Quiet Wisdom
Dear Friends,
I send my love… I’ve found myself waking up night after night at about 2 AM. Is it because of aging or because of concerns and cares for everyone and everything? Or is it simply just waking up? Gratefully, through consistent yoga, breathing and meditation practices I have my sleep back now. How are you fairing? See my middle of the night sleep support at the end of the blog story below, along with these gifts and updates: (This first part is a 2 min. read)
A Spotify playlist: “Primordial Ease Energy”
Check out last month’s lucid dream “Day Stream” playlist. I add new songs as they are gifted to me from the ethers. (all about awakening).
Day Four of my book/digital online project: “How to Begin Yoga”— and a little dance fun to further increase the release of beneficial hormones.
A story about quiet wisdom: (5 min read below).
Check out my latest poetry.
Nature photography for sale.
In the midst of the collective challenges and turmoil that surround us in the world, it's often difficult to find the right words. Each of us carries the responsibility of our personal lives, activities, and relationships, and alongside that, we witness numerous distressing global concerns, from conflicts and environmental issues to the heart-wrenching impact of sheer violence itself.
I, too, find myself at a loss for words, and I'm sure many of you can relate. How can we not be deeply affected by the world's struggles? It reminds me of a story a very dear mentor once shared when she was faced with a challenging situation and didn’t know what to do. She simply decided to bake some cookies and share them with her neighbors and friends. It was a small act of loving kindness and care, a way to offer solace to weary minds and heavy hearts.
As I sat down to write this month's newsletter, I pondered what I could share with you. I can’t give out cookies in this email, although that would be nice… in lieu I decided to recount a heart warming story from my childhood—one that holds a simple yet profound lesson on finding wisdom and clarity within. I hope you enjoy and have the time to read it. (5 min read with the sleep tip at the bottom)
As I settle back in Montana, I am teaching yoga and meditation in person in Missoula here. I'm currently still considering the right upcoming offerings from me to you. Stay tuned.
Remember to take care of yourself and embrace small moments of natural rest in the simplicity of the heart itself.
With love and light,Cheyenne
The Story:
My Grandpa Pete was a quiet man, and I always cherished our time together during my childhood summers when I'd visit. We didn't play together; we simply shared the quiet. It was just us.
Grandpa was a wheat farmer, and I was always able to go with him out to his farm on the Crow Indian reservation in Pryor, Montana. I used to crawl up into his 1965 turquoise blue Chevy pickup, it was a "step up," the kind that had a step by the door to make it easier to get into. The seats were slightly squeaky and delightfully bouncy. I always chose to sit right beside him.
The towering stick shift reached down to the floor, and I could hardly see over the cracked, dried dashboard. The enormous steering wheel had small notches that perfectly accommodated one's fingers.
Our journey to the farm, though it seemed like an endless 1,000,000 miles as a child, was only 36 miles away from Billings, Montana. As we drove, I gazed upon the expansive skies and the flatland fields of golden wheat. The air was fresh and clean, and the sky painted a clear, serene blue.
Throughout this tranquil journey, Grandpa didn't speak much. Instead, he would occasionally glance at me and share a warm smile. As a child visiting during the summers, I was touched by his silent presence, which eventually taught me to nurture the quiet wisdom within myself.
In the distance, I could spot the mountains on the horizon – our destination. Grandpa would point to them and tell me, "The little people live there!" My understanding of these "little people" was limited, except that it was a Crow Native American story that shared they came out at night, dancing and smiling by the flickering firelight. It filled me with a sense of wonder.
Once we left the highway, the dirt road leading to the farm was narrow and rough. On hot days, it turned dry and bumpy, while rainy days required the four-wheel drive to maneuver through the mud. The journey in that old pickup truck was always an adventure.
The fields of wheat stood tall, and the vast land stretched endlessly before us. No telephone poles or houses disrupted the rolling hills and the unobstructed sky.
With the squeak of the truck's doors, we disembarked. Grandpa would prepare the tractor in silence, apart from a simple "Get in!" The tractor was a noisy companion, enveloped in dust. The distinct aroma of wheat filled the air. I'd reach for Grandpa's hand, which was always hot and sweaty. He'd sport his farmer's baseball cap, and curling smoke would billow from the tractor. Together, just us, we worked the fields, further nurturing that quiet wisdom.
The farm was a serene place to be. I'd explore the area, occasionally encountering snakes. On hot, sunny days, the sound of crickets serenaded us. Swallows constructed mud nests beneath the roof eaves of the farm sheds, and I'd look up, eager to spot baby birds. Grandpa would caution me, "Don't you go messing around in there."
One memorable day, I had the chance to ride a horse bareback. The horse took off at a gallop, running like the wind. The breeze tousled my hair as I clung to the reins, running free with no one around and nothing in our path.
As the day drew to a close, Grandpa would say, "Let's go!" It was time to leave.
With the slam of the old, creaky truck doors, we embarked on the journey back down the long, bumpy road. Grandpa would pull his baseball cap down, share a smile, and wipe the sweat from his forehead with a white kerchief.
Just outside the farm lay an old, dusty town. Grandpa would look at me and suggest, "Should we get a chocolate malt ice cream?" His eyes would twinkle, and I would nod in enthusiastic agreement. The old blue pickup truck shifted down into second gear, pulling up in front of the rundown gas station. Its wooden screen door would swing shut with a familiar BANG!
We would each savor a chocolate malt ice cream, served in medium-sized plastic cups with tiny wooden spoons.
As I crawled back into the truck, sitting right next to Grandpa, I'd swirl my chocolate malt around with the wooden spoon, relishing its thick, creamy goodness.
Our 1,000,000-mile journey back to town was serene and filled with companionship. It was a quiet ride home. My Grandpa was the first to teach me about the benefits of being quiet and listening to one’s own natural wisdom. He was always a man of few words, and when he spoke his words were filled with wisdom, clarity and directness.
There is something to be directly experienced within ourselves in simplifying, listening, enjoying the quiet that exists within.
Nurture it, find a way to support yourself in relaxation, awe and wonder—a garland of love awaits you. Tap into your own wisdom for the benefit of our families, community and world at large. Rest, be well.
Love, Chey
Sleep support:
Lay on your back in bed—yoga calls this Savasana or Corpse pose. Palms up, arms at your side. Prop a pillow under your knees. Do not expect to get to sleep in this way, simply pretend you are actually taking time for Savasana and to practice breathing, enjoy it.
Begin to inhale through your nose for a count of four, pause at the top of the inhale for a count of four, exhale through your nose for a count of four, pause at the bottom of your exhale for a count of four, repeat. (you can pick any number you want for this breathing exercise.)
You may find yourself drifting into a deep state of rest, even moving into simultaneously sleeping while being aware, this is beautiful.
See what happens or not, simply enjoy.
P.S.: Here are the quick links again to the gifts: Spotify Primordial Ease Energy, Spotify Day Stream, YouTube, Poetry, Photography.