YOGA DIALECTIC

I forgot.  But now I remember.  After a two week hiatus from my regular Yoga practice, I was back in class today and struggling through even relatively simple poses.  I was stiff, sore, and weak.  Atrophy is swift and sure, my friends.  Fortunately, our bodies are resilient and easily coaxed to health again unless we've let it all go for months … or years.  And even then, with patience and self-acceptance, we slowly build to a place of inner and outer strength...

That's the stuff I WANT to say to myself.  The mantra that REALLY went through my head today was:  "Damn it, Donna!  Why didn't you find a Yoga studio in New York?  I bet they have them there!  At the very least why didn't you just plop down in that groovy "Mad Men" apartment and do a few downward facing dogs on your own?  Reading 10% Happier (a funny and inspiring book by ABC Nightline anchor Dan Harris about discovering meditation) is NOT the same thing as meditating!  And then, last week when sweet grand-daughterAngel was with you every day why didn't you keep up the morning Yoga and meditation "demo" you tried at the beginning of the week with her?  Just because she was squirmy and impatient didn't make her any different from YOU, now did it?"

Yes, I berated myself today.  I counted breaths and endured poses.  I scolded my sore wrists and punished my tight hamstrings.  I listened to Karen, my amazing Yoga instructor, remind us to be gentle, to be accepting of our bodies, and realized I prefer to accept my strong, supple body rather than this stiff old thing that showed up at class today.   Big, bad, goofy Ego even started to look around the room and compare!  Bad! Bad!  I was reminded of this little poem I wrote many years ago when I first started Yoga practice.

YOGA DIALECTIC

Walk through the door,

Say hello,

Remove shoes & socks

Unfurl mat, 

Pause

Notice feeling

Sit

Seek quiet

Breathe

Notice

The space around my breath

The pause between my thoughts

Delicious moments of stillness

We begin…..

A signal to monkey mind 

to swing gaily from branch to branch:

Ahhh…this feels great.

Wait…this is hard…

I can’t do this….

She’s better than me….

Even he’s more limber…

Am I doing this right?...

Just breathe…

I’m better than her….

I hate this….

I feel fat….

My wrist hurts…

Oh good this one’s easy…

I’m thirsty….

I feel like crying…

What time is it?...

Do I feel strong?

Exhausted…

Light…

Lie down

Let it go

Resting in shavasana

Notice

Space around my breath

A pause between my thoughts

Delicious moments of emptiness

The unexpected moment of loving 

my perfect imperfect self.

Namaste.
************************************

I forgot, but now I remember.  Breathe.  Begin again.  Smile.
At least, that's the view from here… ©

CRUISING SPEED

Aware that the "voice" of this blog is fairly upbeat has contributed to there being no posts this far into October.  Every morning this month I've gotten up with the best of intentions to write.  Every morning I make coffee, glance at Facebook, read a few emails, pour some more coffee, make my day's "to do" list, page through the newspaper (yes, a real one, delivered to my door), give Facebook another look, chat with Hub, sit down and crochet, add something to the "to do" list, drink some more coffee, wash a few dishes, look at a magazine.....you get the idea.  Stuck in Neutral, idling.  And that's on a good day.

At least I'm not usually in Low.  Low is a gear with which I have some familiarity.  Low is where I sometimes plug along, trying not to break down completely by the side of the road, especially after a particularly long stretch of road taken in Overdrive.  So, while Neutral doesn't advance me to any destination, it's better than Low -- cuz Low is mostly sitting in a chair crying.  Low is mostly feeling like the pull on the engine is more than I can take anymore.  Low is a chugging, clanking, near death rattle that seems endless and overwhelming.  But what I've learned -- hard lessons aplenty -- is that no matter how low my Low gets, I know I will somehow, sometimes with Herculean effort, jam that clutch in and reach ever so tentatively for the gearshift and knock it at least back into Neutral.  

Last Friday I did slip into Low, then stalled.  Hub, my mechanic extraordinaire, rushed in with patient diagnostics, just the right tools, and the sweet whisper of his confidence in my ability to self-correct and get back on the road.  I cancelled a few things jammed up on my calendar, saved energy for a couple of things I felt I still wanted to do at least marginally well, and took the rest of this week off.  Needed repair.  Lots of self care, quiet time, cocooning.  And touching my own heart.  Listening, in meditation, to that inner voice that tells me I am not that Ego that lets this crazy life make me a crazy person.  

I lose my way sometimes. My brain chemistry freaks out on me.  But I have big heart, healthy body, sound mind, and a Soul that dances.  I am shifting back into Drive, the winding road in front of me and adventures that await.

Soon re-approaching cruising speed, but with a light foot on the accelerator.

At least, that's the view from here....©

THE TWINS

My dear friend, Introvert, is dancing a jig this morning.  Her twin, Hedonist, knows this is going to be a good day!  Because their alter-ego, Ivy, has done it again -- scheduled herself into a frantic need to be alone and comforted.  Ahhh......

She...OK... I have been blessed with activities and experiences that I consciously chose to do, so any complaint feels selfishly unappreciative.   But any introvert knows it doesn't matter if life is "good"; when it's time to be alone and drifting, the need is so strong it almost hurts.

August started with a 3 day visit by cousins we had not seen in over 20 years.  We were hosts and tour guides until they left on the next leg of their summer journey through the west.  (We had a great time with them,  gently navigating around topics of politics and religion).  In the following 2 weeks Hub and I attended to lots of home projects (sense of accomplishment), went to two Ecstatic dances (oh, such joy!), planned and went on a camping trip (nature's beauty astounds), saw a concert (love me some Blues!), went to a Buddhist teaching event (perhaps more on that another time), attended a two-day personal growth workshop (shared with friends, so meaningful in that way, but not so hot in other ways), and had another overnight visit by the cousins at the tail end of their trip (fun, but I was fading....).  They left this mid-morning.  I believe they still had the back wheels of their rental car at the bottom of the driveway when I opened the little package of Oreo cookies they left here and scooped some ice cream into a bowl and indulged a need for comfort food, uncaring about calories or carbs.

Hub is working today, something he does occasionally in his semi-but-mostly-retired life.  It's good timing since even he won't be here and the house is blissfully mine, alone.  So, my plan for today is to talk to no one. To pet my dog and hold my cat.  To watch TV.  To crochet.  To write.  To read.  To meditate.  To cook a simple dinner.  To not watch the clock or make a plan or go anywhere or do anything that doesn't happen in slow motion time.  To be quiet.

It used to feel self-indulgent to allow myself days like this.  I've learned that it is not self-indulgent to know my mental health is a priority and to do what I need to do to re-charge.

The twins, Introvert and Hedonist, will finish the big afghan today, let all calls go into voice mail, catch up on old Daily Shows, maybe take a nap.  Tomorrow and into the rest of this week I will do more of the same, along with a Yoga class or two, until I feel ready again for life's many blessings of community, experience, and abundance to unfold.  Slowly.

At least, that's the view from here...©

RESTING INTO AWAKENING

I have been crocheting for the past two hours, sitting on the sofa, in front of the TV, scrolling through my DVR recordings and getting caught up on shows I watch when I have nothing else going on.  Tonight I have nothing else going on, and I am content.  In fact, more often than not over the past year I've been damn near giddy to realize on many days I don't have anything going on in the evenings.  I planned it that way, having done a self-intervention awhile back about my over-scheduled life; still, it always surprises and delights me that I have actually stuck to it.  I feel happy about it.  And maybe a little concerned....

When I was a teenager, there were uncharitable times when I thought my parents were lazy and boring.  My dad worked 9 hours a day in a textile factory and my mom stood on her feet in her home beauty shop for about the same number of hours 4 days a week, while she also kept up with the housekeeping, cooking, laundry, we children, her own mother living with us, etc., etc.  So when they plopped in front of the TV every evening, my dad with the newspaper in front of his face and my mom knitting or crocheting, I could only think...."Wow! Why don't they do something fun and interesting??? How can they just sit there???"  I vowed that when I had my own children they would see me engaged in worldly pursuits and stimulating activities.  And they did.  I was on zillions of committees and belonged to a number of worthy cause type organizations and attended numerous personal growth groups.  I was out there!  I was making a difference! My life had meaning!  I was having a good time!  I was exhausted!!!

So, now, when I pine for and luxuriate in long quiet evenings of my own making, even when they consist of mindless pursuits like old episodes of Grey's Anatomy or The Office, I both love it and worry about it. I question whether I've succumbed to the dreaded "old person" scourge of hibernation and lack of motivation to engage in the world.  Am I lazy?  Is my brain atrophying?  Is my body weakening?  Do I still have any friends?  Does my family remember me?

I know these are unwarranted fears....not one of them is true, especially that I've somehow dropped out of engagement with life, but such is the tug of needing to feel I'm "active" that any vegging-out time I take, especially when I take lots of it, feels like the kind of dropping out that could easily lead down the slippery slope of "just killing time", a phrase my dad used often in his later years when I would inquire what he was up to.  He'd say, "Oh, not much.  Just killing time."  That seemed so sad to me, to be merely existing.  But who knows?  Maybe it was finally a time for him to think, feel, observe, and just be.  Time was passing for sure, but who am I to say it wasn't the quality time he needed after a long life of hardship and hard work?  Maybe, for him, this time of not keeping time, not being run ragged by responsibilities, obligations, and schedules was the ultimate luxury.

I notice now that evenings at home with Hub, my books, my writing, my crocheting, and my TV shows, feels like a slower life for sure, quieter, much less stressful, and also like a gift....a gift I would enjoy a lot more if I wasn't troubling myself all the time by questioning some deeper, nefarious meaning behind it.  Letting go of old tapes, old judgments, and old fears is another form of the ultimate letting go that is the work of these Eldering years.  I realize maybe I am not "asleep" after all, but awakening to a different way of being.

At least, that's the view from here...©

SCHEDULING SANITY

I use "old school" month-at-a-glance calendars; have for years.  And I keep the old ones in a file drawer.  They are a "diary" of sorts of the "busyness" of my life.  (The only one I've lost track of in the 25 years I've kept them is the one which documented the milestones of Son-Two's first year of life...I was sleep-deprived, a bit depressed part of the time, and completely overwhelmed by a 2 year old and a newborn...so losing that calendar, while a little tragic in terms of documentation, is also understandable). 

What I notice, when I glance through them on occasion, is that for most of those years I scheduled myself crazy.  Literally, perhaps, since in 1996 there were weekly "therapist" entries for several months.  I remember the depression, the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness, the near constant crying. Well, not constant exactly, because I apparently still led workshops, volunteered in my kids' classrooms, sat on committees all over town, helped oversee a major remodel on our home, helped my mother move from Illinois to Washington after my dad died...little things interspersed between counseling sessions.

Just over a year ago, shortly after the new year of 2011,  I sat in front of the fireplace during a meeting of my women's group and burned a replica of my calendar.  I had just had a very significant "wake up call".

(**NOTE: My women's group meets twice a month to focus on "personal work" -- meaning we meet to offer support and challenge to each other on our life's paths.  What makes us think, feel, and do what we think, feel, and do?  Does it serve us to stay stuck in a certain pattern?  If not, how can we break free?  How can we help shift the paradigm that no longer serves us?)

I had just been facilitated by one of the Sue's in a process of looking at my absolutely crazy-making pattern of over-committing and over-scheduling my life.  At one point, I was challenged to let go of some of the things I was involved in.  I agreed wholeheartedly, then when further challenged to name which things would go, I  began to negotiate and rationalize why I had to hang onto most of the things on my "to do" list of commitments.   Suddenly it struck me....I was like an addict; powerless over my calendar and my inner need to be needed, feel important, feel productive, and like my life had meaning beyond just "being".  I was all about "doing" to be of worth.

Why?  Maybe because when I was a child, children were to be "seen and not heard".  I felt invisible and ignored when I was "good" and I was never "bad"...that was a job for my brothers, who were perhaps braver than I in rebelling at the age appropriate time.  So as an adult, I lived my "goodness" to the extreme -- maybe for the notice and recognition and respect I'd always craved.  (There...that's what "personal work" looks like -- although it takes longer and is much messier.)

I realized in a sudden flash of recognition that I had to "burn my calendar", clear the dates, and start over.  Nothing scheduled.  Blank space.  How did that feel?  Was I of less worth?  Did my life have less meaning?  Could I still be seen, accepted, and appreciated if I didn't fill my time with do-gooder duties?  Scary stuff.  

Since then, and now retired from my job, I've completely reorganized my time and how I "spend" it.  Instead of retirement freeing me up to do more, I've decided to do even less.  I have a handful of activities and commitments that are meaningful to me.  And I have a lot of blank dates on my calendar.   I occasionally have a concern that this new slower pace falls stereotypically into the "getting older", "less energy" category.  But it really doesn't feel that way to me at all.  It just feels like I am finally taking responsibility for pacing my life in a way that feels full, satisfying, and not crazy-making busy.  It feels like I'm living now how I wish I had ALWAYS lived, regardless of age.  I'm finally just happy being...even if I'm not always doing.

At least, that's the view from here...©

**Interested in more info on "personal work" and a life-changing experience?  Check this out: http://www.ww-wc.org/woman-within-weekend

I'M WITH YOU...IN SPIRIT

I don't like feeling like a slacker.  I attended a Community Skills Fair on Saturday where amazing people are doing amazing things to address the sorry state of the Union as pertains to using up all of our natural resources, polluting our environment, concentrating most of our money with the fewest of our citizens, and selfishly consuming far beyond our means, or fairness, compared to the rest of the world.  It was sort of a bummer, but also hopeful because there are smart and creative folks doing what they can to address all of these woes.

I am a philosophical supporter of those who are working to improve our lot and I vote religiously for those who are trying to effect change from within, but lately I've not been very vocal, visible, or "activist".  By not very, let's say, really not at all.

So on Saturday, listening to keynote speaker David Korten (Yes! Magazine and books you can find on Amazon), touring the booths, and sitting in on workshops, I met up with a number of people I hadn't seen in years.  Sue, who I knew well when I was VP of the local National Organization for Women; Jim, who's living room hosted our monthly Physician's for Social Responsibility anti-nuclear weapons meetings; Jim and Sue who were tireless protestors with me, when I was chairperson of the group that petitioned for a citizen's advisory vote concerning building a Navy base in our town (and with it an aircraft carrier, powered by a nuclear reactor and chock full of nuclear weapons docked 1/2 mile from our neighborhood); even a couple of teachers who I knew from my many years trying to improve public education by serving as a parent representative on numerous school district committees.  I didn't see anyone from my 10 years working in the foster care system...but they were probably working themselves on Saturday since that is a 24/7 job oftentimes.

It was great to see everyone still doing the good work of earnest and focused activism.  And I felt a little guilty.  And I felt the stirrings of a little Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  In 1973 I started working for the Equal Rights Amendment, my first foray into activism.  Since then, until about 18 months ago, I've been in leadership roles for a variety of "causes" and realized on Saturday that NOT doing that right now feels pretty damn good.  When I thought of some of my most activist years, I felt the familiar "doom and gloom" overwhelmed-ness and stress of trying so damn hard to change a sometimes unchangeable system doomed to recycle it's mistakes in a one step forward, two back pattern of discouragement.

Since I retired from social services in 2010 I've devoted myself to facilitating personal growth groups, leading dance movement experiences, writing and performing poetry, dabbling in collage art, attending to long-neglected household projects, traveling a bit, meditating, practicing Yoga, sleeping the whole night through, reading a book in the middle of the day, playing with my "grand", meeting friends for coffee....feeling like my life has meaning in many small and important ways that constantly surprise me.  I have time to think, breathe, be....not rushing, stressing, being overwhelmed, frustrated, and angry.

Is this selfish?  Gosh, I hope not.   What I hope, and some of my friends will read this as a "cop out", I'm sure, is that the slower pace of my life, the avenue I'm taking to help people grow in self-knowledge and self-care, will contribute to supporting in some way those who are called to  the front lines of activism.  Perhaps I can be an example of moderation, respite, and renewal.  I believe there are "seasons" of life and my "activist season" lasted for over 35 years.  I may not be finished yet; I may again join those on the picket line or in the Senate hearing room, but for now I am in the "season" of creative rest and renewal.  And I think that, too, is one way we can save ourselves.

At least, that's the view from here...©