My shoulders are giving up, very slowly by the millimetre, the crampiness, scrunching, and gripping that they've become accustomed to over the years. Sounds good, but I'm discovering that they weren't just scrunching for the hell of it. They were working hard to compensate for injuries, provide balance, and generally try to restore normalcy in an otherwise messed up body... sounds a bit like me and life at large.
Anyway. About 20 years ago, I had a pretty spectacular fall while I was skiing down a steep off-road trail in my long, slick track skis... not the gear for the job. My right arm got wrenched out of its socket and it wouldn't lift up of its own accord for ages. Eventually it "healed" and got back to "normal". Not. Now I realise that the shoulder adjusted to help the injured wing flap again, and in the process, got itself all out of sorts.
This journey into the body is amazing. This week the right shoulder finally gave up its grip on the injured arm. Consequently the arm couldn't lift, not without a lot of pain; right back to square one on the icy trail under Crown Peak. Wow.
So twenty days into the arm practice, I'm rehabilitating a 20 year old injury on the yoga mat. I do feel like a doll or a transformer, moving piece by piece, millimetre by millimetre, joint by joint, into a new body.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Resistance
I went to visit the kimono today. Just after I received a cheque. The cheque I was going to give myself a little treat with... And guess what? I didn't want the kimono any more.
But now I'm blogging on an iPad, and guess what I now really really want?
But now I'm blogging on an iPad, and guess what I now really really want?
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Commitment
If only I could commit to a daily writing practice the way I've committed to a daily yoga practice. There's something funny going on here. Sitting at a computer writing is a lot more normal and convenient for me than getting up early every day, walking in the dark to class, spending 45 minutes contorting my body before I go to work. But here I am, fully committed to the contorting, and seriously shirking the writing. Hmmm.
The other thing I'm committed to, mostly, is my nothing but groceries approach to consuming. I have lost the battle of the bus ticket though. After a long day at the office, I simply can't face a half hour walk home in the dark. So I'm spending $1.50 a day on bus fares. But other than that, I've packed lunches, bought no clothes or shoes, no coffees or snacks, nothing for the house, and I still haven't had a hair cut. Neither have I stretched the rules around the definition of groceries. I did get six new pairs of socks yesterday, but they don't count, as I got them with my rewards card (which is, sadly, no longer piling on the points, but still had enough left for some socks.)
Do I feel deprived? Not really. I am quietly processing the feelings associated with desire though. Desire I used to appease with buying something.
I currently desire a kimono dressing gown. It's soft faded cotton, ever so lightly quilted, in a large patchwork of florals and delicately patterned fabric. It comes in a cloth bag. It's on sale but it still costs $97. I really really want it, and I've been plotting ways to get it without breaking my commitment to not consuming. Not that easy, by the way.
It's interesting to observe this desire. At first I expected it to dissolve in a few days, but it's lasted now for three or four weeks. I'm not consumed by this or anything, but every now and then I think "man, I'd love to get that kimono!" Why do we want to own things? I think it's because we think it will make us more of ourselves -- say or express something about us that we can't or won't say or express. It's folly, I know, but it's a very strong pull.
If I take this kimono thing to its far fetched conclusion, I see myself wrapped up in it, in spring time, leaning on the balcony surveying the front garden which will be landscaped and gorgeous. It's about 10 o'clock in the morning, sun streaming in. I'm sipping coffee, the dog's at my feet, and I'm soaked in relaxation and contentment. Why am I not at work? I don't need to go to work. I am a woman of leisure. This is the story of the kimono.
I can so easily be tricked into thinking that the kimono will fulfill my dream of early retirement, a landscaped front yard, and spring time. These are what I really want; not a dressing gown in a cloth bag.
By committing to a practice of not spending, I may well be getting closer to these real dreams. At least I'm removing the distractions, learning the signs about what's really life changing and what's an empty promise.
And now I know the kimono's real intentions, I could probably buy it and enjoy if for precisely what it is--a dressing gown. But maybe now I won't want it quite as much.
The other thing I'm committed to, mostly, is my nothing but groceries approach to consuming. I have lost the battle of the bus ticket though. After a long day at the office, I simply can't face a half hour walk home in the dark. So I'm spending $1.50 a day on bus fares. But other than that, I've packed lunches, bought no clothes or shoes, no coffees or snacks, nothing for the house, and I still haven't had a hair cut. Neither have I stretched the rules around the definition of groceries. I did get six new pairs of socks yesterday, but they don't count, as I got them with my rewards card (which is, sadly, no longer piling on the points, but still had enough left for some socks.)
Do I feel deprived? Not really. I am quietly processing the feelings associated with desire though. Desire I used to appease with buying something.
I currently desire a kimono dressing gown. It's soft faded cotton, ever so lightly quilted, in a large patchwork of florals and delicately patterned fabric. It comes in a cloth bag. It's on sale but it still costs $97. I really really want it, and I've been plotting ways to get it without breaking my commitment to not consuming. Not that easy, by the way.
It's interesting to observe this desire. At first I expected it to dissolve in a few days, but it's lasted now for three or four weeks. I'm not consumed by this or anything, but every now and then I think "man, I'd love to get that kimono!" Why do we want to own things? I think it's because we think it will make us more of ourselves -- say or express something about us that we can't or won't say or express. It's folly, I know, but it's a very strong pull.
If I take this kimono thing to its far fetched conclusion, I see myself wrapped up in it, in spring time, leaning on the balcony surveying the front garden which will be landscaped and gorgeous. It's about 10 o'clock in the morning, sun streaming in. I'm sipping coffee, the dog's at my feet, and I'm soaked in relaxation and contentment. Why am I not at work? I don't need to go to work. I am a woman of leisure. This is the story of the kimono.
I can so easily be tricked into thinking that the kimono will fulfill my dream of early retirement, a landscaped front yard, and spring time. These are what I really want; not a dressing gown in a cloth bag.
By committing to a practice of not spending, I may well be getting closer to these real dreams. At least I'm removing the distractions, learning the signs about what's really life changing and what's an empty promise.
And now I know the kimono's real intentions, I could probably buy it and enjoy if for precisely what it is--a dressing gown. But maybe now I won't want it quite as much.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Playing Dolls
Playing dolls was the only unconditionally accepted leisure activity in my childhood. Well, playing with anatomically acceptable dolls. Baby dolls were OK. Young girly dolls were OK. Barbie was not OK. Barbie had breasts, buttocks, high heels and a boyfriend. She was bad. Skipper wasn't OK either -- she'd hit puberty.
So it is with great amusement that I lie on the mat in yoga class, preparing for yogi lifts by making Barbie feet. I can see my mother in heaven, looking down at me, and I imagine she's probably still scandalised by Barbie.
I was thinking the other day, as I did slow motion windmills, that the yoga practice is quite a bit like playing dolls. In this version, my body is the doll. I'm moving her limbs around, putting her in different positions, seeing how far the various body parts will twist and bend. It's not always a fun game, but I remember dolls being quite a serious activity when we were kids. There was endless feeding and cleaning, dressing, bedding, waking up, pushing around in prams, educating, talking to, telling off... I'm feeling queasy!
Anyway. There's a lesson here somewhere, if I can peel away all the weird layers.
When I played with dolls as a kid, I was under no illusion that I was me and the doll was the doll. We were connected, but not the same thing. In the daily yoga practice, I'm getting a similar vibe with my body. The body isn't me -- well not all of me. I embody the body -- inhabit it. And I'm learning to master it -- how it moves, how it reacts to different stress and situations. I'm recognising how emotions smack into it or flow through it, depending on its frame of mind. How it sleeps, and how it's started to adjust itself when it's asleep, gently moving the shoulders down, giving the neck some space.
I like this relationship with my body. It feels healthy. It's as if I've become a caregiver to my physical self. And that is a very good thing.
I'm a doll. What more can I say?
So it is with great amusement that I lie on the mat in yoga class, preparing for yogi lifts by making Barbie feet. I can see my mother in heaven, looking down at me, and I imagine she's probably still scandalised by Barbie.
I was thinking the other day, as I did slow motion windmills, that the yoga practice is quite a bit like playing dolls. In this version, my body is the doll. I'm moving her limbs around, putting her in different positions, seeing how far the various body parts will twist and bend. It's not always a fun game, but I remember dolls being quite a serious activity when we were kids. There was endless feeding and cleaning, dressing, bedding, waking up, pushing around in prams, educating, talking to, telling off... I'm feeling queasy!
Anyway. There's a lesson here somewhere, if I can peel away all the weird layers.
When I played with dolls as a kid, I was under no illusion that I was me and the doll was the doll. We were connected, but not the same thing. In the daily yoga practice, I'm getting a similar vibe with my body. The body isn't me -- well not all of me. I embody the body -- inhabit it. And I'm learning to master it -- how it moves, how it reacts to different stress and situations. I'm recognising how emotions smack into it or flow through it, depending on its frame of mind. How it sleeps, and how it's started to adjust itself when it's asleep, gently moving the shoulders down, giving the neck some space.
I like this relationship with my body. It feels healthy. It's as if I've become a caregiver to my physical self. And that is a very good thing.
I'm a doll. What more can I say?
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