Fandango July 27, 2005

Dancing with my inner child on the mat today. A startling contest between will and thought. Several times I got so distracted that I couldn’t remember what pose came next. All the damndest issues kept rolling through. Shit I hate thinking about. I hate the way it makes me feel. Ugh. But then, I found a solution: think about work. Ah, there we go. Supta what? Sorry I was thinking about what timepoints would be necessary to best determine the relative anaerobic reduction of manganese and perchlorate in a batch culture. This isn’t really on the right track, but if the fucking brain is going to refuse to stay in line, I’ll just give it some useful tasks rather than contemplating the bullshit that makes my stomach come into my throat.

And you know what’s great for getting your mind back into the poses? Hard ones. That’s right, and the sustained rhythm of first series, helped by moving into the backbends of second series. Eventually my focus was right in front of me. I had forgotten what I was thinking about. Finally. And there, right in front of me was kapotasana, or chakra bandhasana, or some crazy thing like that which really made my concerns about anything else completely irrelevant. Bang.

Speaking of dancing with my inner child, my grandfather has slipped to the last days of his life this week, and the contemplation of this, as well as conversations with my family, has brought a tremendous roll of memories through my mind as of late, many of my childhood. I’ll be flying down to LA on Saturday night, only to leave the following evening. He may not be alive then. As my father said a few days ago, all those 94 years just came crashing down on him in the last two weeks. He’s sedated on morphine now, and each day is a question mark, much less a conversation with him. My trip is not for him. I have been in good contact with him for the last few years. No, my trip down is for my mother and father. They are having the hardest time of it, and any help I can provide I want to.

Nicoise July 22, 2005

Friday: Wrap.

There is a distinct correlation between being amped about practice the night before and the way it feels the next morning: more=better, respectively.

The knees have reduced their collective complaints to a whisper, more like a casual hand-raise from the back of the room, as of today. The advantage of fucking up your knees multiple times and surviving them all is the intimate relationship you acquire. That intimacy aids navigating recovery.

I wore my emergency-use-only Prana Mantra shorts for practice this morning. I have to say I love the utility of them, meaning how out of the way they are, which is why they used to be the shorts of choice for this man. But self-consciousness has put me as more of a Momentum kinda guy. I like the looser fit. And if there is one speck of bloat going on when you’re wearing the Mantras…. The shorts debate is basically the only wardrobe issue for men, as far as I can tell, but I have to say that given the price one can pay for those little things, I’m beginning to understand women’s bathing suit cost issues. Ptthhhbbbttttth!

Incidentally, I had something of a breakthrough during chakra bandasana on Wednesday. I got my arms straight with my fingers around my heels, without help (obviously), which speaks to me that my shoulders are getting waaaaay looser. Yea. I think that’s the deepest I’ve ever been able to get myself into a backbend unassisted. Next stop, the death-defying attempt at grabbing my own ankles with no one to prevent me from falling on my face, literally. This could get ugly. Literally.

Overcoming July 19, 2005

No no no no no…I refuse to practice. I don’t WANT to. This sucks. Why can’t I sleep more. Everything hurts. It’s not fun. I hate this.

For some reason I don’t remember ever facing monkey mind like that when I would go to the shala. How does that happen? The only way I could shut it up was to start the chant. Amazing.

In the neverland of that space in dreaming right before you wake up, a seemingly logical thought that I can’t quite remember right, but remember feeling strongly: the days that I’m more tired I should sleep a little longer and have a shorter practice. Why doesn’t that ever occur to me when I’m fully awake?

Grumpy knees again today from forcing too much during my cold practice Friday. Damn. I fucked some stuff up in there that’s been fine for a while just ’cause I was pretending I was in an 80 degree room that was more like 68. They sneak up on you, those cold mornings, especially when you’re not home. Backing off now, thanks. And my back has been unusually stiff. Not enough water methinks. Going to have to watch that more carefully. And do more to keep my heat up. Back to all my vinyasas. My teacher stipulated that I should remove the ones between sides only if I was having no trouble keeping my heat up. Not anymore. The bod needs more juiciness.

As of last Sunday I’m officially car-less, and the funniest part about that is that I keep forgetting I don’t have a car. Since I instituted my home practice a couple weeks before the impending Car, Exit Stage Right, I’ve not missed it. The Bike, The BART, and The Bus seem to be all one needs to be sufficiently mobile around here, even in the East Bay. It’s amazingly freeing to shed the car, in an emotional way, though there certainly are inconveniences associated with it. I’m hoping the rental car business can overcome that. Hoping.

Shizammmm July 15, 2005

As I brought my eyes to nasagra driste in ardho mukha svanasana, I noticed something vague and elusive moving up the wall on my side. Just in the edges of my peripheral vision. I was practicing in my ‘alternate’ home practice space, which is big and beautiful and filled with Buddha statues and this morning quite cold. I brought my concentration back, but I saw the movement again. As I broke my gaze, it disappeared. A ghostly wafting upwards. And then it hit me- heat waves. I was next to the main vent for the floor heater. With my eyes looking at my nose, I could see the diffraction from turbulance in the air with the edges of my retinas. It added a strange moving frame to my driste that was not unpleasant.

Practice every day this week. Full practice finally returned. Today the fatigue set in. My strength was razor edge all week, and I even forgoed my love of riding to save some energy. But today I was lucky to get to the mat. I made it, cold as I was, and stuck to my new commitment: practice of some kind or another on all practice days. Period. Figure it out, make it happen. If all I can muster is sun sals, then so be it. But that’s the new deal with myself.

I read Jenna’s political debate with dismay. I rarely feel outright anger these days, but this got me going. All the more reason to keep my distance from this stuff. Me being angry doesn’t make the world a better place, that’s for sure. Nothing those people think or do is going to prevent me from serving humanity, in one way or another, unless they just kill me, which I wouldn’t be surprised by- they kill everyone they don’t like that doesn’t live in Europe or America, so why not start killing us too? There’s a common bumper sticker in this part of the world that speaks to the irony of our world: “We’re making enemies faster than we can kill them.” Ah yes. Does anyone find it ironic that terrorism has gotten WORSE since the beginning of the utter failure called The War on Terror? That terrorist attacks are up every year from the year before…uh, duh. Talk about not getting to the root of the matter. What a waste of life, and money, and resources.

Jai July 11, 2005

A Monday night. I’ll be waking in not so many hours to roll up the rug and roll out the mat. Light the candles on the altar and turn on the heater. Make the bed, do the nauli, brush the teeth, say my own prayer, then the opening chant. And begin. Again. Life is so different at this point. Practice has taken on a completely different meaning here in the aegis of my space. Though I miss the yogis of the 7th Heaven community, I feel so much power in practicing here. It’s become more portable. It’s become more indispensible. It’s just the way I start my day now, regardless of where I am.

I’ve been having conversations with friends about the intensity of The Method. About the time it takes for it to sink into your soul to the point where it’s no longer something you even think about doing, you just do it, no longer worrying about what you’re getting out of it. Conversations about power. About what it really means to do this Ashtanga. About how little it has to do with asana. And about how many ways out there people approach it and integrate it into their lives. I’ve been practicing Ashtanga for well over 4 years now, and I only now feel like I’ve scratched the surface, only now experiencing the magic. That my body, now open, now still opening, is calmer, more receptive, and has pulled the mind to a place that can release expectation of reward or progress. The reverence has always been there, but the bhakti has only begun. These days the part of my practice I look forward to the most is bowing my head to the ground.

Victorious July 8, 2005

The task of home practice has always been one much more difficult than I was willing to handle. Until now. Something deep and subtle has changed. I’ve always looked at it like the holy grail of yoga- to have the gumption, the discipline, the non-attachment, the self-awareness, and the tools to deal with the solitude of self-practice. Therein lay the problem: it was still something that needed to be dealt with. Of all the changes that have come to me through The Method, none have come when I’ve tried to force them to do so. Real changes have only come slowly and naturally- they felt like changes of preference, rather than changes of attitude or habit. It seems now my desire for home practice is coming as another one of these changes, one that feels natural and unforced.

I didn’t make it through a full primary this week, but I’m stronger than where I started. Flexibility seems to not be an issue. I’m almost free of snot, but not quite. I’ve incorporated a few new lifestyle additions and the re-scheduling has proven difficult to my routine. But it’s just the opening bumps. Everything irons out when it’s left to settle a bit…

The real triumph was getting to the mat each day. It’s the only mark of achievement in this practice.

Reemergence July 4, 2005

Out of the cocoon of sickness. Slowly, like a fish that was hooked and fought and handled and held in the air and then released back in the water; taking time to regain composure, to just focus on the basic elements, to breathe. That is enough for now. My body still hurts. My strength has fled. I gurgle through sun salutations keeping breathing evenness the highest priority. Then dristi. Then bandhas. Then I allow my mind to wash over the postures, checking in with this shell that has been abused by infection and response, fatigue and inactivity. Slowly, slower…go slower. Grace is the surest evidence of efficiency- I set my sights on grace. Slower. Following the breath. Trying not to listen to the sounds of air moving through mucus-infested respiratory tracts, I focus on the feeling of the breath. And there, beneath all the dread, the discomfort, the ragged resistance, I find a regenerative essence. A small struggling emanation of power. I give it the attention it requires, slowly, moving slowly, cradling it and returning, with each breath, to a feeling of normalcy. I end as slowly as I began…my strength nearly gone, I conserve what is left for prayer. For lowering my head to the mat, now facing my altar. That is all for today. But tomorrow there will be another return, and slowly, slowly, I will rebuild what has been lost, an opportunity for realignment.