Monday 10th April 2006
I was dreaming that my son had a leech like spider on him, eight gripping legs spread flat. Propelled by blind panic, ammunition exploded out of my brain and into my arm as I swiped it off his skin. I felt a huge lump forming in my throat and I woke up to the familiar sensation of thick blood sliding down my throat. Nose bleed. I rolled over to lay on my back. It was just after 4am. One more hour til the alarm goes off. I let the blood flow freely down my throat, swallowing it a few times before drifting back into deep sleep.
The alarm went off at 5.05am and I was still alive, so I got up and went to practice. Got lots of help from David – he’s right onto my case about the positioning of my upper femurs now because being quite flexible, I fold over way too easily into the forward bends without lifting up and out of the hip joints - creating space and support here in all the poses has become my new focus. But it means I have to curve my lower back which of course brings me up against a big concrete immovable block. If I suck my navel fully back to the spine making the abdomen concave, it helps to curve the back a little, but in a way it’s cheating – focussing on the malleable front belly to avoid gazing directly into the black hole that is my dead lower back.
Can only do what I can do right now, do my best, be patient and surrender the outcome to the unknown. It shall change.
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Sunday 9th April 2006
Practising at the shala at 6am on Sunday mornings is pretty special. Not so much because of the place (although it is a special place), not so much because of the people (only two of us there), but because it’s just not NORMAL to get up at 5am on Sunday morning and do this. NORMAL people are asleep.
But me, I have a secret lover that I sneak out to meet in the darkened hours. Yoga is the mysterious, moonlit path that leads my heart towards my Beloved, our meeting place on the mat is beyond physical time and place.
That’s why I’m relishing every chance to practice. And I’m so lucky to have the shala and the Gallery, and yoga pals, and teachers, and the time to practice (well making the time is always a matter of choice, rather than circumstance).
Inevitably the changeable nature of the universe will put an end to this sublime period of intense practice, perhaps it will be by injury, perhaps by the intrusion of an unavoidable new commitment, a change in circumstance, perhaps by my own changeable Gemini nature and the eventual demise of my enthusiasm.
But for now, while the universe has set up all the conditions in my favour, I’ll do my best to honour the gift and make the most of it.
Angie was missing this morning but David thankfully was there, so it was just the two of us. It’s a bit disappointing that more people don’t come in on Sunday mornings, but Adelaide has a reputation for being a very conservative city. It's a comfy place to retire in. Enthusiasm and eccentricity are subliminally frowned upon. The collective yoga comunity is small but solid.
I glowed with the honour of practising alongside my teacher, and discovered even in that situation that my focus was totally on my own practice – I wasn’t at all curious about what my teacher was doing over there on his mat, but I did notice the blocks and the chair. What he used them for I don’t know. My own practice delightfully consumed my entire attention from beginning to end.
From the very start my right hip ached – actually from when I woke up - and it wasn’t an ache to be ignored; it impelled me to remain aware and present, cautious to protect this fragile area. So rich was the practice that after the Marichyasanas (and Marichy D is a treat every time now), it felt like I’d already done a full 2 hours. I eased up and skipped the poses from Navasana to Supta Kurmasana, the ilio-sacral/hip danger zone.
Besides, it is Sunday.
So that’s three Sunday mornings in a row now that I’ve chosen to practice at the shala instead of sleeping in. A definite indication of how much Yoga has infiltrated my life. There comes a point when you no longer DO Yoga, you LIVE Yoga.
Does David recognise this in me? He’d at least have to acknowledge that students who turn up at the shala regularly before dawn on Sunday mornings for self practice must be slightly serious.
Stephen Levine puts his finger right on it when he says “Levels of consciousness coincide with levels of commitment."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
I was dreaming that my son had a leech like spider on him, eight gripping legs spread flat. Propelled by blind panic, ammunition exploded out of my brain and into my arm as I swiped it off his skin. I felt a huge lump forming in my throat and I woke up to the familiar sensation of thick blood sliding down my throat. Nose bleed. I rolled over to lay on my back. It was just after 4am. One more hour til the alarm goes off. I let the blood flow freely down my throat, swallowing it a few times before drifting back into deep sleep.
The alarm went off at 5.05am and I was still alive, so I got up and went to practice. Got lots of help from David – he’s right onto my case about the positioning of my upper femurs now because being quite flexible, I fold over way too easily into the forward bends without lifting up and out of the hip joints - creating space and support here in all the poses has become my new focus. But it means I have to curve my lower back which of course brings me up against a big concrete immovable block. If I suck my navel fully back to the spine making the abdomen concave, it helps to curve the back a little, but in a way it’s cheating – focussing on the malleable front belly to avoid gazing directly into the black hole that is my dead lower back.
Can only do what I can do right now, do my best, be patient and surrender the outcome to the unknown. It shall change.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sunday 9th April 2006
Practising at the shala at 6am on Sunday mornings is pretty special. Not so much because of the place (although it is a special place), not so much because of the people (only two of us there), but because it’s just not NORMAL to get up at 5am on Sunday morning and do this. NORMAL people are asleep.
But me, I have a secret lover that I sneak out to meet in the darkened hours. Yoga is the mysterious, moonlit path that leads my heart towards my Beloved, our meeting place on the mat is beyond physical time and place.
That’s why I’m relishing every chance to practice. And I’m so lucky to have the shala and the Gallery, and yoga pals, and teachers, and the time to practice (well making the time is always a matter of choice, rather than circumstance).
Inevitably the changeable nature of the universe will put an end to this sublime period of intense practice, perhaps it will be by injury, perhaps by the intrusion of an unavoidable new commitment, a change in circumstance, perhaps by my own changeable Gemini nature and the eventual demise of my enthusiasm.
But for now, while the universe has set up all the conditions in my favour, I’ll do my best to honour the gift and make the most of it.
Angie was missing this morning but David thankfully was there, so it was just the two of us. It’s a bit disappointing that more people don’t come in on Sunday mornings, but Adelaide has a reputation for being a very conservative city. It's a comfy place to retire in. Enthusiasm and eccentricity are subliminally frowned upon. The collective yoga comunity is small but solid.
I glowed with the honour of practising alongside my teacher, and discovered even in that situation that my focus was totally on my own practice – I wasn’t at all curious about what my teacher was doing over there on his mat, but I did notice the blocks and the chair. What he used them for I don’t know. My own practice delightfully consumed my entire attention from beginning to end.
From the very start my right hip ached – actually from when I woke up - and it wasn’t an ache to be ignored; it impelled me to remain aware and present, cautious to protect this fragile area. So rich was the practice that after the Marichyasanas (and Marichy D is a treat every time now), it felt like I’d already done a full 2 hours. I eased up and skipped the poses from Navasana to Supta Kurmasana, the ilio-sacral/hip danger zone.
Besides, it is Sunday.
So that’s three Sunday mornings in a row now that I’ve chosen to practice at the shala instead of sleeping in. A definite indication of how much Yoga has infiltrated my life. There comes a point when you no longer DO Yoga, you LIVE Yoga.
Does David recognise this in me? He’d at least have to acknowledge that students who turn up at the shala regularly before dawn on Sunday mornings for self practice must be slightly serious.
Stephen Levine puts his finger right on it when he says “Levels of consciousness coincide with levels of commitment."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
