Yoga at The Redding Senior Citizens Center

I have been asked many times if there is an online yoga class I would recommend. Here are some free classes you can check out. But, as always, listen to your body first.

Free Yoga Classes Free yoga classes for active older adults, seniors, mature students, free yoga, free beginner yoga, free yoga for seniors, free easy yoga, yoga thats free, beginner yoga

I love Remy Tortosa philosophy. He puts into words what I'm trying to convey in our class:

Hey,
Today, I want to talk about how we face movement.
The easy one.
And the hard one.
One of the biggest mistakes in movement is thinking that easy means useless.
When a movement feels simple, the ego quickly disconnects from the body.
The mind starts looking outside instead of inside.
“It’s too easy.”
And from that moment, awareness disappears.
But the real work is often hidden there.
Not in performing the movement.
But in the intention you bring into it.
Can you slow down even more?
Can you feel every part of your body involved?
Can you breathe with control instead of rushing through repetition?
The best athletes in the world repeat the basics every single day, because they understand that mastery is built on foundations.
And on the other side, when a movement feels difficult, frustrating, or impossible, the answer is not to devalue yourself.
Not “I can’t do this.”
But instead: “How can I approach it today?”
Maybe the range is smaller.
Maybe you use a chair, a wall, a yoga block, or support.
Maybe you only practice the beginning of the movement.
That is still practice.
An exercise is only a tool.
The goal is not perfect performance.
The goal is to keep moving, keep learning, and stay connected to yourself.
An easy movement can become an incredible path toward deeper awareness.
A difficult movement can become the doorway to discovering completely new ways of moving.
This is the beauty of movement for me.
Endless possibilities.
Endless ways to understand ourselves a little more deeply through the body.
How do you approach a movement that feels too easy?
Do you get bored? Do you feel you need more?
And when a movement feels hard, do you get frustrated?
Have a wonderful day,
Rémy

Another share for those of us who continue to experience the subtle and not so subtle effects of past trauma here is an amazing book that provides a roadmap to safety. This was shared from Susi Hately: Functional Synergy😎 I haven't finished it yet but from what I have read it is spot on!

https://www.amazon.com/EASE-Unwinding-Dr-Jagdeep-Johal/dp/1999027930/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2MKSUCAXQOBHO&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.dKZtPNR0oh5O-Q-CJqmX0FwNOdjZLT04avav29IpfZJCKpuBXlHe9RBDS8V5IPoEOTGabgKaHVebcGbPbZInYy1xeC-ayBSD-MzPiMbX4wDp5Xh3TxBWEWp33g3cyzxgpaIZP2tv8m5EXj2p434oZzAHT7NM4TcVPoDfLp50nPhS7Wy8aESfYKmaBXMwJMl5-Cu2YccX7JUXU3Qf5z1DBMV4j6Ev0ZLCcKc5za1RPL8.kQKO4Km8NlxuiWLEayghjXcFEp5y-800BLeejZ0MgMU&dib_tag=se&keywords=ease&qid=1779141660&s=books&sprefix=ease%2Cstripbooks%2C331&sr=

EASE: Unwinding the Biology of Threat EASE: Unwinding the Biology of Threat isn't another self-help manual. It's a journey back to your body's innate wisdom, a rediscovery of the natural state of ease that's been buried beneath layers of tension and limiting beliefs. Dr. Jagdeep Johal, draws on cutting-edge neuroscience, ancient pra...

I wanted to share this final fundraising event before the election for Joanna Francescut happening this Wednesday 5/20

Meet Joanna and Enjoy a 1945 Pulitzer Prize Winning Play Hang out with Joanna and dive into the drama of a 1945 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, live and in person! Tickets only available on this site.

Bruce is at it again, enjoy!

A Little Kayaking Adventure

Hey Bruce, would you like to join us on an adventure? It was music to my ears. This was not an idle invite. My friends Ed and Roxanne were experienced river guides on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. I was all in. The year was 1978 and they had just returned from guiding a river trip. This time, the plan was they were going to run the Colorado river a class 4 adventure for 21 days. The only ones on the trip were 6 experienced guides and yours truly who had never kayaked. The 211 miles by river was going to happen on kayaks with a couple of two person rafts for supplies. We would trade off every day with who would be in the rafts and who would be in kayaks. Ed informed me they had stashed plenty of beer at each nights stop during their last guide trip. What could possibly go wrong.

We climbed into Ed and Roxanne’s Datsun pickup and off we went loaded with kayaks, deflated rafts and lots of trail mix. Two days later we met up with their incredibly fit friends. I was not in bad shape but I wasn’t in their league. At the river put-in we off loaded everyone’s gear and I stood there looking at this fast moving river and my tiny kayak and thought 211 miles. What have I gotten myself into? It didn’t help that Ed pulled me aside and said, “There will be times where the waves and waterfalls are so big they won’t look possible to run. Paddle harder and hold on tight.”

After our first night of sleeping under the stars, we climbed into our boats and pushed off. It felt like I was leaving the world as I knew it behind. This section of the river was flat but fast moving and we began our descent down into the Grand Canyon. As I began to get comfortable paddling, the scenery was beyond anything I could have imagined. As the canyon walls got higher the exposed layers of rock and the colors and textures became more three-dimentional It felt like I was stepping into an oil painting. In a word it was spectacular.

While I was admiring the view I hardly noticed that the river was getting narrower and faster and the waves were getting bigger and more erratic. Then I was jarred out of my visual fantasyland as we began descending into a series of rapids. The power of the current was in complete control. I had never experienced that kind of natural power. Recognizing that the river was in complete control, I heard Ed’s voice saying paddle harder. I realized by paddling as hard as I could it would prevent my kayak from flipping over. I’ll take the win. With me upright I was able to go for a wild ride through the rapids and come out the other end.

Our group- the experienced kayakers- were waiting for me at the bottom of the rapids. They were very entertained by my screaming that I had just had the ride of my life. They were also very impressed that I made it through my first major rapid without being thrown from the boat. I was officially welcomed as one of them. As we progressed down the river I learned that the current will generally keep the kayak in the middle or -tongue- of the rapid and my job was to let the current carry me and not fight it. The scenery as we went deeper into the canyon was other-worldly. We were seeing rock formations exposed by the river that were a billion years old.

Afternoons consisted of hiking up side canyons where we could get close to the amazing rock formations, bask in the mist of side-river waterfalls and explore the caves and drawings left by the Ancestral Pueblo Indians. It was a place like no other I’ve ever been.

Along the way, we ate fresh trout from the river and had the cold beer they had weighed down in the river with rocks on their last trip. It was 21 days of being completely present and focused on the moment we were in. A fantastic training experience that I still carry with me when I remind myself to be present.

At the end of our river run we floated onto Lake Mead where they had arranged for a boat to tow us to our take-out spot. Steve, one of our kayaker partners said, everyone is invited to my place to rest and party. I knew Steve lived in Palm Springs so I asked if he had room for all of us. He smiled and said, he was the caretaker for Frank Sinatra’s home and there was plenty of room. Sinatra was on tour and told Steve we were welcome there. So off we went to Palm Springs. Arriving at Frank Sinatra’s place- it was more of a compound then a house- we were invited to make ourselves at home. The focal point of the property was the pool and hot tub with a number of guest cottages. The main house was on the edge of the ridge overlooking Palm Springs. The buildings were all single story and mostly glass. The style was mid-century, inside and out I felt like I’d stepped back into the late 1950’s or early 60’s. It was beautifully appointed and very comfortable. It felt like someone’s home not a showpiece mansion. In the main house I couldn’t help myself I went to the wall with all Frank’s record albums. I was really curious what kind of music does Frank Sinatra listen to. There was an extensive collection of great jazz and notably not a single Sinatra album. I liked this guy immediately.

We stayed until the next day and then it was time to begin the drive back to Northern California. I told Ed and Roxanne I would go on adventures with them anytime.

Excellent article on the idea that true well being does not come from forcing the body through more discipline, intensity, or performance. Instead, it comes from rebuilding a conscious relationship with the body through awareness, listening, and adaptation. This applies to the physical body and can be carried over to the quality of awareness and the mind as well-

Most people think their body needs more pressure, more discipline, or more intensity.

But in reality, the first step is often much simpler:

learning how to work with the body again, instead of fighting against it.

There is, in reality, nothing fundamentally wrong with the human body.

And yet, more and more people live with stiffness, fatigue, pain, or the feeling that their own body has become an obstacle instead of an ally.

So they search for solutions the only way modern culture taught them to search: more exercises, more intensity, more methods, more discipline.

But over the years, I have realized something very simple.

The issue is rarely what we do.

It is the way we do it.

Most physical practices are built around performance.

Lift more.

Stretch further.

Move faster.

And while there is value in all of this, something essential is often forgotten: the ability to actually feel what is happening inside the body while we move.

To listen.

To adapt.

To understand.

Because movement without awareness eventually creates tension.

And tension repeated long enough becomes compensation, exhaustion, and sometimes injury.

This is why I always say: start from where you truly are.

Not where you think you should be.

Not where someone else is.

From your real condition, today.

This is not weakness.

This is intelligence.

The goal is not simply to master movements.

The goal is to develop a relationship with your body precise enough that you can continuously adapt instead of constantly forcing.

That is where real strength begins.

And strangely enough, that is also where freedom begins.

Rémy

remy tortosa

Ellen in our class wanted to share this beautiful poem; enjoy!

my brain and heart divorced
a decade ago
over who was
to blame about
how big of a mess
I have become
eventually,
they couldn't be
in the same room
with each other
now my head and heart
share custody of me
I stay with my brain
during the week
and my heart
gets me on weekends
they never speak to one another
- instead, they give me
the same note to pass
to each other every week
and their notes they
send to one another always
says the same thing:
"This is all your fault"
on Sundays
my heart complains
about how my
head has let me down
in the past
and on Wednesday
my head lists all
of the times my
heart has screwed
things up for me
in the future
they blame each
other for the
state of my life
there's been a lot
of yelling - and crying
so,
lately, I've been
spending a lot of
time with my gut
who serves as my
unofficial therapist
most nights, I sneak out of the
window in my ribcage
and slide down my spine
and collapse on my
gut's plush leather chair
that's always open for me
~ and I just sit sit sit sit
until the sun comes up
last evening,
my gut asked me
if I was having a hard
time being caught
between my heart
and my head
I nodded
I said I didn't know
if I could live with
either of them anymore
"my heart is always sad about
something that happened yesterday
while my head is always worried
about something that may happen tomorrow,"
I lamented
my gut squeezed my hand
"I just can't live with
my mistakes of the past
or my anxiety about the future,"
I sighed
my gut smiled and said:
"in that case,
you should
go stay with your
lungs for a while,"
I was confused
- the look on my face gave it away
"if you are exhausted about
your heart's obsession with
the fixed past and your mind's focus
on the uncertain future
your lungs are the perfect place for you
there is no yesterday in your lungs
there is no tomorrow there either
there is only now
there is only inhale
there is only exhale
there is only this moment
there is only breath
and in that breath
you can rest while your
heart and head work
their relationship out."
this morning,
while my brain
was busy reading
tea leaves
and while my
heart was staring
at old photographs
I packed a little
bag and walked
to the door of
my lungs
before I could even knock
she opened the door
with a smile and as
a gust of air embraced me
she said
"what took you so long?"
~ john roedel
(from “Remedy”

Wonderful Words of wisdom!

There is a quiet trap in practice.

It shows up the moment something feels… easy.

The movement is smooth.
You control it.
Nothing resists.

And almost instantly, the mind steps in:

“I can do more.”
“This is too simple.”
“I need to push.”

So we add.

More reps.
More time.
More load.

Not because it’s needed, but because it feels right to do more.

That’s the trap.

Because when your intention is longevity, the rules change.

You’re not practicing to become impressive.
You’re not practicing to prove anything.

You’re practicing to feel good.
To stay capable.
Today, tomorrow, in ten years… and beyond.

An exercise that feels easy is not a problem.

It’s a sign.

It means your body understands.
It means there is space.
It means you can move without tension.

And that is already the goal.

When you start adding intensity without necessity, you increase fatigue.
You stress joints that didn’t ask for more.
You use energy you didn’t need to spend.

All of this… just to satisfy the part of the mind that always wants progress.

Wanting to improve is not wrong.

But not every practice needs to be about improvement.

Some practices are here to maintain.

To remind your body how to feel good.

Of course, you can challenge yourself.

You can explore movements you don’t yet control.
Break them down.
Build sessions around them.

But don’t lose the beauty of a simple daily practice
that doesn’t try to transform you,
only to support you.

Be honest with yourself.

Why are you doing more?

Is it your body asking for it…
or your mind?

Have a lovely day.

Remy Tortosa

Another short story from Bruce's Wildwood days:

The Phone Booth-

I remember phone booths. I was thinking about how one changed my life. I don’t miss standing in one making a call, but I could never pass one without thinking of that day in downtown Weaverville in 1975.
I stepped into a phone booth, and on the shelf below the phone was a wallet. I opened it—it was jammed full of $20 bills. I counted a little over $300. Looking further, I found a driver’s license with a name and address. I tracked the person down, got his number, and gave him a call.
He was so excited to hear his wallet had been found. Then, with some hesitation in his voice, he asked if there was any cash in it. I told him the money was still there, and he let out a sigh of relief. That money was his mother’s monthly Social Security payment. I told him I’d be coming to Redding and would drop the wallet off the next day. He was beyond thrilled.
The next day I stopped by his place and handed him the wallet. He wanted to give me a reward, but I thanked him and said it wasn’t necessary. If I’d lost my wallet, I’d be grateful just to have it back—I knew how he felt.
He was insistent. He asked where I lived and whether I had a corral. I was confused, but told him I lived on six acres in Trinity County. He said, “Build a corral. I raise Charolais cattle, and I’m going to give you one.”
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I built a corral. A few weeks later, he drove up with a 2,000-pound cow in a trailer. We unloaded her, and as he drove away, he stuck his head out the window and said, “By the way, she’s pregnant,” smiled, and kept going.
I was stunned. I’d never taken care of anything except my golden retriever. I had no idea what I was getting into. I knew the cow was coming, so I had some hay on hand and began getting to know my new companion. Over the weeks, we developed a good working relationship. I fed her, and she seemed happy to see me. Eventually, we even had deep conversations about the meaning of life. Okay—I did most of the talking, but by the way she mooed, I could tell she agreed on the important points.
Winter came, and snow covered the ground. One day I had to run into town, and she was particularly restless. I decided to tie a rope around her and secure it to a tree so she wouldn’t damage the corral or hurt herself.
When I returned, she had given birth—but the calf had slid out of her reach, and with the rope holding her back, she couldn’t get to it. The calf lay in the snow, barely breathing.
My friend Lance was with me. We picked up the calf, brought it inside by the wood stove, and began rubbing her to warm her up. It quickly became clear her lungs were full of mucus and she was struggling to breathe. We realized that to save her, we’d have to suck the mucus out of her lungs.
I looked at Lance. He looked at me.
We flipped a coin. Lance lost.
He asked if I had any whiskey. I said yes and got the bottle. He took a swig straight from it, then put his mouth over the calf’s nose and mouth and sucked hard. He alternated between sucking, spitting, and taking pulls from the bottle. Lance is a seasoned mountain man—not easily grossed out—but the look on his face told me I didn’t have enough whiskey.
After a few minutes, the calf began to perk up. Lance kept at it until the mucus was gone. Soon the calf was on her feet and breathing normally.
Once we were sure she’d be okay, I poured us each a glass of whiskey. We’d earned it—well, he’d earned it, but I was pouring the drinks.
Lance looked at me and said, “I’m not sure how often I’m going to come visit. You have a heck of a way of putting a friend to work.”
It was a good day.