Ah, my spine. It is inside my body, connecting it to my brain, and it's
the one thing that has so much value to me, besides my brain. I
haven't taken loving care of it. This luminous, incredibly complex and
utterly irreplaceable piece of equipment, encased perfectly inside the
delicious form of flesh I call my body, having grown together like a
tree around a fencepost. I have inhabited it for so long, appreciating
it so little, and even taking out on it my rage at feeling so trapped
inside it. But it really is beautiful. Even though I've put it through
so much, and done so little work on it since I got it. The bare
minimum to feel okay. Oh, my lovely self, the core of me. Let's go play together, eh? Just you and me, spine!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Death and Resurrection
It's been six months. Finally, my practice is mine again. Whew! That was close, almost started out by selling my soul. That would've been a debacle!
How did I lose it, that presence of mind, that fluid interaction with my body and spirit? Like most injuries, all it took was pushing a little too hard, the wrong way and in the wrong direction.
Yoga was for my physical and mental health. My body didn't feel my car crash anymore, but only the joy of strength and flexibility. My mind wasn't trapped in dark twisting tunnels, but dwelt in expanses made of breath and movement. I took personal pride of moments of wanting to step out of a pose, and not, in immense joy in holding that pose until a traumatic event of bygone years comes rippling through me into the supple sweetness of relief.
One more pose, one more breath! The dance, gymnastics, massage, meditation, psychology, martial arts, all came together to ask yoga to tie them all into a game they could play together. These disciplines informed one another, and their joy was multiplied in me. A way for me to play with myself. Call it masturbation, or navel gazing. Call it a waste of time, but it was who I was.
Then it became an identity point. Yogi. All those women at the studio telling me, "Your poses are so perfect, you should really be a teacher!" My friends telling me, "You're so dedicated to get up so early and go every day! I could never do that." I was not internally motivated toward teaching. I fell into it a few times with friends, or when a teacher didn't show up. I wanted to offer my joy to those I cared about. No evangelism here! But I needed a career.
The direction. Yoga Teacher. That was my way forward. I became attached to an outcome, and that outcome had to do with who I was. I remember thinking that I was driven toward being a particular way, only to find that I was actually geared toward being perceived a certain way. What I desired was to be perceived as worthy of teaching someone yoga. I didn't desire to share knowledge. I desired status; polarized relationships where I am idealized.
Ah-WOO-gah, ah-WOO-gah! Turn this ship around!
A teacher is necessarily one part of a relationship. Without a student, there is no teacher. Where was my student? Why, within me, of course! And how was I teaching that student? Aggressively. All the negative self-talk in the world cannot a yogi make. No amount of force or fear can lead to true knowledge and growth. It took all the joy out of my practice and infused it with frustration and shame.
After my teacher training tuition was paid for, I rolled around on my mat, looked at the impressions of my feet and hands. Thought. Cried. For months. Why was it gone? Why can't I do this? Why can't I think about my body the same way anymore? I worried about how I would fit in at the school. I worried about my ability to keep up. I thought about how I would explain a pose to someone else, in my own words. I cowered from these thoughts. I'm not good enough. I'm not a teacher. I'm not even a yogi.
The attachment was so strong I couldn't see the conflict. It was just a morass of dread. A fog. I lost faith in my practice and in my future. I lost my muscle, my flexibility and my steady control. It was when I felt my shoulders start to turn inward, and my hips begin to freeze, that I decided. No. It would go no further. I could feel the despair's toll, feel the self-talk draining my hope and charisma. This is my body, and I only get one. This is my mind, and it is how I experience myself. This is my fear, and I am watching it take me down.
Every time I even looked at my yoga mat I heard pieces of me, buried deep, they warned me, No! You will fail! You aren't worthy! Insisting, You will be crushed later by your efforts now! Everything will be in vain. They told me, in my father's voice, in my past lovers' voices, in old friends' voices, You aren't good enough! And in a panicked child's voice, which was my own voice, I heard, Run and hide! It's not safe here!
I had listened to those voices for so long, asking them, How do I become acceptable to you? How do you want me to be? How can I be safe? I bargained with them to protect that scared little girl. To keep her feeling safe. I had believed that those expectations were important. Not to live a good life, but in order to be safe. What was important now was my health, my body and mind. Myself.
I wandered away from many practices, and cried hard while pushing through others. The voices continued, bubbling up from murky depths to tell me how worthless I was. I once heard my father, revoking his love, and knew he wasn't here, that this was me, doing this to myself. I sobbed, knowing that I had been abusing myself this way for decades.
Then there was only the child left, softly asking for assurance. Softly wanting to know, Where are we going? Why are we doing this? Why did she want to know? So that if we met someone, we could tell them? And then they might not hurt us. Girl, we grew up! People don't care where you're going if you're an adult, and they won't hurt you if you can't explain why you're doing something. Really? So like, I can do what I want now? Well, then! I choose to play!
I don't need to have a plan. I trust myself enough to follow my desires. Trust that the lessons to learn and the help I need will be there sure as breathing. I know now that the main point of yoga for me is my enjoyment, and that that in itself is a good enough reason to do anything. In this game of life, I'm not keeping score, I'm not playing to win. I'm playing to play.
How did I lose it, that presence of mind, that fluid interaction with my body and spirit? Like most injuries, all it took was pushing a little too hard, the wrong way and in the wrong direction.
Yoga was for my physical and mental health. My body didn't feel my car crash anymore, but only the joy of strength and flexibility. My mind wasn't trapped in dark twisting tunnels, but dwelt in expanses made of breath and movement. I took personal pride of moments of wanting to step out of a pose, and not, in immense joy in holding that pose until a traumatic event of bygone years comes rippling through me into the supple sweetness of relief.
One more pose, one more breath! The dance, gymnastics, massage, meditation, psychology, martial arts, all came together to ask yoga to tie them all into a game they could play together. These disciplines informed one another, and their joy was multiplied in me. A way for me to play with myself. Call it masturbation, or navel gazing. Call it a waste of time, but it was who I was.
Then it became an identity point. Yogi. All those women at the studio telling me, "Your poses are so perfect, you should really be a teacher!" My friends telling me, "You're so dedicated to get up so early and go every day! I could never do that." I was not internally motivated toward teaching. I fell into it a few times with friends, or when a teacher didn't show up. I wanted to offer my joy to those I cared about. No evangelism here! But I needed a career.
The direction. Yoga Teacher. That was my way forward. I became attached to an outcome, and that outcome had to do with who I was. I remember thinking that I was driven toward being a particular way, only to find that I was actually geared toward being perceived a certain way. What I desired was to be perceived as worthy of teaching someone yoga. I didn't desire to share knowledge. I desired status; polarized relationships where I am idealized.
Ah-WOO-gah, ah-WOO-gah! Turn this ship around!
A teacher is necessarily one part of a relationship. Without a student, there is no teacher. Where was my student? Why, within me, of course! And how was I teaching that student? Aggressively. All the negative self-talk in the world cannot a yogi make. No amount of force or fear can lead to true knowledge and growth. It took all the joy out of my practice and infused it with frustration and shame.
After my teacher training tuition was paid for, I rolled around on my mat, looked at the impressions of my feet and hands. Thought. Cried. For months. Why was it gone? Why can't I do this? Why can't I think about my body the same way anymore? I worried about how I would fit in at the school. I worried about my ability to keep up. I thought about how I would explain a pose to someone else, in my own words. I cowered from these thoughts. I'm not good enough. I'm not a teacher. I'm not even a yogi.
The attachment was so strong I couldn't see the conflict. It was just a morass of dread. A fog. I lost faith in my practice and in my future. I lost my muscle, my flexibility and my steady control. It was when I felt my shoulders start to turn inward, and my hips begin to freeze, that I decided. No. It would go no further. I could feel the despair's toll, feel the self-talk draining my hope and charisma. This is my body, and I only get one. This is my mind, and it is how I experience myself. This is my fear, and I am watching it take me down.
Every time I even looked at my yoga mat I heard pieces of me, buried deep, they warned me, No! You will fail! You aren't worthy! Insisting, You will be crushed later by your efforts now! Everything will be in vain. They told me, in my father's voice, in my past lovers' voices, in old friends' voices, You aren't good enough! And in a panicked child's voice, which was my own voice, I heard, Run and hide! It's not safe here!
I had listened to those voices for so long, asking them, How do I become acceptable to you? How do you want me to be? How can I be safe? I bargained with them to protect that scared little girl. To keep her feeling safe. I had believed that those expectations were important. Not to live a good life, but in order to be safe. What was important now was my health, my body and mind. Myself.
I wandered away from many practices, and cried hard while pushing through others. The voices continued, bubbling up from murky depths to tell me how worthless I was. I once heard my father, revoking his love, and knew he wasn't here, that this was me, doing this to myself. I sobbed, knowing that I had been abusing myself this way for decades.
Then there was only the child left, softly asking for assurance. Softly wanting to know, Where are we going? Why are we doing this? Why did she want to know? So that if we met someone, we could tell them? And then they might not hurt us. Girl, we grew up! People don't care where you're going if you're an adult, and they won't hurt you if you can't explain why you're doing something. Really? So like, I can do what I want now? Well, then! I choose to play!
I don't need to have a plan. I trust myself enough to follow my desires. Trust that the lessons to learn and the help I need will be there sure as breathing. I know now that the main point of yoga for me is my enjoyment, and that that in itself is a good enough reason to do anything. In this game of life, I'm not keeping score, I'm not playing to win. I'm playing to play.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)