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Dear friends I know and friends I have yet to meet,
I write about life, of course; my particular flavors include Christianity from a contemplative perspective, meditation, yoga (Ashtanga!), family and occasionally books, writing or gardening. Now and then, political and current events will be tossed in to add a bit of spice.
I would love for you to visit my new blog site at http://www.gartenfische.com/
Let me know what you think!
I was thinking of telling my husband I would write every day if he practiced yoga every day. It would be a big, big bribe. It would be a big, big bribe because, although I wanted him to practice and nothing else seemed to be motivating him, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to go through the work of writing, even though I consider myself a writer. Go figure. (Gene Fowler famously commented about writing, “All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead”; nowadays, we sit staring at a blank screen, but the drops still form.)
I put the rest on my new site. I would love for you to visit! http://www.gartenfische.com/
J. arrived yesterday afternoon laden with watermelon and cantaloupe, bless her fruit-loving heart. She was in an Everything I Do Is Mediocre mindset. Of course, everything she does is NOT mediocre–but I still had to stop myself from saying, What’s so terrible about being mediocre? The last thing a 21 year old wants to embrace is mediocrity. Now a 44 year old might be getting to the point where it makes sense to accept mediocrity, especially in certain domains–like house cleaning and, dare I say it?: yoga–but don’t tell Anthony Robbins. And of course, when I try to tell her how smart and talented she is (truly, at most everything she tries), she naturally says, You only say that because you have to. I reply, No, I don’t. And she replies, Yes, you do, you’re my mom. Do you sense we’ve had this conversation a few times? It’s frustrating being called a liar when you really, truly, in actuality do believe wonderful things about your kid and you’re not just saying it, because you have to. The problem is, she knows that if she were mediocre, I’d praise the heck out of her anyway, because I love her. I guess she needs to learn to get her confidence from herself, not her mother.
In spite of the grumpiness, I managed to talk her into a little yoga while dinner was cooking. We didn’t have much time, so I suggested we just do suryanamaskaras. So we got on our mats and did one. She looked at me and said, “Isn’t one enough?” (Gee, sounds like somebody I know.) I said, “No.” We did two more, and she said, “Wasn’t that five?” I said, “No.”
Things degenerated further. On the fourth suryanamaskara, I glanced at her in downward dog and her mouth was open. I said, “You’re supposed to be breathing through your nose.” She said, “My mouth flops open.” I said, “Well, flop it closed.”
We then practiced laughter yoga until the kitchen timer dinged. I told her to try smiling a little instead of grimacing and she said, “Like this?” and put a big goofy grin on her face. Yeah, just like that. Every time she went from chatturanga to up dog, she grunted like a sumo wrestler and I was left hanging in chatturanga in stitches (just try pulling yourself up in a laughing fit).
Turns out laughter yoga is good for you. It lightened up Miss I’m-Mediocre’s mood and we had a lovely stacked enchilada dinner and then peach cake for dessert.
Some days I want to smite yoga right off my list of Main Loves. I never fully understood what people meant when they talked about love-hate relationships until my forays into meditation and Ashtanga yoga. I either like something or I don’t like it, and even though there might be neutral items/people/activities, it’s usually one or the other when it comes to activities I willingly participate in day after day. In relationships, it was always I love you till I hate you. How infantile I was (am, most likely).
During the first year of Ashtanga, I hated it about a third of the time. If I hadn’t hooked up with some people to practice with, I wouldn’t have made it through that period, I’m sure of it. I would’ve tried, I would’ve battled with myself, but in the end, I would’ve given up in frustration, like I gave up on meditation in the past when attempting it on my own. Now at least I can meditate by myself; why not yoga?
Ugh. Is this utter resistance to practice yet another of the traits that makes me special? Do others experience it?
What am I resisting? Change? This sounds too psychoanalysis-ish, but I sense some truth in it. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to be there, on that mat, in that room, by myself. Things could get ugly. . . .
I fight with these practices every step of the way. Thomas Keating says if you’ve been meditating for a while and find you’re struggling with your thoughts a lot, it’s a sign you’ve stopped letting go. Yeah!: because it’s the hardest damn thing in the world for me to do.
A few months ago I told my homeopath I felt like I was clutching onto something so tight, like my whole self was just holding on, refusing to let go. Of what? she wanted to know. I don’t know! Everthing?
Letting go seems to be my task this year. Like a baby who’s reached into a jar of candy, grabbing a handful and curling them tightly into her little fist, I am very unhappy that Daddy is coming along and gently prying open my fingers. Give me this, and this, and this. Every step of the way I bawl, resist, squirm. What now? You want my perfectionism? Self-destructive tendencies? Impatience? All of it? Man, you’re greedy. Can’t I just hold on to this one little morsel called obstinance? No?
Who ever thought it was a good idea to tell God, Your will be done? Aargh. Still, I don’t take it back.
The truth is, I’m not a natural let-goer, I’m a resister–and I am not conscientious (or even conscious) about it. I resist everything I don’t like or don’t feel like doing. I look back to my first post and remind myself, “Doing what comes next without argument is devotion to God.” But, but, but. . . .
Okay, just to balance out the comments about hating yoga, and to be honest, sometimes it does happen while practicing that I am filled with the feeling, I love yoga, I love this practice. It just doesn’t upset me when it happens. Also, after a practice, I almost always think, I love yoga.
I will carry on, practicing with friends and doing my thing at home, even if it is very short–letting go of demanding too much, expecting too much (maybe that is the main lesson here, not whether I manage a full practice). I will not smite yoga off my list of Main Loves. I will be grateful for it (uh-huh).
I’m afraid I’m not a very good example for somebody who might be thinking of taking up Ashtanga (or meditation, or anything else really good for you).
It seems that The Plan will work, as long as I keep the appointment and am on my mat at the agreed upon time. Yesterday, I recited the chant, stood in tadasana for a bit to see how I felt and decided I would do three suryanamaskaras. So I did. Then I thought, I’ll do some backbends and I did urdhva dhanurasana three times, followed by paschimottanasana. Then the four finishing poses. It was okay. I didn’t get the resistance because I didn’t force.
I love yogaguide’s advice to “remember: stirham sukham asanam – steady & sweet!”
Steady and sweet. Great advice for every practice–meditation, mindfulness . . . life.
Today I practice with friends. Thank God for yoga buddies. Where would I be without them? (The answer is not “in urdhva dhanurasana,” or any other pose; the answer is likely “In front of the computer” or “With a book in your face.”) Now I think I’ll have a bit of chocolate before going to practice.
Confessing that you’re a Christian in certain circles can be harmful to your social life. Yoga circles? Watch conversation come to a complete stop. Tired of talking? Wanna take a breather? Just intimate that you’re a Christian. You can almost hear the breath being drawn in like very bad ujjayi breathing. Everybody looks away like you’ve admitted you don’t recycle or you eat baby birds for breakfast. I was talking with a group of yoga friends recently and one guy said he’d read about somebody who was starting up Christian yoga; then he demonstrated–ekum, breath in for Jesus, dwe, breath out for Jesus–and everybody laughed uproariously. It was slightly amusing. I said, “Yeah, I can bring that to my church; we can do surynamaskaras for Jesus.” Uncomfortable, squirmy silence. Ooooo, did I say something wrong?
The sad thing is, I deserve it. I’m just getting back what I dished out back in my pre-Christian days. I know that, so I accept it–if not graciously, then just a little bit humbly (just a little bit, or I wouldn’t be writing about it, would I?).
Once when I was looking up a band on Amazon to maybe buy one of their CDs, I found statements like: They’re good, but the lead guy’s a Christian. It is true that if you listen to their songs very closely you might find a reference to an idea that could, kind, of be construed as maybe Christian (like love). The Jesus connection can be deadly and it is tempting to hide it à la Peter. No, I don’t know that guy. No, I’m not from Galilee–no way man. Christians doing yoga, ha! What a joke! (Isn’t Christian anything a joke?)
Jesus is about as popular in certain crowds these days as John Denver (maybe less). It’s hard to hate Jesus, though (how can you hate somebody whose one commandment is to love one another?). People say things like, well he’s okay, it’s Christians who get it all wrong and screw up his message. Which is, of course, true, but that’s what human beings do, we get things wrong, that’s why we need God. They think a third of human beings call themselves Christian for fear of going to hell. I used to agree with that in my pre-Christian days. Now I realize there is a depth and a truth to this religion that is authentic, even if some people do seem to be getting it wrong (for instance, Jesus was quite a tolerant guy for his time; why all the intolerance?).
Because Christianity is true and real at its core, I believe that, in spite of the best efforts of Richard Dawkins and his ilk, there will likely forever be a large number of devoted Christians in the world. If it were all about fear, it wouldn’t have lasted this long.
I have a new plan for my practice. Don’t know if it’s a good plan, yet, but it’s a plan. On the days when I am not practicing with someone else, I will get on my mat at a regular time (I’m thinking 5:00). I will do the chant and then be quiet for a moment and just see. If it seems right, I’ll start with suryanamaskaras and let them lead me. If not, I will lie down and practice ujjayi breathing. I will stay on my mat for fifteen minutes, minimum, one way or another. And it will be okay if I just do the breathing. I’ll set the timer in the kitchen and if I’m still going after that, fine, but if not, fine.
It sounds doable. Nothing scary or intimidating.
There is a bonus to this plan: I have noticed that I almost never get a migraine after I’ve practiced yoga; I attribute this to ujjayi breathing (rightly or wrongly, I don’t know). Soooo, it might mean fewer headaches, which I certainly would not complain about.
Went to a Mysore class yesterday and got help with backbends–standing and dropping back. When I’m practicing outside of class and get to that point in the practice, I can’t imagine trying to stand up. The extra effort it would take seems like asking too much of my body after an hour of hard work. Maybe if I practice for a while with help, they will get better (because I will, in theory, become stronger and more confident). During practice this evening, I noticed my abs were sore high up; it must be from the standing up/dropping back.
Tomorrow the plan is launched.
I light my candle and I’m sitting there in front of Jesus as I do every morning, (okay, it’s only a picture of Jesus). I’m letting go of thoughts, returning to my breath. Aaaaah, so peaceful, so right. And then, just when I’m feeling pretty smug and well, good, at this, the inevitable happens–a juicy thought meanders by. Hmmm, that’s interesting . . . still, I should not bite; I choose not to bite; I will not bite. But look at how interesting it is . . . pretty edges, nice colors, even a little emotion attached to it. No! I am in control here. I can choose to let it go by. I will choose . . . I am in control, I am in control, I am in . . . damn. . . .
So why do I keep going through this rigmarole that sounds so unfruitful, so painful, day after day after day? Because, oddly enough, I do benefit from it in amazing ways. I have seen changes in myself that I struggled to make for years and never managed and I believe that daily meditation practice is largely why they are finally occurring. Sometimes, you do just have to let go (or do your best to). And I do actually have more space in my mind than I did before. That sounds weird, but it’s how it feels. My mind is spacious enough enough of the time that I can actually make choices in how I respond to daily life instead of just reacting (no, I don’t have to stab my husband with this paring knife because he appears to be more interested in his cell phone than in me; no, I don’t have to ram that woman in the SUV who just cut me off–I don’t think I’ll even flip her off, I choose to let go of this). I let go, and then I can also see things more clearly; my mind isn’t in tunnel vision mode.
Now you might (logically) be thinking, just two days ago, she admitted to reacting to her husband in a mean, selfish manner and now she’s saying she’s in control. I admit it! I have not mastered this. BUT, I was still better than I used to be: I realized I had a choice, there was space there, I just chose to barrel down that unseemly path (oh, stubborn, stubborn, stubborn), even though I knew I shouldn’t. And that is a gigantic difference between me now and me then: I chose; I knew I had a choice. And anyway, I’m beginning to suspect that it is possible that I will never, never be perfect, and that I might just have to let go of that aspiration in all its guises. I will never meditate perfectly. I will never be a perfect wife. I will never be a perfect mother. I will never be a perfect person. Ha!–I admitted it! (I cried during Groundhog Day, with Andie McDowell in her perfect woman role, because it suddenly came over me: certain knowledge that I would never, never, never be perfect, not in a million years. I don’t think I even realized before that point that I was aiming for perfection.)
Ann Lamott says grace is where you find yourself in a different place than before and you know you couldn’t have gotten there on your own. That’s me; I’ve experienced a lot of grace in recent years. When I look back on my pre-meditation/pre-yoga/pre-God-centered life, it’s hard to believe I’m the same person. And I know I cooperate better with grace when I don’t let my obsessive mind run the show 24/7; how can I cooperate with God if my mind is constantly thinking and analyzing and trying to control everything? This is why I also try to practice mindulness. Sometimes I feel like a little kid trying to maneuver a full size grocery cart in a crowded store, running into everything, annoying people, knocking down displays. Get out of the way for God’s sake! Just sit down here on the sidelines and take a break; you’re not in control around here, anyway.
One of the greatest graces of my life these past two years has been my Ashtanga practice. I am certain God led me to this form of yoga. I hadn’t taken a yoga class in a couple of years and when I got the catalog for the local rec center and saw Ashtanga yoga listed, I felt compelled to take it even though I didn’t know beans about it. It was one of those feelings of, I NEED to do this, I HAVE to do this (whatever this is). And though I still struggle with practicing solo (among other things), it has been another great facilitator for healing in my life. After all, it’s yet more training in letting go (yippee!). Let go, listen to the breath. Let go, inhabit the posture. Let go of trying to be perfect (again!). Let go of impatience, let go of grasping, let go of envy, let go of pride, let go, let go, let go, let go, let go. . . .
On my desk, I have this saying of St. Francis de Sales: “Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself.” Sometimes, I have to be satisfied with teensy little consolations (like, at least I didn’t get up; I sat there on that chair in front of Jesus thinking for a whole half hour).
We are off to a friend’s Name Day party in a bit, but I haven’t had a chance to write my blog for today (and I have such good intentions–not necessarily to write every day, but I wanted to do it today), so I’ll do it quickly.
I did get in a good yoga practice today with a friend. Very satisfying. I’ve been told recently that I need to work on standing up from backbends. I think my back isn’t bendy enough yet–I can barely walk my hands in. Also, I’m so tired by the third backbend that I can’t imagine trying to stand up on my own. Oh well, all is coming. . . .
I was mean and selfish toward hubbie last night, and I felt bad about it all morning. 😦 I have my set morning schedule where I get up, meditate/pray, eat, shower, water the garden, etc., and he told me that he had a couple of people coming over in the morning to help him with a project. I knew I was being selfish, but, not wanting to be inconvenienced, I still acted like a jerk (well not a complete, all-out jerk, like I might have a few years ago, more of a mini-jerk, but I still knew I was wrong and didn’t manage to stop myself). Then this morning, he was doing all these little things around the house to try to make up for “upsetting” me. And I felt worse.
He (delusionally) thinks I am the most wonderful person on the planet (but isn’t it great when your spouse thinks that way about you?!). No matter how many times I’ve proved otherwise, he keeps right on thinking it. We’ve been married going on twelve years and you’d think he’d know what a selfish, selfish, very flawed person I am. But no. He sees me through rose colored glasses. Just so long as he doesn’t take them off. . .
Okay, I’m just diving in here with a post about yoga. This is what’s on my mind:
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about why I have a problem practicing by myself. Since attending an inspiring Ashtanga workshop with Annie Pace last weekend, I decided I want to commit to practicing every day. I really do. Then why can’t I do it? It is not a time issue. I am blessed with plenty of time to commit to healthy activities like yoga these days. And I’m spoiled, I have a friend (sometimes friends) I get to practice with several times a week, so I generally practice four days a week even without my solo practice. But I still want to add two more days. Then why can’t I dredge up the discipline? How do people do it?
Tuesday, I got on my mat, thinking, okay, I’ll just do the suryanamaskaras. I did one. ONE! And I just could not go on. There’s some kind of mental block here and I can’t figure out what it is and how to get around it. Fear? Sometimes it helps to practice with Sharath’s CD, but I don’t always feel energetic enough to practice that fast.
At the workshop, Annie talked about how we build up internal heat while we practice and that burns off “bad stuff” (forgot the sanskrit word). I know that I haven’t really bought into the whole Ashtanga package, so I never gave much credence to that sort of statement. But, I got to thinking, what if she’s right? After all, meditation has turned out to do WAY more for me than I ever would have thought possible. So I thought, if she is right, wouldn’t it behoove me to take my practice more seriously? To add two more days of practice? To practice with more devotion and steadiness? To burn off some of that bad stuff?
Yesterday, I received my Contemplative Outreach newsletter. The headline on page two was: “Doing what is next without argument is devotion to God.” It seemed to apply directly to me and this practice. Can I just force myself to do it? Is that the best way, since then I might establish a routine and it would be easier to keep going (theoretically)?
I really would like to break through this. . .
de die in diem 