civilization.  I hoisted saddles onto horses, boosted kids into saddles, pitched tents, built campfires, cooked meals, and taught mountain ecology eighteen hours a day.  In the hot intensity of mountain sun, sweating and yelling “Keep your heels down, ladies!” from the back of my horse I was certainly not keeping up with the literary scene, and I hadn’t seen a computer screen since I left Chicago.  I took time to watch clouds pass overhead.  I noticed the phases of the moon.  I picked pine needles and brewed Douglas fir tea.  I learned to tell which way was North by looking at the sun.  It was a drastic change from city life.  And it fed me.

Adjusting reins for Gymkhana

I began to find the keys that unlocked my creative flow: my body, now moving in a slower, more natural rhythm, was physically challenged.  My mind cleared as I breathed crisp mountain air.  Yoga, the reason I stayed moderately sane in the city, now helped me to embody metaphors that eluded me since I’d started practicing.  Walking in an aspen grove one day, without a destination in mind, I found I was no longer identifying myself by how busy or productive I was, but by the quality of my life, moment to moment.  “We’re so engaged in doing things to achieve purposes of outer value,” said Joseph Campbell, “that we forget that the inner value, the rapture that is associated with being alive, is what it’s all about.”  I’d found the rapture, not from a high-paced city, but from a lifestyle built around awareness.

Bareback butts after a ride!

By changing my physical setting in the world and by slowing down, I found my writing voice.  This time for real—it wasn’t some forced articulation of an identity I wanted for myself; it was my authentic self.  I started writing again.  Stories, essays poured from me, with more force and passion than I’d ever felt.

Writing helps me process my experience in the world, and allows me to share the ecstasy of being alive.  I have realized my responsibility to create an outer world that supports a healthy relationship with my inner world—something that I was too busy to in the past.  I don’t force myself to write; I honor that if it’s not flowing, it’s not ready.

This writing—and living—process evolved out of moving deliberately, with more purpose in each step, and the practice of noticing.  Without an agenda, I trust that the significance will come through on it’s own.  In place of trying to be more interesting, I realize I am still the same Midwestern girl, except now I allow my background to fuel my words with an authenticity I could never achieve before.

Here's the whole crew except for Andy, who hadn't arrived yet, on our shopping trip to get geared up for summer!

Lacey, Lisa, me, Bea and Jenny, The Lady Wranglers

On the trail--that's Jenny in front, followed by Lacey, Bea, (can't see her) and Lisa.

Stopping for lunch.

Looks just like us ...

Witcher Ranch.

Me & My Boyfriend, Pete.

Ricky Learns to Hobble. We hobble horses during long trips so they can graze for at least six hours a day without running away. They resemble bunny rabbits hopping from one patch of grass to another.

Andy reads while "hawking"--watching horses as they eat.

I saw my first Indian Paintbrush of the season! It is illegal to pick these wildflowers in Colorado.

Click here for more photos from our adventures!

I’m excited to announce that I will be teaching yoga classes throughout the NewHomA Mountain & Music Festival here in Florissant, CO on August 20-22, 2010!

This brand new festival (located on camp property) offers live music, mountain bike trips, hiking throughout 6000 acres of mountains and meadows, fine craft beers, and camping ranging from rustic tents to cozy yurts.  NewHomA is family-oriented, so there are various activities for kids that don’t require their parents’ supervision, which means parents have time to do some solo exploring in addition to engaging in some good quality family time.

It’s a very affordable festival, and I would love to see my friends and family here in August!  That way you all can see this amazing place for yourselves AND practice yoga with me in real time!  Plus, the music lineup is excellent, the food (and beer) will be delicious, and you’ll be free to explore or go on guided hikes and mountain bike rides throughout the weekend–sort of like a choose-your-own adventure!

I will be guiding up to six yoga practices–most will involve hiking to a quiet aspen grove and practicing some asanas and meditation, then hiking back to the music campus.  There might be a yoga sesh offered on Sunday morning of the festival called Hangover Cure Yoga–self explanatory.  Classes will be catered to beginner through advanced yogis, so anyone is welcome!

Reserve your spot soon, as tickets are expected to sell out quickly!  And feel free to contact me if you have any questions at all.

Namaste!

In love in Harrodsburg!

Nathan and I spent time off exploring the inner workings of Eastern Kentucky University’s tree ring lab, visiting with my family in Harrodsburg, tromping around in streams at the Red River Gorge, jogging through the streets and trails in Marietta, Ohio (where I met his parents and grandmother–so fun!), visiting Nathan’s college hometown of Wooster, Ohio, attending a beautiful outdoor wedding of his friend Heather and a non-stop drive across the Midwest to end up in Colorado!  As usual with Nathan, adventure was high throughout the trip!

The wedding was fabulous ... and what better occasion to attempt a high-heel climb?

Click here to see some photos from our excursion!

The Fuzzy Animal Search is a staple activity we offer, but I try to infuse yoga into whatever I’m teaching, whether subtly or overtly.  I’ve found it’s a bit precarious to list Yoga as a recreation activity, because nobody shows up for plain old yoga. Incorporating yoga into other activities is also, at times, a challenge.

We first practiced a walking meditation, where we imagined growing deep roots into the ground with each step, starting with the heel and then slowly moving to the ball of the foot.  We breathed slowly and made our way toward an aspen grove.  About halfway there, inquisitive Leah asked if there would be any silent time, “because even when you’re hiking silently, there’s still noise from our shoes and I really like just being quiet.”  This was promising, as I wasn’t expecting these kids to be super willing to sit still, let alone in silence.

We sat in the damp grass in the middle of an aspen grove.  I invited the group to lie on their backpacks or coats so they wouldn’t get too wet (Colorado is melting these spring days), and we stared up at the sky.  Shrieks from Marshmallow Baseball and Frisbee Throw echoed through our space.  I coached them to acknowledge all the sounds they heard, to notice them but not to hold on to the sounds, to let them float through like clouds passing overhead.

In teaching in the outdoors, I try to balance structure and directed learning with allowing the kids to guide their own experiences.  I was happy to honor Leah’s request and offer more silent time, but was concerned that so much silence wouldn’t jibe with the other girls’ perceived needs: “When are we going to find animals?” one of them asked.  After about ten minutes in the aspens, it seemed time to move on.

We hiked up to Humpty Dumpty Rocks, a place on camp I’d never visited.  It was close, and I thought there may be more wildlife (fuzzy animals) for us to see opposed to the other, more oft-traversed trails.  Since I began teaching yoga regularly last November, my intuitive sense for the needs of my students (and the kiddos I nannyed for) has become increasingly strong.  I hadn’t put much thought into this recreation activity—I typically get few takers for yoga and end up joining in with another group—yet the events I guided these ladies though seemed to unfold naturally.  Similar to the feeling I get when I teach a yoga class to adults, it seemed as though something larger than myself was “teaching through” me.  This is a drastically different approach than my previous anxious self would have taken; it requires trust and letting go, things that yoga has helped me to cultivate in a big way.  How were we going to incorporate fuzzy animals?  I wasn’t quite sure … yet.

We sat cross-legged at the base of a granite outcropping.  I taught them the three syllables of Om: “Ahh—ohh—mmm,” and we chanted this universal seed sound three times.  Their voices were timid, and they opened their eyes to look and see if the others were doing it, chuckling sometimes.  Then it came to me: I asked the girls what fuzzy and non-fuzzy animals we might find living in the rocks.  As they named off different species, I made up (or re-named) poses that correlated with those animals.  We did a slithering motion coupled with a hissing breath for snakes and a balancing pose I borrowed from kung fu movies for ninja (Abert) squirrels.  I spoke briefly about becoming one with the animal they want to attract, not physically being but aligning their energy with the energy of that animal.  I feared I was being a little too “woo-woo” with these girls, but their eyes were glued to me and when I asked, “Make sense?” I got enthusiastic smiles and nods.

Once we practiced poses as ground squirrels, chipmunks, bears, mountain lions, even cacti and trees, I invited the ladies to climb around on the rocks and find a quiet spot to sit and meditate like their animal.  They split up and each found a place to sit for nearly twenty minutes.  Pikes Peak stood regally in the distance in the sunlit afternoon to the east, and to the west the Terryalls expanded in the vast reflection of light.

Again, after some time I began second-guessing myself and how long these energetic fourth graders would be willing to sit in silence, so I offered that anyone who wished to do sun salutations could follow my motions.  To my surprise, over half the ladies remained sitting quietly in their places as the rest of them stood up for a few salutes, then sat back down and gazed at the expanse in front of us.

After about a hundred or so sun salutes, some girls getting up to practice with me for awhile and then settling back down on their own, we gathered once more toward the bottom of the rocks.  This time, concluding with three Oms, the ladies allowed their voices to carry powerfully through the forest in front of us.  We debriefed when one girl explained that she actually saw a lizard when she was trying to align with lizard-energy.  That was the only “fuzzy animal” that anyone saw, but no one seemed concerned.

“I feel sooo calm,” one towheaded girl exclaimed, beaming to me on the walk back to the lodge.  A counselor approached me with a blissful smile, saying, “That was much needed and appreciated …”  The energy of this entire group of kids shifted, tangibly—if it only lasted for an hour—in a profound, relaxing and rejuvenating way.

So typically eager to please others, these young ladies, through yoga and simple time sitting quietly on rocks, were allowed to listen inward and do what most served them, on an individual basis.  This is not selfish; it is an essential practice that allows us to enact our greatest good in the world (how can we serve others until we ourselves are at peace?).  We all have this inner wisdom—what Kari Cotton, my yoga teacher from Aurora, called the Inner Teacher.  It just takes some quiet time to listen inward and find it.  These fourth grade girls know it even if they can’t always advocate or articulate it for themselves.  I hope this innate knowledge follows them and grows stronger as they transition through the school years so when they enter junior high, high school, college and adulthood, they are more acquainted with the power and potential they have within themselves.  They won’t need medications or unhealthy practices of self-medicating to cultivate a life of calm, directed sense of self and purpose.  This peacefulness can come instead from reflective moments in nature like this.

On the walk back to the lodge, one girl stayed back with me, deep in thought.  “You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, brightening.  “I didn’t know if I’d like yoga, but that felt really good.  Thanks.”