It amazes me how different my body feels one day from the next, one moment from the next. Yoga gives me a way to honor those differences, rather than trying to create something uniform out of my asymmetrical parts. Working with asana, I can encourage more openness on the stiffer side, I can explore the flexibility on the more open side, and I can find a sense of balance without having to either ignore or judge what may not be or what may be my condition at the moment. In my practice I am learning to listen to my own inner teacher. The one who says "wow see how tight that is!" is the same one who says "release around the shape of your breath" and "drink from the well of space beyond this thought of tightness." My human curiosity asks, "how will the other side feel?" and my natural mind notices small changes and differences in condition.
The key word here is "condition." My body is not a finite thing, nor is there a perfect set of ways to be in my human condition. We each live in a body with a mind that tells us all about that, pretty much all of the time. Using the mind to explore the body in any given moment can reveal so much about how the mind works and how the body works too. Using the breath to explore the body, gradually, if judgment can be released about how it should be, ought to be, used to be, etc., there is a sense of unity of being. The breath continues to rise and fall, to open and empty the body. The breath can be counted on to do this for the body and for the mind. Mind can rise and fall too. You can see the thought or judgment and move beyond that. I sometimes use the analogy of clouds. When a cloud catches the intense light of the sun and appears quite dramatic, it draws our attention. Thoughts can do that too. But all clouds eventually dissipate, continue in the cycle of forming and releasing their moisture and particles, transferring to other ways of organizing these materials, and literally transforming continuously related to the conditions in which they exist. Our thoughts can do this too, and through my yoga practice, I am finding that the body can also.
It no longer makes any sense to me to define myself by the elements of this hip or that kidney, by this thought or that gender or age. I know that these elements are like the particles and moisture of the clouds, forming and reforming, transferring and transforming. By discovering that I can breath slowly and relax around that breath, my headstand is a constantly changing state of being, my firmness of footing in Virabhadrasana III (I think of this as flying warrior) wavers and still supports me. That experience is a strong encouragement to stop judging and pre-determining what I think I am doing, who I think I am becoming, and how I think I ought to live. In this way, I can just be. Just being, I can see more clearly, act with more energy, live more fully without grasping for constancy of conditions.
A little discipline helps in this exploration. Not the kind that dictates "do this, must do this!" but the kind that allows me to act rather than excuse and to explore rather than follow a routine. The inquiry itself is encouraging. Today I may fall over trying to find my flying foot in Virabhadrasana III, or today I may fly with my foot in my hand. Am I failing if I try and fall? No, I don't think so any more. I am totally happy to discover the body I am actually living in at any given moment. I am so grateful to feel this way after nearly a half century of judging this body in order to rank it in some way related to its past or its future or someone else's body or someone else's idea of it. What a waste of energy!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Boiling the Water
Sometimes in yoga a teacher will speak about finding your edge, or pushing to your edge. This has, at times, raised my hackles, since I do not think of a yoga practice like a competitive sport where one has to continuously try to get beyond where one has been before. But then, as I think (say or write) this, I realize that it happens all the time in yoga! What keeps us up in headstand?
The big difference is that in yoga finding our edge is a process of discovering that which is sustaining the effort and releasing into that support rather than pushing past something. Sometimes, as with headstand, there can be fear that might be "pushed past" yet the joy of yoga is finding the core strength that makes the inverted lift feel light and allows the breath to continue to flow comfortably. This is not the result of pushing past the fear, but rather of seeing it and letting it go. What's the worst that can happen? One attempt, two attempts, many many attempts only lead to that frantic quality of reaching for a goal. Preparing for strength, for balance, focusing on the breath and alignment, the inversion begins to rise on its own.
I was boiling water for tea and realized that there is something to this idea of an edge in practice. Like reaching the exact temperature at which water boils, each of us in any given moment has that specific temperature at which the impurities or impediments can be released and the kettle of the self begins to sing. Avoidance and resistance are part of our human nature, and so in any practice there will be moments when you will need to find a little encouragement in order to stick with it, to breathe more consciously using Ujjayi pranayama (ocean sounding breath) or even Kapalabhati to maintain your focus while your legs shake, or your heart wavers. We know it takes a consistent application of continuous heat to get that water to boil. It can be the same in our yoga practice, then let your kettle sing!
The big difference is that in yoga finding our edge is a process of discovering that which is sustaining the effort and releasing into that support rather than pushing past something. Sometimes, as with headstand, there can be fear that might be "pushed past" yet the joy of yoga is finding the core strength that makes the inverted lift feel light and allows the breath to continue to flow comfortably. This is not the result of pushing past the fear, but rather of seeing it and letting it go. What's the worst that can happen? One attempt, two attempts, many many attempts only lead to that frantic quality of reaching for a goal. Preparing for strength, for balance, focusing on the breath and alignment, the inversion begins to rise on its own.
I was boiling water for tea and realized that there is something to this idea of an edge in practice. Like reaching the exact temperature at which water boils, each of us in any given moment has that specific temperature at which the impurities or impediments can be released and the kettle of the self begins to sing. Avoidance and resistance are part of our human nature, and so in any practice there will be moments when you will need to find a little encouragement in order to stick with it, to breathe more consciously using Ujjayi pranayama (ocean sounding breath) or even Kapalabhati to maintain your focus while your legs shake, or your heart wavers. We know it takes a consistent application of continuous heat to get that water to boil. It can be the same in our yoga practice, then let your kettle sing!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Investigate the Structure that Is YOU
Recently two close friends have expressed their deep suffering to me. Both of them seem deeply trapped in the boxes of their own structure. Though they are versed in the tenets and principles of yoga, their practices seem to remain external to the source of their struggles. As yoga becomes more widely practiced, and there are so many names for "types" or "styles" of yoga, so many studios, and classes offered through gyms and community organizations, this is bound to happen. As with all activities, one can study almost endlessly and participate in the activity without letting go, squeezing what is learned into the structure that is already there. It is both dangerous and liberating to allow the structure to shift and integrate the new level of understanding. In Kripalu yoga, where I gained my certification, it is not about any set sequences or required practices, but about the inquiry towards radical self acceptance. For me, radical self acceptance is the cessation of suffering and the offering of one's energy as part of the world, rather than separated from it.
There is so much difference when I practice on my own and when I take a class. The external direction of a class is so helpful to draw attention to unusual and revealing aspects, giving a carefully organized sequence of events based on well known and understood processes of the body and mind. It is this that I offer as a teacher, and I benefit from so many times as a student myself. This was not just true at the start of my yoga journey, but is true now and probably will be at every stage of my practice.
Along with classes, I encourage each person to approach their own practice with curiosity and patience. This seems to me to be the path to understanding oneself fully and integrating what we are into our daily lives. One way is to choose an asana and just explore getting there, being there, and where it goes. Another is to try following the sequence you remember from classes and see what your body remembers, allowing yourself to spend more or less time on the way, adding what your body asks for, and giving yourself permission to breathe all the way through. An exploration can focus on a particular theme - for example, working with twists, or adding in asanas to sun salutation sequences to build strength, or focusing on energy and breath relationships through pranayama using bellows breath and kapalabhati followed by soothing nadi shoduna.
I feel deep compassion for my friends. So many times I, too, am feeling trapped in my own structure or that of the relationships I have created, or the mindsets I have taken related to the world around me. The structures within which I can feel so stuck are some that have served me in the past but no longer do so. The suffering my friends feel is the life guard's warning flag to indicate the strong rip tide current. It is not the rip tide itself, nor the life guard. And yet, it is as though they are watching the life guard waving the flag without understanding the signal itself. As long as the focus of their attention is on their suffering, it is the suffering they experience. Like swimming into a rip tide, this is exhausting and fruitless. No strategy seems to work, no amount of strength seems to end the travail.
Turning attention towards the causes of suffering allows us to understand that the current is there, a defined and clear circumstance. Once you see it there, you do not have to choose to swim against it. As with self knowledge, one can use energy to swim across the narrow band of the rip tide through to the other side, or if exhausted, even allow the tide to carry one until its strength is dispersed. The part of the self that pushes into that tide and fights and struggles, suffers and feels hopeless and defeated, lost and overwhelmed is a part of the self that can be seen for what it is. This strategy for dealing with the situation as it is perceived -- the current is terribly strong I must swim against it with all my might -- can be seen for what it is.
Letting go is the deepest part of practice. Seeing one's own structure is beyond the strategies and the tides: the fear, the uncertainty, failure, shame, loss, the defined and limited self. The choice is there to get out of the rip tide. Choosing to swim against it is perhaps the most painful choice and will continue to cause the pain until the swimmer sees their choice.
There is so much difference when I practice on my own and when I take a class. The external direction of a class is so helpful to draw attention to unusual and revealing aspects, giving a carefully organized sequence of events based on well known and understood processes of the body and mind. It is this that I offer as a teacher, and I benefit from so many times as a student myself. This was not just true at the start of my yoga journey, but is true now and probably will be at every stage of my practice.
Along with classes, I encourage each person to approach their own practice with curiosity and patience. This seems to me to be the path to understanding oneself fully and integrating what we are into our daily lives. One way is to choose an asana and just explore getting there, being there, and where it goes. Another is to try following the sequence you remember from classes and see what your body remembers, allowing yourself to spend more or less time on the way, adding what your body asks for, and giving yourself permission to breathe all the way through. An exploration can focus on a particular theme - for example, working with twists, or adding in asanas to sun salutation sequences to build strength, or focusing on energy and breath relationships through pranayama using bellows breath and kapalabhati followed by soothing nadi shoduna.
I feel deep compassion for my friends. So many times I, too, am feeling trapped in my own structure or that of the relationships I have created, or the mindsets I have taken related to the world around me. The structures within which I can feel so stuck are some that have served me in the past but no longer do so. The suffering my friends feel is the life guard's warning flag to indicate the strong rip tide current. It is not the rip tide itself, nor the life guard. And yet, it is as though they are watching the life guard waving the flag without understanding the signal itself. As long as the focus of their attention is on their suffering, it is the suffering they experience. Like swimming into a rip tide, this is exhausting and fruitless. No strategy seems to work, no amount of strength seems to end the travail.
Turning attention towards the causes of suffering allows us to understand that the current is there, a defined and clear circumstance. Once you see it there, you do not have to choose to swim against it. As with self knowledge, one can use energy to swim across the narrow band of the rip tide through to the other side, or if exhausted, even allow the tide to carry one until its strength is dispersed. The part of the self that pushes into that tide and fights and struggles, suffers and feels hopeless and defeated, lost and overwhelmed is a part of the self that can be seen for what it is. This strategy for dealing with the situation as it is perceived -- the current is terribly strong I must swim against it with all my might -- can be seen for what it is.
Letting go is the deepest part of practice. Seeing one's own structure is beyond the strategies and the tides: the fear, the uncertainty, failure, shame, loss, the defined and limited self. The choice is there to get out of the rip tide. Choosing to swim against it is perhaps the most painful choice and will continue to cause the pain until the swimmer sees their choice.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Finding the Jelly Beans
I did not grow up celebrating Easter, but my life began to include some of the traditions when I had children. One of our family activities was to hide jelly beans in plain sight all around the kitchen and invite the kids to find them. Some years we wove little paper baskets, other years just handed out small collection bowls. Always we made sure there were high ones and low ones, that the colors of the beans matched as many of the objects upon which they were hidden, and that it would be fun rather than a chore to find them in unexpected places.
Discovering that which is hiding in plain sight seems to fit in naturally with a yoga practice. Maybe it was those jelly beans helped teach me to look more closely for the parts that merge into the form or color, the pieces that actually are not part of the object. Even my own breath can shed bits and pieces that have attached to it. If I really allow my attention to follow my breath, I discover that I can release a certain amount of unnecessary effort even there, that there is a specific texture to the breath in this moment, that the breath can direct the body or that I can choose to direct the breath. Over time I can see that I use my breath in specific ways, and can discover new ways to allow my breath to support me.
Our habits seem obvious to others, but sometimes remain strangely invisible to ourselves. The jelly beans are hiding in plain sight. Patterns that have evolved as useful in the past, placed carefully at one time, become less useful and sometimes a great inhibition in the present. Simply turning attention on this helps reveal the little bits that have been added and sometimes reveals the structure. These can then be taken apart and set aside for use when useful, or simply let them go.
Through yoga practice we see obvious but unrecognized elements, like our tendency to cross right leg over left, and not so obvious, like holding our breath in utkatasana (chair/fierce pose). Noticing the pattern that is right there in the open is the first step... like finding the red jelly bean sitting on a red milk cap, or the yellow one resting between the bananas. This is the beginning of seeing who we are, and once that begins, the study of oneself can lead to all the treasures resting in the nature of being, being human, being part of the larger world, feeling alive.
Discovering that which is hiding in plain sight seems to fit in naturally with a yoga practice. Maybe it was those jelly beans helped teach me to look more closely for the parts that merge into the form or color, the pieces that actually are not part of the object. Even my own breath can shed bits and pieces that have attached to it. If I really allow my attention to follow my breath, I discover that I can release a certain amount of unnecessary effort even there, that there is a specific texture to the breath in this moment, that the breath can direct the body or that I can choose to direct the breath. Over time I can see that I use my breath in specific ways, and can discover new ways to allow my breath to support me.
Our habits seem obvious to others, but sometimes remain strangely invisible to ourselves. The jelly beans are hiding in plain sight. Patterns that have evolved as useful in the past, placed carefully at one time, become less useful and sometimes a great inhibition in the present. Simply turning attention on this helps reveal the little bits that have been added and sometimes reveals the structure. These can then be taken apart and set aside for use when useful, or simply let them go.
Through yoga practice we see obvious but unrecognized elements, like our tendency to cross right leg over left, and not so obvious, like holding our breath in utkatasana (chair/fierce pose). Noticing the pattern that is right there in the open is the first step... like finding the red jelly bean sitting on a red milk cap, or the yellow one resting between the bananas. This is the beginning of seeing who we are, and once that begins, the study of oneself can lead to all the treasures resting in the nature of being, being human, being part of the larger world, feeling alive.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Energy Rising
Get up and be.
Take myself there, even if I feel the resistance.
Acknowledge the backwards pull and seek the source.
Is it fear? Is it lack of faith? Is it judgment?
Can I tolerate that I have no other moment than this one?
Let that change everything.
Sometimes I think, "one day I will do this or that, this way or that way..."
That is thinking.
Now I understand that if I intend to do it, that is an intention.
If I do it, I do it.
If I do not do it, I do not do it.
Now is now.
Giving myself this is the gift of my own life.
Perhaps it is giving myself the time to do yoga.
Perhaps it is sitting and not doing any asana.
Perhaps it is ensuring that I keep my words, perhaps that I let all my words go.
Perhaps it is drinking the wine, perhaps it is not drinking the wine.
Eat the meat, do not eat the meat.
Watch the sun rise, watch the sun set.
Keep my eyes closed. Open my eyes.
Everything in the mind is in the mind.
Is the body in the mind?
Is the breath in the body?
I make choices. I choose to live this moment.
Do I put off breathing? I breathe in, I breathe out.
Sweep myself up in the energy of breath.
Let myself rest in the peace of breath.
Take myself there, even if I feel the resistance.
Acknowledge the backwards pull and seek the source.
Is it fear? Is it lack of faith? Is it judgment?
Can I tolerate that I have no other moment than this one?
Let that change everything.
Sometimes I think, "one day I will do this or that, this way or that way..."
That is thinking.
Now I understand that if I intend to do it, that is an intention.
If I do it, I do it.
If I do not do it, I do not do it.
Now is now.
Giving myself this is the gift of my own life.
Perhaps it is giving myself the time to do yoga.
Perhaps it is sitting and not doing any asana.
Perhaps it is ensuring that I keep my words, perhaps that I let all my words go.
Perhaps it is drinking the wine, perhaps it is not drinking the wine.
Eat the meat, do not eat the meat.
Watch the sun rise, watch the sun set.
Keep my eyes closed. Open my eyes.
Everything in the mind is in the mind.
Is the body in the mind?
Is the breath in the body?
I make choices. I choose to live this moment.
Do I put off breathing? I breathe in, I breathe out.
Sweep myself up in the energy of breath.
Let myself rest in the peace of breath.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Catching & Tossing That Emotional Curve Ball
Yesterday I was hit by the curve ball of my old emotional patterns. My equanimity was gone. I felt as though I was alone in a sailboat doing everything I could just to keep from capsizing. This is a pattern that kicks in when I am judged negatively about behaviors that seem to be part of my nature. So it was a deep exercise in my practice of non-attachment, non-judgment, witness consciousness, self-acceptance, and breath.
I turned to contemplation to help me as I felt myself spiraling down into the abyss. I wrote a poem that it was a hard day to be me. Then went out to weed in the garden. I used my energy to observe, nourish, clarify and act without too much analysis. Then I took a half hour for pranayama practice -- beginning with dirgha 3-part breathing very deliberately sprawled on the floor, arms outstretched, bringing my awareness into my entire body. Breathing in, I was breathing in. Breathing out, I exhaled Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya (May I Surrender to That Which Sustains Me). I felt as though I was pinned to the surface of the earth by its slow rotation as it revolved around the sun. Then I sat up for several rounds of kapalabhati breathing, using all the bandha locks between sequences. Phew. Centered after that, I weeded some more. This was a case of going on ahead and continuing to be active in the world, rather than curl up into that pattern of negativity and erasure. Gently extracting the weeds and placing them in the composting heap to return to the earth transformed. This was engaging and comforting. I, too, will return to the earth transformed. I, too, am just a speck of organic dust or pollen or breath.
Sitting on a stone wall, I closed my eyes, opening my heart to the waves, using "just" on the inhale and "this" on the exhale to pinpoint my attention. All the while, I was feeling the heat of the sun on my left shoulder, the coolness of the breeze from the valley on my face, the solidity of the stone beneath me, the softness of the air drawing in and out of me. All this was there this moment, this moment, this moment.
I began to feel grateful to the person who threw all the cold water on me, smiling as I realized that without being thrown back into that pattern again of questioning my basic being and worthlessness, I would not be gaining this strength in my practice. Finding that I truly can trust that being is all there is for me, that I can see judgment is an external spin that reflects the mind of the one who judges, that everything is conditional until I get beyond the conditional mind, and that I can get there... It was a quiet day. There were meals made and shared, chores done.
This morning I woke up feeling love in the inhale and joy in the exhale. It amazed me that I could so simply and happily be waking up. Then I remembered my feelings from yesterday and the incident that drew them out. I saw all this like a stagnant pool next to where I lay. Oh yes, I could go dip a foot or dunk my whole self in that pool, but I could also just stay on the path and see where the next footfall will land as it lands.
I turned to contemplation to help me as I felt myself spiraling down into the abyss. I wrote a poem that it was a hard day to be me. Then went out to weed in the garden. I used my energy to observe, nourish, clarify and act without too much analysis. Then I took a half hour for pranayama practice -- beginning with dirgha 3-part breathing very deliberately sprawled on the floor, arms outstretched, bringing my awareness into my entire body. Breathing in, I was breathing in. Breathing out, I exhaled Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya (May I Surrender to That Which Sustains Me). I felt as though I was pinned to the surface of the earth by its slow rotation as it revolved around the sun. Then I sat up for several rounds of kapalabhati breathing, using all the bandha locks between sequences. Phew. Centered after that, I weeded some more. This was a case of going on ahead and continuing to be active in the world, rather than curl up into that pattern of negativity and erasure. Gently extracting the weeds and placing them in the composting heap to return to the earth transformed. This was engaging and comforting. I, too, will return to the earth transformed. I, too, am just a speck of organic dust or pollen or breath.
Sitting on a stone wall, I closed my eyes, opening my heart to the waves, using "just" on the inhale and "this" on the exhale to pinpoint my attention. All the while, I was feeling the heat of the sun on my left shoulder, the coolness of the breeze from the valley on my face, the solidity of the stone beneath me, the softness of the air drawing in and out of me. All this was there this moment, this moment, this moment.
I began to feel grateful to the person who threw all the cold water on me, smiling as I realized that without being thrown back into that pattern again of questioning my basic being and worthlessness, I would not be gaining this strength in my practice. Finding that I truly can trust that being is all there is for me, that I can see judgment is an external spin that reflects the mind of the one who judges, that everything is conditional until I get beyond the conditional mind, and that I can get there... It was a quiet day. There were meals made and shared, chores done.
This morning I woke up feeling love in the inhale and joy in the exhale. It amazed me that I could so simply and happily be waking up. Then I remembered my feelings from yesterday and the incident that drew them out. I saw all this like a stagnant pool next to where I lay. Oh yes, I could go dip a foot or dunk my whole self in that pool, but I could also just stay on the path and see where the next footfall will land as it lands.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Women's History Month
Voices of Our Mothers & Grandmothers, Celebrating Women’s History 3/31/2010
Gently stroking a fragment of soft green moss with her fingertips, a woman began reciting the nursery rhyme “Hickory Dickory Dock.” A few minutes later, another woman picked up a small broken branch from a cherry tree with one blossom opening at the end, saying, “we had these all around when I was little, but I don’t remember any songs right now.” Another woman, holding a dry brown leaf offers, “my mother used to sing a song ‘autumn leaves, hmm mmm, mmm, hmm mmm mmm, when the autumn leaves fall’… that’s how it went.”
Part of a celebratory day at the end of Women’s History Month at the Camba Park Slope Women’s Center, this small gathering of women brought tears and smiles to all the participants, including a staff member or two who joined in for a few moments of remembering songs from our mothers, grandmothers, and childhoods. When the recreation director at the center asked if I would consider doing something for women’s history beyond my weekly yoga class, right away I thought, "yes, yes, let’s sing from the memories of our mothers and sisters. Let’s celebrate the history that resides in each human being, that of the passage from the mother into the self."
After a 45 minute chair yoga session, in which we celebrated our breath and our bodies, we turned to a plate of natural objects: a fragment of bright green moss, a dry leaf, a broken branch with cherry blossom, a bright red berry, a dried seed from a tree. Letting each participant contemplate the collection, I asked, “do you find anything here that reminds you of when you were very young, and are there any songs that come to mind, even fragments of songs?” The reactions were immediate for each woman. One began to sing “Amazing Grace” as her grandmother had always done, and a soft chorus began from women all over the room, even those who were not officially sitting in the circle. Another woman remembered the beginning of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and when her memory failed, the others filled in the words.
As with my yoga classes, I feel so grateful to these beautiful women when they allow me to facilitate their own blossoming. Making the space among us feel safe and real is my job, bringing effort, laughter, the softness of memory, the hardness of loss, all out in the open where we can meet each others' gaze and be happy that moment. The moist eyes and wide smiles around the circle are quite a celebration of the strength, generosity, endurance and joy in the women who pass through the shelter in any given week.
Gently stroking a fragment of soft green moss with her fingertips, a woman began reciting the nursery rhyme “Hickory Dickory Dock.” A few minutes later, another woman picked up a small broken branch from a cherry tree with one blossom opening at the end, saying, “we had these all around when I was little, but I don’t remember any songs right now.” Another woman, holding a dry brown leaf offers, “my mother used to sing a song ‘autumn leaves, hmm mmm, mmm, hmm mmm mmm, when the autumn leaves fall’… that’s how it went.”
Part of a celebratory day at the end of Women’s History Month at the Camba Park Slope Women’s Center, this small gathering of women brought tears and smiles to all the participants, including a staff member or two who joined in for a few moments of remembering songs from our mothers, grandmothers, and childhoods. When the recreation director at the center asked if I would consider doing something for women’s history beyond my weekly yoga class, right away I thought, "yes, yes, let’s sing from the memories of our mothers and sisters. Let’s celebrate the history that resides in each human being, that of the passage from the mother into the self."
After a 45 minute chair yoga session, in which we celebrated our breath and our bodies, we turned to a plate of natural objects: a fragment of bright green moss, a dry leaf, a broken branch with cherry blossom, a bright red berry, a dried seed from a tree. Letting each participant contemplate the collection, I asked, “do you find anything here that reminds you of when you were very young, and are there any songs that come to mind, even fragments of songs?” The reactions were immediate for each woman. One began to sing “Amazing Grace” as her grandmother had always done, and a soft chorus began from women all over the room, even those who were not officially sitting in the circle. Another woman remembered the beginning of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and when her memory failed, the others filled in the words.
As with my yoga classes, I feel so grateful to these beautiful women when they allow me to facilitate their own blossoming. Making the space among us feel safe and real is my job, bringing effort, laughter, the softness of memory, the hardness of loss, all out in the open where we can meet each others' gaze and be happy that moment. The moist eyes and wide smiles around the circle are quite a celebration of the strength, generosity, endurance and joy in the women who pass through the shelter in any given week.
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