Oldness May 23, 2008

Creaky bones Jones. Damnit, I don’t want to feel older. I don’t want to feel the wear and tear. A major disadvantage to starting yoga early in your twenties is by the time you’re in your thirties, you can see a stunning difference in the ability of the body to adapt.

In particular, it sucks.

I just can’t take the punishment as well. For example, a little sailing race last night and this morning my upper thoracic spine feels like solid iron. Wonderful. I paddle out once a week and now my shoulders have decided to refrain from any asana cooperation whatsoever. And somewhere in the last few weeks, my right ankle has started feeling destabilized, and my right wrist is bugging me. Creaky bones. Not enough to stop my practice, but enough to slow it the hell down. Shit.

And yeah, I’m bitching about getting older. I know. It blows. Acceptance coming. Deep sadhana.

Forward May 20, 2008

Jasmine blooms, bar be ques, ocean breezes, that tingly sensation in the warmer air. Summertime bike rides and hot nights and long days and cool cocktails in the late afternoon with sunglasses on, sunny faces warm. The shala hot early, hot late, easy warmness to get into. Travel plans, work plans, play plans, mad hands. Music around, everywhere sound, following the beat down. Lab humming in the new heat, a bee hive. Busy busy, making honey, tripping around into new views of Truth.

Sleep comes, sleep goes, but the night always shows the slipping sand through my toes. I hide in my little ways, trying to figure out how to avoid laying down. The darkness envelops and surrounds, muffling sounds, nothing quite lost, but nothing found. Will dawn be soon? Ah no. More time to stare up at the white, more time to face the black, chest feeling tight. I wake to stifled breath, with no answers. Restriction pulling me fully, raggedly, awake. My practice the only way back to sleep. My devotion the only way to keep my head, my shaggy mental heap.

Summer slows, summer glows. Two years now gone by from the down. Two years of poorly practiced patience, gone round. And so many more years to go, so many more days to show the lost as found. Smells of summer abound. The heaving luscious welcome ocean ground, watery homeward bound. Breath rise and fall, listening to the summer sound.