Once there was a devoted man who spent a great deal of time each day in meditation and prayer. One day in his meditation he heard God’s voice commanding him.
India Henson Yoga
Life takes the breath away. Yoga gives it back.
Monday, October 16, 2023
Giving Thanks for the Difficult Work
Once there was a devoted man who spent a great deal of time each day in meditation and prayer. One day in his meditation he heard God’s voice commanding him.
Wednesday, August 16, 2023
Welcome
Thank you for visiting India Henson Yoga.
This post is to let Google know I don't want Google to delete this account when domains move to Squarespace. ~~sigh~~
Sunday, October 9, 2022
Orbs, Orbs, Orbs
Or they can just be dust: dust that reflects an off-focus image from the flash of a camera. It's probably a good idea to consult a camera specialist, but the explanation has something to do with the shortened focal length between the camera lens and the chip that records the digital picture. The focal point will be in focus, but other points (dust) brightened by the flash will be out of focus, causing the orb effect.
I can handle this information however primitive and poorly understood. However, after seeing all those orbs in the photographs of Yoga classes on winter days shortly after we opened at PH Balance, I'm inclined to think I might need to clean the place thoroughly--dust, vacuum, clean blinds.
Which, of course, makes me prefer the mystical explanation much more.
There is a passage in the New Testament book of Luke where the evil religious leaders tell Jesus to forbid his followers from praising him. It's Palm Sunday. Jesus replies with some of the oddest words. "If these were silent, the stones would shout out." (Luke 19:40) This didn't make much sense until a guy at our church lots of years ago explained this verse through the theory of quantum physics. While I'm no Einstein, I did grasp that quantum physics describes a much different reality relating to waves and particles that do not function within our reality as we understand it. It's all about a vibrational energy that keeps the universe from, well, not being the universe, and if one were to look at the sub-atomic particles in the stones, one might see a great deal of activity that, under the right circumstances, could cause sound, maybe in the form of shouting.
So I write all this to say that if we are created from the dust as stated by the Yahwist writer, who is the oldest reference in the Torah (Genesis 2:7), who's to say whether or not a bright flash of light can bring momentary life to a speck of dust, liberating whatever wave energies might be bound in that particle? Who's to say that ashes to ashes, dust to dust is just a mere explanation of the time we experience in relativity and that quantumly speaking, our ashes and dust have a whole other experience?
Wednesday, July 27, 2022
Thursday, July 21, 2022
The Grief Quilt
Aunt Ola hand pieced the hexagons with white and black thread along with some stitching with what might be kite string. Many areas had some damage or had come unstitched.
I went to the Quilt Shop in Hendersonville and bought some unbleached muslin for the backing. I chose not to use batting, making a lightweight quilt. I bought some quilt needles and thread. I had to cut the muslin in half to create the backing. On a trip back to Birmingham my sister, Jann, sewed the two halves together on her machine so that the backing would fit under the quilt top.
As I worked on the quilt, my own grief was on the mend. It had been a year since my partner died. I quilted each hexagon except the black ones around each design and mended the seams and damaged pieces as I quilted. And as I quilted I thought about Aunt Ola, my mother-in-law, Jewell, who taught me how to quilt. Both women have passed. I wondered what my Aunt Ola had made with the scraps that created this quilt. I thought about my grandmother, who I never met, but whose quilt hangs in my bedroom along with a specially-made-for-me quilt hanging from Jewell. I thought about all the women who saved scraps and created beautiful quilts for families and friends, all the unknown artists whose creations have long been forgotten. I hoped Aunt Ola was watching and smiling. I knew Jewell was rolling her eyes at these uneven stitches.
I realized that to square the quilt, I would need two right angle triangles to fill in the spaces caused by the leaning design. But before that, I had to decide where the quilt would begin and end. The places that had been cut off, leaving irregular edges, had to be cleaned up. So I made those decisions after lots of observations and measurements, carefully taking out stitches, removing partial patterns. I finally finished the quilt top by the end of summer and folded it up for the cedar chest until I moved to Montevallo. I really could not make a decision how to square up the quilt, and making a border was something I couldn't even consider.
In the sixth month after my move, I pulled out Aunt Ola's quilt with the intention of finishing it. I would just dive into it and finish it, border and all. I went to JoAnn's and spent time looking for that fill-in fabric for those right triangles. I didn't go in with any other idea of what I wanted other than small-design fabric. The quilt was bold enough in its original form. I just depended upon my instinct to find the material. After looking at many bolts of material, I came upon the scattering-stars-in-the-night design. It reminded me of all the star quilters who had been scattered around the world and whose spirits scattered the night sky. Even the lady who cut my yards from the bolt took a double take when she unbolted the material.
It wasn't until I was working with the fabric that the black background seemed appropriate for the black hexagons. I really didn't intend to get black fabric, but it worked with the quilt top. It blended with the black hexagons, which made it easier to attach them to the fabric.
So. I measured and measured. I didn't have a giant protractor to figure accurate triangle shapes, so I just trusted myself to get it close. I cut them. I sewed their edges to the folded black hexagons. The result was giant triangular spaces. I had to do something about that, so I used pieces of the quilt that were leftover and appliqued them to the triangles. Tried to get them somewhat even. Looked ok. Thought maybe after the border was on, I'd see how it looked, and maybe applique some more scraps later.
The border was a nightmare. There wasn't enough material to simply fold over and sew the border, so I started using what I had left over from the muslin for the border. Measuring, measuring. Cutting. Ironing folds. Bloodying my fingers as I stuck pins into them, by accident, of course. As I started sewing the border, I would adjust, tug, try to even it up. It's ok. But far from perfect. Far from even. But square enough. Like an impressionist painting, the quilt should be viewed from a comfortable distance; no close examination.
Even in the struggle with the border, my own healing process accelerated. Aunt Ola's grief led her to abandon her quilt, but then the quilt helped me embrace my own grief as it witnessed the better part of my own healing. The quilt is beautiful to me, mostly because it is so imperfect and full of intuitive decisions, meditative struggle. It's a metaphor for the imperfect beauty created by grief.
Thank you, Aunt Ola.
Tuesday, June 15, 2021
Happy Father's Day!