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?