Tuesday 24th April 2007This morning was my first real practice since the accident with the pressure cooker exactly two weeks ago that burned both my forearms.
Minestrone exploded all over me and the kitchen. My right forearm copped it the worst and is still bandaged and being treated.
I spent three nights in the burns unit of the city hospital after passing out unconscious twice from the pain of debriding, and was off work all last week.
So here we go again. Another accident. Another injury. Another period of recovery and rebuilding.
So here we go again. Another accident. Another injury. Another period of recovery and rebuilding.
After Marichyasana C, I fast forwarded to Baddha Konasana - the thought of doing Garbha Pindasana with burned and tender skinned forearms was nauseating - but I managed to do almost three-quarters of primary practice. The physio said I have to keep stretching the newly formed scar tissue on the inner right forearm or it would be forever tight and restrict the movement of my wrist. Every Upward Dog pose did it for me, likewise with Urdhva Dhanurasana.
The ankle I sprained twice won’t even approach a lotus position, nor will it tuck into the crossed ankle position needed for jumpbacks and jumpthroughs, so rather than skipping all the vinyasas between the seated poses, I just swung both my legs to the sides from Dandasana and stepped back, and did an equally creative modified version for the jumpthroughs. C’est la vie if I want to keep practising.
It may be a while before I get back to a ‘normal’ practice and feel brave enough to go back to Mysore classes at the shala, so I’m eternally grateful for having Renate to practice with. We’ve been doing Ashtanga together in the Gallery religiously every Tuesday and Thursday morning for about three years now, through thick and thin, illness and injury, summer and winter.
One day, when we’re very old, we’ll look back and reminisce over these quiet early mornings together, and how our lives came and went so very quickly.
Lately we’ve transferred our 6am practice to her studio (where she teaches painting and drawing). It’s much smaller than the Gallery, warmer and more intimate and we look out over a vast natural bushy backyard through enormous floor to ceiling windows. We start practice looking into the darkness, then it gradually gives way to the golden colours of sunrise and birdsong. It's a very personal recovery time.
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Thursday 12th April 2007
I tried to do some yoga this morning but couldn’t. Two nights ago I burned my arms after I opened the lid off a pressure cooker before it had de-pressurised. The blisters on my forearms extend to my wrists so I couldn’t even do a Dog Pose and the bandages are grazing the raw flesh whenever I move my arm.
I’m trying to find the message hidden in this recent spate of accidents I’ve had. There’s no way I can have an accident and not seek out the cause. Every accident holds a lesson so it’s an opportunity to drop down below the artificial layer of my outer life to find what’s really going on in the psychological/spiritual arena.
It seems to me that whatever happens in my outer life is the final expression of a long process that has been brewing away at the subconscious level – eventually it ripens and manifests at the surface level of life. So an accident, an injury, or physical problem is never a freak occurrence. Something has to have gone out of balance and been breaking down for a while in the substrata of our lives (most often repressed emotions, and things we haven’t said or done that we should have etc) which creates the unhealthy conditions for some nasty thing to manifest. Then it’s in your face. You’re doing something wrong and it’s time to look at what that is.
Example: the burns to my arms were caused by removing the lid from a pressure cooker before it had de-pressurised. Only one word for that – STUPID!
But I’m not stupid. I’m a careful, intelligent person, so why, in that moment, did I decide to do something so obviously dangerous, without thinking?
There are a number of lessons here, starting with the most obvious and progressing to the more subtle:
Lesson 1. Do not remove a lid from a hot pressure cooker until it is cold. DUH.
Lesson 2. Before doing anything that could be potentially dangerous, THINK FIRST to determine the possible outcomes.
Lesson 3. Practice mindfulness 24 hours a day so you remain alert, fully conscious, wide awake and aware of everything going on in the present moment.
Lesson 4. Observe subconscious tendencies that may be disempowering. A strong, emotionally balanced, healthy, well-adjusted person who is courageous and integrated and not afraid to express the truth does not attract accidents to themselves. So check in to your subconscious and check out what is eating away at the core.
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Sunday 8th April 2007
Surfing
I ventured back into the water today. Just getting back in and paddling out felt like a big achievement in itself; catching waves? Well that’s a challenge for another day.
One injury after another over the last couple of years has kept me away from regular surfing just enough to diminish what little courage I thought I possessed in the first place. I question whether it’s actually courage or recklessness that’s needed to paddle out into the unforgiving ocean. The last time I went surfing, both were absent - I couldn’t even get myself into the water. Admittedly I was being cautious and possibly overprotective of my twisted and unstable ankle - getting dumped and pummelled around like a helpless rag doll could have damaged the tendons and ligaments even more.
Still I felt disappointed with myself - a subconscious fear of the ocean had begun to seep into my body. Now it’s not wise to be completely fearless …the ocean can be powerful and unpredictable force, so a good measure of fear is quite healthy, but cowardice is another thing altogether.
Getting out on my board today was a small step in facing not my fear, but the tidal wave of cowardice that has been gathering momentum.
So I paddled, and duck dived, paddled and duck dived, and found a spot about halfway between the whitewater and the big breaks out the back where the guys were catching some great rides. I caught a couple of waves, but mostly I just hung out there on my own, paddling against the undercurrent to stay in the same spot. My shoulder didn’t give out, my ankle didn’t snap in half and my stiff hips didn’t complain until I came out of the water an hour later. Smiling.
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Friday 30th March 2007
More injuries
I twisted and sprained my right ankle at the end of February while out bushwalking.
Two weeks later came the mysterious, crippling pain in my left lower abdomen that still lingers.
Then two weeks after that (3 days ago to be exact) I missed the last step at the bottom of a flight of stairs, fell sideways and sprained the same ankle again.
You get the feeling that something is going on here?
Is there any point practising at the shala with this fragile body?
My card has run out at the shala and I just can’t seem to stoke up the fire enough to jump back on the Ashtanga practice merry go round right now,
I’ll practice in the privacy of my own space, and take responsibility for treading my own path until things turn around.
Seasons
It’s quite easy to tell what season I’m in by my Ashtanga practice, whether I’m practising at the shala and welcoming the adjustments and the new information, or whether I’m avoiding any and all discomfort, preferring to practice less and practice alone within the safety zone of my comfortable limits (in those times I have to remind myself that it’s seasonal, and spring will come around again).
Human beings are not apart from the cyclic processes inherent in all natural phenomena.
There are times when I need to hibernate and shy away from anything challenging (and let’s face it, Mysore classes are challenging). I need regular shots of youthful vitality and inspiration just to get up at 5am, then a shot of courage to overcome the fear of physical inadequacy, and an extra shot of amnesia to forget how intense some of those adjustments really are. When it all gets too much I withdraw into myself for a while.
I practice in my own space, in my own time, at my own pace, modifying poses, skipping poses, adding an extra one here and there, I transfer the responsibility for any progress or regress wholly to myself. Practice becomes a secret haven, a delight, intimately pleasurable with no-one watching.
Then comes the season when the things I’ve been doing, the places I’ve been hanging out, the old person I’ve been for a while reach their use-by-date and naturally start to decay and the little heartbeat of a new life energy starts to pulse through my veins: I’m open to being challenged and feel eager to stretch a little further, push out the boundaries until a new shape starts to take form. That’s usually when for the umpteenth time, I return to the shala with a new burst of inspiration. Like everything, it’s seasonal.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Monday 19th March 2007
Well I’m just a little embarrassed after that last rant about all the reasons not to go back to teaching yoga. All such selfish reasons. Yuk. Bad state of mind happening then.
But it was good to re-read as it made me seriously reflect on what has kept me teaching all these years.
It’s all about helping people, raising awareness of their inner world to improve their outer world, and starting them on a journey that inevitably takes on a life of its own.
I could keep it all to myself, but that seems to violate some universal law.
To be honest, a few personal advantages come with teaching yoga too:
- it keeps my own practice up to a certain level of regularity and rigor
- it keeps me from becoming too self-absorbed and self-focussed (my natural tendency is towards solitude)
- it makes me think about and care about others
- it allows me to contribute to the spiritual evolution of individuals (good karma)
- the extra money is a bonus (even though I don’t need it, don’t know what to do with it, and have in fact stashed away all my yoga earnings in a shoe so I don’t have to think about it).
___________________________________________________________________________________________
I tried to do some yoga this morning but couldn’t. Two nights ago I burned my arms after I opened the lid off a pressure cooker before it had de-pressurised. The blisters on my forearms extend to my wrists so I couldn’t even do a Dog Pose and the bandages are grazing the raw flesh whenever I move my arm.
I’m trying to find the message hidden in this recent spate of accidents I’ve had. There’s no way I can have an accident and not seek out the cause. Every accident holds a lesson so it’s an opportunity to drop down below the artificial layer of my outer life to find what’s really going on in the psychological/spiritual arena.
It seems to me that whatever happens in my outer life is the final expression of a long process that has been brewing away at the subconscious level – eventually it ripens and manifests at the surface level of life. So an accident, an injury, or physical problem is never a freak occurrence. Something has to have gone out of balance and been breaking down for a while in the substrata of our lives (most often repressed emotions, and things we haven’t said or done that we should have etc) which creates the unhealthy conditions for some nasty thing to manifest. Then it’s in your face. You’re doing something wrong and it’s time to look at what that is.
Example: the burns to my arms were caused by removing the lid from a pressure cooker before it had de-pressurised. Only one word for that – STUPID!
But I’m not stupid. I’m a careful, intelligent person, so why, in that moment, did I decide to do something so obviously dangerous, without thinking?
There are a number of lessons here, starting with the most obvious and progressing to the more subtle:
Lesson 1. Do not remove a lid from a hot pressure cooker until it is cold. DUH.
Lesson 2. Before doing anything that could be potentially dangerous, THINK FIRST to determine the possible outcomes.
Lesson 3. Practice mindfulness 24 hours a day so you remain alert, fully conscious, wide awake and aware of everything going on in the present moment.
Lesson 4. Observe subconscious tendencies that may be disempowering. A strong, emotionally balanced, healthy, well-adjusted person who is courageous and integrated and not afraid to express the truth does not attract accidents to themselves. So check in to your subconscious and check out what is eating away at the core.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Sunday 8th April 2007
Surfing
I ventured back into the water today. Just getting back in and paddling out felt like a big achievement in itself; catching waves? Well that’s a challenge for another day.
One injury after another over the last couple of years has kept me away from regular surfing just enough to diminish what little courage I thought I possessed in the first place. I question whether it’s actually courage or recklessness that’s needed to paddle out into the unforgiving ocean. The last time I went surfing, both were absent - I couldn’t even get myself into the water. Admittedly I was being cautious and possibly overprotective of my twisted and unstable ankle - getting dumped and pummelled around like a helpless rag doll could have damaged the tendons and ligaments even more.
Still I felt disappointed with myself - a subconscious fear of the ocean had begun to seep into my body. Now it’s not wise to be completely fearless …the ocean can be powerful and unpredictable force, so a good measure of fear is quite healthy, but cowardice is another thing altogether.
Getting out on my board today was a small step in facing not my fear, but the tidal wave of cowardice that has been gathering momentum.
So I paddled, and duck dived, paddled and duck dived, and found a spot about halfway between the whitewater and the big breaks out the back where the guys were catching some great rides. I caught a couple of waves, but mostly I just hung out there on my own, paddling against the undercurrent to stay in the same spot. My shoulder didn’t give out, my ankle didn’t snap in half and my stiff hips didn’t complain until I came out of the water an hour later. Smiling.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Friday 30th March 2007
More injuries
I twisted and sprained my right ankle at the end of February while out bushwalking.
Two weeks later came the mysterious, crippling pain in my left lower abdomen that still lingers.
Then two weeks after that (3 days ago to be exact) I missed the last step at the bottom of a flight of stairs, fell sideways and sprained the same ankle again.
You get the feeling that something is going on here?
Is there any point practising at the shala with this fragile body?
My card has run out at the shala and I just can’t seem to stoke up the fire enough to jump back on the Ashtanga practice merry go round right now,
I’ll practice in the privacy of my own space, and take responsibility for treading my own path until things turn around.
Seasons
It’s quite easy to tell what season I’m in by my Ashtanga practice, whether I’m practising at the shala and welcoming the adjustments and the new information, or whether I’m avoiding any and all discomfort, preferring to practice less and practice alone within the safety zone of my comfortable limits (in those times I have to remind myself that it’s seasonal, and spring will come around again).
Human beings are not apart from the cyclic processes inherent in all natural phenomena.
There are times when I need to hibernate and shy away from anything challenging (and let’s face it, Mysore classes are challenging). I need regular shots of youthful vitality and inspiration just to get up at 5am, then a shot of courage to overcome the fear of physical inadequacy, and an extra shot of amnesia to forget how intense some of those adjustments really are. When it all gets too much I withdraw into myself for a while.
I practice in my own space, in my own time, at my own pace, modifying poses, skipping poses, adding an extra one here and there, I transfer the responsibility for any progress or regress wholly to myself. Practice becomes a secret haven, a delight, intimately pleasurable with no-one watching.
Then comes the season when the things I’ve been doing, the places I’ve been hanging out, the old person I’ve been for a while reach their use-by-date and naturally start to decay and the little heartbeat of a new life energy starts to pulse through my veins: I’m open to being challenged and feel eager to stretch a little further, push out the boundaries until a new shape starts to take form. That’s usually when for the umpteenth time, I return to the shala with a new burst of inspiration. Like everything, it’s seasonal.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Monday 19th March 2007
Well I’m just a little embarrassed after that last rant about all the reasons not to go back to teaching yoga. All such selfish reasons. Yuk. Bad state of mind happening then.
But it was good to re-read as it made me seriously reflect on what has kept me teaching all these years.
It’s all about helping people, raising awareness of their inner world to improve their outer world, and starting them on a journey that inevitably takes on a life of its own.
I could keep it all to myself, but that seems to violate some universal law.
To be honest, a few personal advantages come with teaching yoga too:
- it keeps my own practice up to a certain level of regularity and rigor
- it keeps me from becoming too self-absorbed and self-focussed (my natural tendency is towards solitude)
- it makes me think about and care about others
- it allows me to contribute to the spiritual evolution of individuals (good karma)
- the extra money is a bonus (even though I don’t need it, don’t know what to do with it, and have in fact stashed away all my yoga earnings in a shoe so I don’t have to think about it).
___________________________________________________________________________________________
