Kurt Koontz's Blog, page 2

Cy

On my second trip to Nosara Costa Rica in 2017, I had a very bad surfing wreck.  After a 48-hour love affair with an ice pack, things were not getting better. A Facebook friend introduced me to Cy, a local lady with some mad chiropractic skills. She came to my casita for some adjustments and an hour of massage. She was able to manually move my arm without making me cry. I was optimistic that a shoulder tendon was simply inflamed, and normal movement would return with rest and time.  A month later when I returned to Boise, I visited the shoulder clinic and was quickly informed that my accident required surgery.

Prior to going back to Nosara this year, I reached out to many friends to see if anyone was willing to rent their personal motorcycle. Zac is a great friend and world class yoga instructor. He agreed to loan me his bike on some very favorable terms. The first installment was four pounds of organic almonds and six pounds of split mung beans. In order to carry the payload, I bought an extra suitcase at the local thrift shop. This bag also allowed me the space to pack thirty copies of my recent book to be gifted to my Nosara yogi friends.

On my second day, I was leaving the beach and ran into Cy at the entrance.  She had a sack of crystals and a few poles.  She had been hired to create a labyrinth on the beach for a local yoga retreat.  A few evenings later we had pasta at a local Peruvian restaurant.  She explained that after ten years in Nosara, she was no longer able to handle the heat and humidity.  She asked if I could help her move and offered to pay the extra baggage fee if I was willing to take a suitcase on my flight home.  With a big smile I said, “It is your lucky day.  I have an empty and you can load it up with fifty pounds of stuff.”

Towards the end of the May, she came over to my bungalow with a big sack of stuff and we placed in the thrifty suitcase.  I said, “I am glad this is working out but how will I get this to you in the Colorado?”

She replied, “Don’t you live in Boise?  I will be there for all of June and July to take care of a lifelong friend in need.”

Last Wednesday, Cy showed up for lunch at my house with her friend Ana Amour.  Ana emigrated from El Salvador and was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 2001.  While her body is revolting, her mind is crystal clear.  With 78 years of life experience, Ana shared some amazing tales of her past including a ten day drive from San Francisco to Costa Rica during a war in Central America.  She is very active in the local spiritual scene and her soul shines brightly.  I look forward to more time with this incredible lady.

They have a break between physical therapy sessions this Thursday and will use that time to return to my home.  We will try to emulate one of Zac’s restorative yoga classes in my home yoga room.

I love how the universe keeps placing such amazing people in my path.

 

 

 

Controllable

During my yoga teacher training in Rishikesh, our guru would often talk about finding stillness in the body and how that creates tranquility.  He said, “Life is so chaotic and most things are beyond our control.  During practice, you are able to control the movement which is the key to controlling the mind.”  Yoga is all about creating stillness and space.  Both are required to dissociate our attachment to negative thoughts.

While most things are totally beyond our control, we often overlook what is controllable.

If your mind were a lake, imagine the majestic peacefulness of glassy waters.  We choose what thoughts enter our mind and how they are processed.  We rarely see calm waters, because there is so much drama in our lives.  These thoughts and distractions are like thunderstorms and only create whitecaps.   The choppy surface prevents us from seeing what is really there.  Carefully choose your thoughts and the manner in which they are processed!

We also control what food goes into our bodies.  For those that know we well, I posses a deadly sweet tooth.  Prior to being retired to the Ben and Jerry flavor graveyard, I was known to blow trough three or four oatmeal cookie chunk pints each week.  Fortunately, that was quite some time ago, but I still desire a good sugar high from time to time.

During the training in India, we ate a very simple diet that had little variance from day to day.  Breakfast was a small serving of papaya and banana along with a bowl of oatmeal.  Lunch and diner consisted of dal ( spicy lentil soup), chapati (flatbread), and a wide variety of spicy vegetables.  Rishikesh is a holy city and that means no alcohol or any type of animal products including eggs.

My main dish in Costa Rica is the classis casado.  A scoop of rice, a ladle of black beans, protein (chicken, beef, or fish), and some leafy greens.  Breakfast is either fruit or gallo pinto with eggs.  Instead of fast food restaurants, most of the food stalls prepare sushi, exotic salads, or healthy grain bowls.  Everything is fresh and local.

Just like getting rid of toxic thoughts in my mind, eliminating sugary and fatty foods has a profound effect on the body.  The healthy food always makes the jeans less snug and stress disintegrates.   I sleep better and my waking hours are filled with better moods and more energy.

I am not committing never eating cheesecake or letting each day pass without ever experiencing anger.  Instead, I am trying to become conscious of my decisions and making better choices.

Five minutes of daily meditation and one healthy meal per day can truly change your life.  Try if for a month and see what happens…..

 

Travel’s Hourglass

I am very fortunate to be able to take extended journeys on a regular basis.  For each of the past five years, I have spent six months of my life sleeping in beds away from my home.  In an ironic twist, I now feel that being at home is more of a vacation than being outside of my comfort zones in the strange corners of the world.  I am always thrilled when the plane takes off and equally excited when wheels-down means I am home in Boise.  A deep connection to the current moment.

My current journey to Nosara Costa Rica ends on Friday.  I never leave with expectations because that leads to judgement.  At the same time, I usually have a few ideas of things to do in the back of my mind.  When I left on April 27, I included Easy Spanish-Step by Step as one of my books to study on this trip.  My brother encouraged me to try deep sea fishing, so I made a mental note to visit the neighboring community of Garza to find a boat captain.

These trips are a great reminder of the precious yet limited amount of time that we have on this planet.  When I took my first of a million steps on the 500-mile Camino de Santiago, the end seemed impossible.  In grade school, the idea of having a whole summer off seemed like an eternity.  Today, those twelve Saturdays disintegrate without notice.  Each one of my trips is a great reminder that time is the ultimate nonrenewable resource.

I was in a yoga class the other day in a common inverted position called headstand.  I observed my upside down self in the mirror across the room and was amazed to see that my dad’s muscle flab had invaded my chest.   His skin now resides on my calves and resembles the wrinkled part of a bendable straw.  90 years is 32,000 nights.  20,000 are in my rear view mirror.

On this trip, I never sat in a boat with a line in the water.  Twelve of fifteen chapters in my Spanish book remain untouched.

Travel always gives me a fresh perspective to reflect on the long game.

 

 

 

Surfing to Restorative Yoga

I am on the tail end of another journey through Nosara Costa Rica.  This week’s blog is a sample chapter from my book with a story that originated here in 2017.

I would appreciate if you would consider buying my book or gifting to a friend.

CLICK HERE TO BUY 

SURFING TO RESTORATIVE YOGA

When in Montezuma in May of 2016, I took surfing lessons from Ricardo a few times per week. By the end of the trip, I was almost a novice, able to stand up on medium-sized waves and ride straight into the shore. No tricks or turns—and with a big emphasis on the word “novice.”

On my fifth day in Nosara, I rented a board and set out to advance my surfing skills. Without the slightest idea of where to begin, I cruised the beach with board in hand and looked for instructors teaching beginners. I found my tribe and entered the ocean to master surfing.

I was able to stand about one out of four attempts. After an hour of practice, fatigue set in, and I took a break on the shore. I almost threw in the towel for the day but decided to go back for just a bit more. When I was finally ready to head for shore, two freakish back-to-back waves caught my board. I saw stars as the long board crashed into my head with ridiculous force. For a split second, I thought I had met my end, but I regained my balance. Happy to be alive, I decided to ride a small wave back to the shore. When I lifted my arm to paddle, there was a creepy feeling in my left shoulder, and my upper arm muscle collapsed like a noodle. I knew then that something very bad had happened and that it was likely to change the rest of the month. I left the accident in the water and emerged wondering how it would alter my path.

After a 48-hour love affair with an ice pack, things were not getting better. A Facebook friend introduced me to Cy, a local lady with some mad chiropractic skills. She came to my casita for some adjustments and an hour of massage. She was able to manually move my arm without making me cry. A few days later, another friend introduced me to an experienced physical therapist named Isis. For the remainder of the month, I saw her a few times a week. I was optimistic that a shoulder tendon was simply inflamed, and normal movement would return with rest and time.

After my surfing accident, I tried a yin class at Bodhi but found the movement too intense for my injured shoulder. I scanned the schedules and discovered something called “restorative yoga.” At first, I mistakenly thought this name was just a crafty marketing term for another yin class, but this new class far exceeded my expectations.

Restorative yoga is a practice that soothes the body and soul by seducing the nervous system into remission. The poses are all done on the floor and usually include pillows and bolsters to support the body. By removing physical stress, mental stress recedes into a dormant state. About every five to ten minutes, the instructor recommends a new position. During the classes, the teachers tend to tell calming stories that encourage deep meditative states.

I spent the entire month enjoying this new form of yoga. One of my favorite teachers, Jane, repeated an invitation I had never heard before. She would say, “Drop in and get to know yourself.”

This new endeavor allowed me to learn more about the meditative aspects of yoga and put me in touch with an older group of friends I never would have met in the more active classes.

I came home in June, still in pain, and decided to visit a local shoulder doctor to properly diagnose my problem. I called three places and booked an appointment with the one who could see me the soonest. The meeting with a physician’s assistant led me to a pinging tube for an MRI. The nurse said, “You are really lucky to have such a great doctor.” I replied, “I didn’t know I had a doctor. What’s my doctor’s name?” That is how I met Dr. Chopp. He advised me to cancel all travel plans for the rest of the year.

Shoulder surgery is not pleasant. I began the recovery process with sleepless nights and bi-weekly physical therapy appointments. Three times a day for over three months, I did different sets of exercises to improve my range of motion. Progress was so slow. In September, they gave me the OK to do some light resistance work with weights. Prior to that time, I was restricted to no more than a coffee cup as a bicep curl.

In late October, during a routine follow-up with Dr. Chopp, he said, “Kurt, you are doing well. I may be able to turn you loose on your bike in a few weeks.” Quite pleased, I asked about yoga and he said, “Well, maybe in early November.”

With a smile, I pressed on: “Would that include going to Rishikesh, India, for a month-long, 200-hour, yoga/meditation teacher training with my all-time favorite Indian yogi?”

Shaking his head, he answered, “I have a feeling you are not kidding.  Please do not be a jackass. Enjoy India!”

That is how I ended up at Swasti Yoga on the banks of Mother Ganga training to be a yoga teacher with my dear guru, Surinder Singh.

Happy Moments

In my twenties, I was sold on a version of happiness that led me to the shallowest end of the pool.  I wanted not only a huge house but a spare one in a mountain resort.  Happiness surely came with celebrations centered around gin served in clear crystal glasses.  Sleeping around was common and my needs were a matter of paramount importance.  I rarely enjoyed the mountaintop.  It served as a vista to pursue larger mountains on the horizon.

I met Cy Rinkel in Nosara three years ago.  She is a cool cat and our friendship continues to this day.  Last week, she invited me to her rented beach house for dinner.  Rick and Susan joined us and arrived with chips and homemade hummus.  We sat around the pool with our feet dangling in the water.  The pool was in need of service as several Halloween crab carcasses were floating on the surface.  As we began sharing stories, one-by one, five iguanas settled into some territories on the concrete surrounding the sullied pool water.  I basked in the awe of these beautiful moments.

Two days later, I set out for a long walk along the jungle paths that connect this village to the sea.  The roar of the ocean can be heard through the entire area.  This region has been discovered and the beautiful sound of waves pounding the sand has been tainted with the meep-meep from excavation machines busily moving dirt.  Several local mansions could easily take the front cover of Architectural Digest.  Over three years, I have spent three months in this lovely town.  I have yet to see humans other than maintenance workers or construction crews on the grounds of these empty trophy homes.  What used to be a desire now appears as gargantuan baggage.   I quickly found a path to take me to the beach where the waves mute the sounds of development.

The scallop shell is the most iconic symbol of the Camino de Santiago.  Three years ago, a fellow pilgrim hid her shell in a tree near Playa Guiones.  As a reference point, numbers are painted on some trees along the shore.  This three mile stretch has ninety marked trees.  Two years ago, I found tree number 86 and recovered my priceless gift.  Last week, I went to reunite with my favorite tree.  Upon arrival, I discovered that 86 has been eaten by the sea.  A great reminder of the impermanence of everything.  I snapped a photo of the space and sent it to the woman that left me the gift.  We electronically shared another meaningful moment.

I am finding that happiness is easily accessed because it is omnipresent in the current moment.   I am lucky to know that it never exists on the horizon.

Beautiful Connections

It is hard to imagine that my first ten nights in Nosara have already evaporated.  A great reminder of a recent favorite quote:  Wait for nothing, especially happiness.

This small village is located on the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica.  The sleepy surfer town has dirt roads, a serious yoga vibe, healthy food, and a general sense of well-being.  Playa Guiones has a long surf break and there is no development on the beach.  The local animal rehabilitation center cares for injured wild monkeys and the neighboring village, Ostional, has a turtle refuge where nesting sea turtles deposit up to 10,000,000 eggs each month.  Since this country is near the equator, the sun rises at 6:00 AM and sets at 6:00 PM each day.  The turtles make their monthly visit to the beach to sustain life,  Around 5:30, the locals have a nightly migration to the beach where an amazing sunset closes the day.  The brilliant display of color sustains gratitude for the community.

Last wednesday, I was lucky to share the sunset with my friend Andrea.  She teaches an amazing vinyasa yoga class and we became friends last year.  May is the beginning of the rainy season and the second major rain of the season made its presence known during our meal by pelting the tin roof above our open-air table.  As we were leaving the restaurant, she made eye contact with one of her local friends.  I do not think I have ever seen two faces light up with so much joy as they grabbed each other in a warm embrace.  I was introduced to Ellen and her daughter Shae.  Ellen explained that she was on a “soul-date” with her daughter.  She does this every two weeks with one of her three daughters.  I smiled and thought about how much better the world would be if every family adopted this practice.  She noticed my height and told me that her husband is a seven-footer.  I said, “That must be Michael.  I met him last year at the Bodhi Tree Gym.”  Two nights later, I gave her a copy of my book after we participated in a sound-bath meditation at an open-air yoga shala.

On Thurdsay, I decided to practice with Marck.  I arrived about twenty minutes early and used the extra moments to enjoy some reading time on my kindle.  I noticed a young mother and an adorable daughter walking hand-in-hand up the jungle path.  I could not stop smiling as I overhead the mom say, “And then there is Lord Vishnu.  He protects the universe from being destroyed.”  I interrupted and said, “Wow, I rarely hear that conversation.  You obviously love Indian culture.  Have you ever been to Rishikesh?”  She nodded in the affirmative.   I reached into my backpack and pulled out a copy of Practice.  She grinned while reading the dedication (To Surinder Singh for selflessly sharing yoga).  She looked up and said, “I have taken his class many times.”

When synchronicity floods my life, it is an affirmation that my current path is exactly where I need to be at this moment.

 

 

The Ride

Saturday morning began with some clock radio music at 4:00 AM.  My incredible neighbor picked me up at 5:10 and drove me to the airport for an all-day journey to Nosara Costa Rica.  This is my third venture and I am smitten with this sleepy surfer town and the mystical yoga vibe that permeates the local scene.  A few weeks before the trip, I reached out to many friends and offered to bring them goodies from the US.  The popularity of my offer forced me to drop $6.00 on a spare suitcase at the local thrift shop.

The first flight was 100% sleep.  The second was a three hour gig from Salt Lake to Atlanta.  The man next to me was just returning from burying his mother in Oregon.  It was nice to lend a shoulder to a stranger in need.  My third flight was with a FBI agent taking her husband and nine year old daughter on their first trip to Costa Rica.  It was so uplifting to share in her excitement for the family venture to the sand.

In customs, my super cheap suitcase was profiled for additional inspection.  The main contents included Trader Joe’s salted caramels, organic almonds, and split mung beans.  All in big quantities.  OK, six pounds of mungs!   I avoided prison and left the airport with the goods.  I am lucky to have friends that place more value on organic food than blingy stuff.

I prepaid a shuttle for the last two-hour stretch to my bungalow rental.    Antonio held the cardboard with my name almost spelled correctly and I hopped into the van for the last leg of the trip.  He spoke zero English but was kind enough to help me with my novice Spanish.  He was 57, married to his original wife of 37 years, and has five children.  He used the word “tranquillo” over and over.  India and Costa Rica both have cultures that place inner-peace high on the list.  I smiled when we lost the pavement because the dirt road meant one more hour to paradise.

By 1:00 AM, I was unpacked and sleeping soundly in Casa Birdie.  I woke up early on Sunday and walked down Calle Los Mangos to the jungle path that leads to The Harmony Hotel.  The howler monkeys are relatively small, but their gorilla-like roar echoes throughout the jungle.  Zac is one of my favorite teachers on the planet and he was leading the practice at 10:00.  I recognized at least five people from my previous trips to this area.  While waiting for class to begin, I always lay on my back and meditate with closed eyes.  I was deep into a zen state when I felt a kiss on my cheek.  Melissa, a friend from last year, was happy to see me.

Class ended and Zac made some time to dine with me.  I followed his lead and had a bliss bean burger.  He has some extra wheels, so he is renting his spare motorcycle to me for the month.  Part of the payola was paid in mungs.

In my youth, travel was all about getting somewhere and then doing something.  Today, it is all about enjoying the ride.

Impact

While there are only seven days in each week, as a blog writer, Tuesday seems to show up more often.  This story is number 275.  Other than a one year hiatus, this is the 63rd month of publishing a new story every Tuesday.  The total word count of my two published books is 90,000.  The cumulative word count for the blogs is twice that amount.  I try to take a moment or event from the previous week and share it with a spiritual twist.

When I take my camera on a walk, I never set out to find a specific shot.  Instead, I walk with my eyes wide open and let the scene find me.  Without the camera in my pocket, I am not as prone to finding that extra ounce of beauty in every step.  Writing these blogs serves me in the same manner.  I walk through each week with an open mind and heart that unconsciously searches for a meaningful moment that needs to be shared.  It sharpens my focus on goodness.  I send the stories out to the universe, but really have no idea how they are received or the impact they have on others.

Last week, I ran info friend from the local gym.  She approached me with open arms and a huge smile.  She said, “Your weekly stories have given me the courage to follow my intuition.  I just told my employer that I am taking an open-ended leave of absence.  I have no plans, but my heart is telling me to override my mind and take this leap.”  Without spilling too many beans, her job requires medical school and many years of residency.

Here is an anonymous quote that makes me smile:

You might think you don’t matter in this world, but because of you someone has a favourite mug to drink their tea out of each morning that you bought them. Someone hears a song on the radio and it reminds them of you. Someone has read a book you recommended to them and gotten lost in it’s pages. Someone’s remembered a joke you told them and smiled to themselves on the bus. Someone’s tried on a top and felt beautiful because you complimented them on it. Someone has a memory that makes them grin that involves you. Someone now likes themselves that little bit more because you made a passing comment that made them feel good. Never think you don’t have an impact, your fingerprints can’t be wiped away from the little marks of kindness that you’ve left behind 

I am lucky and honored that you allow me into your hearts and minds each week.

 

Blatant Barriers

There are two curb cuts that provide ample ingress and egress to a giant parking lot at my local gym in Boise, Idaho.  While most of the parking spaces are paved, there is an excess unpaved parking lot that leads to a bank parking lot and eventually onto another road.  This back road does shorten my commute, but I always get an icky feeling when I take the convenient shortcut.  Last week, the bank erected a 100 foot-long bright orange plastic barrier to discourage autos from indulging in this route.  The ground was very wet due to heavy recent rains.  I was perplexed as cars created fresh muddy ruts while destroying green grass to get around the barrier.

During my 2012 walk on The Camino de Santiago, I imagined the ranks of Romans and millions of pilgrims who crossed before me. I felt an attachment to my predecessors and became charged with the energy they left behind. I was walking in the footsteps of two million people and leaving my own prints as a welcome mat to those who would follow me. Knowing that these people had been here allowed me to feel a connection to a community when none was present. Early in my life, I followed a different path that was plowed by my father and his father.

Beer debuted in my life during Jr. High. The grip was encompassing, but like my father, I was given the functional gene. Good grades and a solid business career masked the disease. During the walk, I began to think about my days in college and how many drunken nights I had wasted being wasted. I did a little accounting and figured that those nights lasted for 24 years!  I realized that my adult life really began on the day my dad died and I made a commitment to sobriety.  I thought about my father and how he had missed a big opportunity to regain his life on Jan 18, 1964, the exact day his alcoholic dad died and I was born.

When I stopped drinking in 2001, the reflections were quite astounding. I started thinking and feeling again. While stuck in the fog of alcohol, I had no ability to see that it completely permeated my life. I was like a person wrapped in a big wad of blankets who could not feel the chill of winter due to the insulation.  Alcohol prevented feelings from penetrating my head, heart, and soul. Booze infiltrated 99% of social occasions and was usually a precursor to most activities. What else would one do at a tailgate party? Dinner without wine…are you kidding? Friday night…bring it on.

Signs and faith in signs were very important throughout my journey. Walking nearly 500 miles through a foreign land without a map, dependent on little yellow arrows, can wrack anyone’s nerves. By letting go of the worry and placing trust in the arrows, I became confident that I would eventually arrive in Santiago. No need to question or overthink these little arrows. There were two times that I lost the Camino, each lasting for less than one kilometer. Within 100 steps, I knew in my head and heart that I was on the wrong path.

For 24 years, I drove through the grass to avoid the obvious orange barrier.  For the last 19 years, I pay attention to the signs presented by my inner guidance system.  The ride is much smoother.

 

Unexpected Treasure

Last Wednesday I boarded a plane from Palm Springs to Boise.  This was the thirtieth time in thirty years that I have completed this roundtrip.  What began as a week long spring break has morphed into a two-month annual journey to the desert with my mom.  I used to think that visiting the same place would fall into the trap of becoming a routine.  The only thing that is constant about this trip is boarding the plane and leaving all expectations on the tarmac.

A few years ago, I was fortunate to spend a month living three blocks south of Central Park in Manhattan.  I made a point to walk through the park on a daily basis.  On the first day, the tree buds were popping.  What seemed like moments later, a gust of wind was spreading small petals into the sky.  By the end of the trip, fresh leaves that were blotting out the incredible skyline of New York City.  Instead of being there for spring, I experienced the unfolding of spring.

In the early years of Palm Springs, my focus was blurred by margaritas and coors light.  The middle years were centered around golf and cultural events at their performing arts theater.  Hiking replaced golf and we devoured the mountains that surround the valley like a horseshoe.  As age took its course, mountain trails were replaced with flat walks along the desert washes that serve as a drainage system for flash floods.

Politicians are often jilted by the October surprise.  When I depart for the desert, I am primed for the Palm surprise.  It always appears from nowhere and becomes a defining theme of each trip.  It is never planned or expected, but instead unfolds like spring in Central Park.

For the first month of this last trip, the temperatures were at least twenty degrees below normal and the sunny skies were plagued by clouds.  On the second day as I was departing for the gym, my mom tagged along with the intention of learning how to lift weights.  While she is naturally athletic, most people do not take their first plunge into strength training at age 83.  After 48 training sessions, my mom has gained tremendous strength and the unexpected highlight of the trip was out time together at the gym.

I could not have scripted a more enjoyable trip.