Floating amongst the crowd of concert goers, rather than in the ocean, these jellies seemed a bit out of place. In fact, I mistook them for mushrooms when we first came upon them.
Archives for July 2012
Lights, Camera, Action
These lovely lights hang in the front entrance of my yoga studio. Finally, after over a year and a half of admiring them, I had time to capture their beauty. This was because I had more than a few minutes to spare before class and, for once, I wasn’t busy chatting it up with one or more of the other students.
On the day I took this picture, the studio was being occupied by one of the teacher-in-training students and one of my favorite instructors. All the teachers at our studio are amazing so, in a way, they are all my favorite for one reason or another. This instructor, in particular, if my favorite teacher of playfulness and light-hearted action.
As I remember, the student was preparing to teach his observational class to his peers. It’s just one of the tasks required to gain the accreditation that will allow you to teach after successfully completing the initial 200 hours of training. Then there are the various tests covering anatomy, Sanskrit, and yoga philosophy. No biggie.
Of course I’M JOKING; it’s TOTALLY a big deal!
Time is whooshing past, and the pages of my calendar keep turning at an increasingly rapid pace (it seems). It is becoming apparent that my trip to India is becoming ever close. I have become acutely aware of how little I know of the practice of yoga, the history & philosophy behind all that we do, the Sanskrit, and essentially everything else.
It seems like it’s only been a short time since I went from “doing yoga” to “practicing” yoga. I’m not quite sure how long before I will be ready to teach it to others. I just know that I want to… some day.
Many of the yogis who are going on this trip with me are either already teaching or are well on the way. I feel a little out of my league and, at the same time, I feel like I am crazy lucky to be able to experience this with them.
I am nervous as heck…but super excited too.
another shining moment (NOT!)
I can laugh about it now but, when it happened, I wasn’t laughing at all.
After my chiropractic appointment, I walked over to the nearby coffee shop to let my body integrate to the adjustment. I’ve discovered the hard way that my body does not do well if I immediately get into the car following my appointment. I purchased a latte and was on my way a short time later.
Unfortunately, the latte was on the HOT side and was undrinkable even after sitting for a fair amount of time. I opted to pour it into a mug that had been in my car since the day before, hoping the open mouth of the mug would allow the coffee to cool enough to enter my open mouth.
I was nearing work when suddenly a long stringy “something” was half way down my throat. For the life of me, I could not imagine what it could be. Actually, I could imagine. In fact, I imagined something long, stringy, and slimy. OMG!
The horrible thought of a worm in my coffee repulsed me. I started gagging and spit the coffee and stringy object out of my mouth…and onto my LAP.
Well, I was already horribly late. I did not have time to turn back for a change in clothes. And so I arrived at the office smelling of coffee, feeling as if I’d peed my pants, and pretty sure I looked as if I’d done so.
I walked into the office and ran smack dab into the CEO. Ugh!
Not exactly a shining moment.
I smiled, said “hello,” and hurried to my desk.
Criss-cross Applesauce
It’s early in the morning. I sit in my bed, sipping a cup of coffee and easing into my day. My morning reading consists of several SPAM messages in email, and only a few new FB posts since I last checked in. Combined, the the two capture only a few minutes of my time. I reach for my book and read a few pages. However, I am quickly irritated with the character for carrying a pack load in excess. How many pages will it take for her to get a clue? Knowing that this is part of her journey offers little to ease my annoyance.
The book soon returns to my bedside.
Outside, I hear the footsteps of a runner. THAT, I think, is what I’d like to do with my morning lull. But I know better.
It’s been a week since my last run; a teaser of sorts. Long enough to remind me of how much I love running, yet just enough to remind me that my body had not been fairing well since the end of our backpacking trip.
The onset of pain after my return to 8 long hours of sitting at my desk, rather than during a week of trekking through the backcountry, is proof that our bodies are not meant for sitting for extended periods of time. They are meant to move.
Sadly, I’ve resorted to swallowing NSAIDs morning and night for coming up on a week now. Just enough to stop the sciatic pain shooting down my leg, but not enough to fully resolve the issue.
I don’t dare run until my latest pain is at bay and my body is pain free once more. One feeble attempt to raise my left leg, as if running, tells me I’d be a fool to give it a go.
And so, I wait…
No ego, and NO JUMPING
The ego, they say, has no place in yoga. This is precisely why I checked my ego at the door before entering class tonight. I was a student of an instructor I practice under all too infrequently. As such, he has no familiarity with my capabilities, weaknesses, or emotional “stuff.” But after re-introducing myself to him, and informing him of my scoliosis, I felt confident that I’d fit right in. The class was advanced but I was certain that, after the year and half invested, I was more than capable enough to roll out my mat and join the rest of the accomplished yogis.
I hardly flinched when he told me that I should attend the earlier class instead. Okay, maybe I did flinch…but I quickly let go of the feeling of inadequacy that his invitation delivered. He did not intend it as such. This, I knew. He was merely noting the focus on the spine that occurs in the other class.
At least, that is what I told myself soon after he walked away.
During the 90 minutes that followed, he was quite attentive. He circled around the class, frequently stopping by my mat to check on me and, only occasionally, assisting me to find more ease in the poses we were doing. For this, I was grateful. But I was also, perhaps even more so, thankful for the times that he checked in and walked past. I took it as confirmation that I did indeed have a place in the room.
But then it happened…
We were instructed to go into salamba sirsasana (supported headstand) with the reminder not to jump. The concept of actually “jumping” into headstand completely evaded me. I watched as he demonstrated going into the pose by lifting one leg at at time into the air. Although it wasn’t my most stable way to achieve the pose, I decided I’d comply. After all, this was his class and, more than anything, I wanted to belong.
So I ventured off my tried and true and into the land of less-than-perfectly-stable. I wobbled a bit but I arrived at the destination safe and sound and, only after a quick moment of wobbliness, found my stability.
This was when I heard him return to reinforcement of his no-jumping rule. He asked us all to come out of the pose and observe the one student who had gotten it right.
Yet, as I did my best to acknowledge the perfection of the inverted yogi, I found myself fighting off the deflated feeling that was falling over me. He glanced my way, looking right atme. And I was sure that he was talking right to me. I wanted to tell him that I could easily get into the pose, without jumping, in my own way. But I kept quiet.
Only then was I realizing that my ego had snuck back into the room — like a dog sneaks into the room after being sent out. I tried to send it out again, but lost the battle. I’d already been defeated. When we were given the opportunity to give it another try, I held back, settling into the preparatory pose as my ego stood by telling me that I’d do my way it as soon as I arrived home. I just ignored it.
Minutes later, as I fell back into savasana, I successfully banished my ego from the room and did my best to let go of the emotions stirred up in the last 15 minutes of class. It was true; I could benefit from the other class. But I could also benefit from this class — with a little more neutrality and a lot less ego.
As the instructor guided us out of savasana, he invited us roll onto our sides. Then he urged us to acknowledge that all we had done, every bit of it, was perfect just as it was. I started crying upon hearing these words. I wished I’d felt perfect. I’d wished I’d felt even half-perfect. But instead, I felt less-than. And I crawled from the room like that same dog being banished from it.