Hair After Jivamukti

Not my hair. HAIR. The musical. Went with a friend to Jivamukti, then to dinner at Nios at the Muse Hotel, then to Hair, my favorite favoritest musical of all time, except for, possibly Rent. (But Hair is a part of my childhood. I memorized the soundtrack as a child. Rent, is the musical my kids memorized during THEIR childhood. I prefer the ending of Rent, but I prefer the music and emotional power of Hair. Maybe I should just let it be a toss-up.)

The Jivamukti class was pretty damn good. The teacher was clearly a newbie. Her chanting was hard to follow despite that it was "Om Asatoma Sat Gamaya", which I happen to know by rote due to Sir's drilling it into our heads during Pranayama and Philosophy class a few years ago. She also went through the Guru chant (Guru Bramha, Guru Vishnu, Guru etc...), but again, it was so difficult to follow her - she used the exact same chanting tune as she did for Om Asatoma, which I was JUST getting used to as being tied to the Om Asatoma words - that I ended up just shutting up. But no big deal. I don't care much about the chanting, and for the most part, would go out of my way to MISS that part when I used to be a Jiva regular. I would walk in and settle in right about the time the songbooks were being put away.

The Jiva teacher's dharma talk was just a reading of something Sharon Gannon had written a about spiritual paths. It was kind of awkward, as if she was reading it for the first time. Again, who cares? I'm there for the asana. And the asana ROCKED.

I found the sequencing to be nearly perfect for me. I wasn't sure if everyone would like it - we plopped down for Ardha Matsyandrasana right after we did Parsvakonasana not long after we started doing standing poses. But I am happy to do seated poses at this point because of the cast on my hand. Seated poses present fewer challenges for me modifcation-wise. Turns out my friend agreed, albeit for different reasons: she found the sequence so vigorous that she really was "ready" to take a few breaths from a seated pose at that point. Nice! Perhaps this particular possibly newbie teacher has a particular special talent for sequencing.

Indeed. When we got to the floor, for real, she did a hip opening sequence that allowed me to Dwi Pada Sirsasana with seemingly zero effort. My friend commented afterward that she was shocked when she caught me out of the corner of her eye making myself into "a human pretzel".

Ha. If she ever came to a shala...she would be rather unimpressed, I would imagine.

And there's the rub. At Jivamukti, in other yoga studios, there is no agenda. No linear progress. Sure, I could feel stiff on any given Jivamukti practice day, or I could have a shitty practice for one reason or another. But there is never any fear that anyone is going to accuse me of being a...wait for it...CRIMINAL!!! HAHAHAHA. Sounds so ludicrous, but yes, it would be (first two fingers making quotation marks around my face) "CRIMINAL" to modify Compass Pose (if it existed) into Eka Pada Sirsasana in an Ashtanga Class, or to do Eka Pada Sirsasana if I was not first invited to do so by my teacher.

And speaking of teacher again...this teacher saw my broken hand and wanted to give me a full-on-body assist in the Sun Salutations, which I was very carefully modifying on forearms. I dropped down to forearm plank, and the teacher appeared straddled over me. I turned around and waved my cast and shook my head. Instead of backing off, she was like, "I saw that...I was going to help you do it with your cast." I very politely declined. Seriously? What was she THINKING? She was going to hold me up while I pretended to put my hand on the floor? What would be the point. At any rate, I have had that assist many a time in my years at Jiva, and it is quite brutish. No precision at all, which is fine if you don't have...a BROKEN HAND. This was another reason that I imagined that she was a new teacher. A more seasoned teacher would leave a broken limb alone. Dontcha think?

Again though...not that it was bad. It was a delightful class. EXCEPT for one other thing. VERY poor choices in music. Kind of headbanging rock to open the flow portion of class. The first tunes to open a flow class should be of the same ilk as "Alone" (classic Jivamukti class opener), "Jai Hanuman" by Krishna Das, Coldplay's "God Put a Smile on Your face", Enigma's "Principles of Lust" or Zero Seven's "In the Waiting Line", If you MUST have the head banging rock - I like Rush's "Red Barchetta", for example, add it when things are already flowing.

None of this is to say that I did not thoroughly enjoy class. And I thanked the teacher and told her what a lovely hip opening sequence she devised.

What I did not love, what repulsed me, was the changing room. Oh my god. Hot and sticky, dirty shower- with hair on the floor that stuck to my foot at one point, water all over the floor due to an a absense of floor mats, even, for gosh sake, teak floor mats, if we want to be environmentally friendly. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there, so I had to get dressed while still totally soaking wet, which is so unpleasant with or without a broken hand and a cast that prevents the use of the opposable thumb.

Next, dinner at Nios, which used to be, I think, District. The food was delicious but the service was downright awkward. I don't feel like explaining it, but suffice it to say that it involved a prixe fixe menu where the waiter demanded to know if you were going to want dessert BEFORE you even had your first drink in front of you. How can you know? Explaining the awkward, he told us that the computer system charges you a la carte if you don't order all the prixe fixe courses.

Dude. We don't want to know about your computer system. We're just trying to have dinner. Not surprisingly, when the bill came, there was more awkward, because the bill did not reflect three prix fixe meals and one a la cart, as it should have. This was because my friend ordered her dessert AFTER her meal. The computer system, which we really should NOT have known about in the first place, could not handle that information in a logical manner and charged her for, I don't know...another dinner? Something odd like that.

Again...don't want to KNOW about your computer system. Just want to be served and pampered a bit and then pay. Smoothly.

Without having it all deconstructed.

Hair was phenomenal. I always fall in love with it, whenever I see it, and I have seen it countless times over the years. I always also fall in love with Claude every time I see it. And then I dissolve into tears when he comes out in his last scene.......(spoiler alert!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






his emblematic hair shorn, an army uniform on his peacefeul, teenage, clueless body that should never ever ever be allowed anywhere near a gun....if this were an army movie, Claude would be the one who would die during boot camp, and if not then, then he would step on a land mine on the first hike in enemy territory, here one minute, waxing about the beasts in the forest, gone the next second. Having seen Hair numerous times and listened to the soundtrack since the day it came out - thanks Mom and Dad - obsessively memorizing every lyric, I know where this is going. Unlike as in Rent, there is no resurrection when the inevitable happens.

So there I am weeping, bent over my legs crying into my knees, and Claude jumps up for the curtain calls. "Let The Sun Shine" changes to a bit more upbeat version, and everyone around me is getting ready to run up on stage and dance.

Look, I just have a SERIOUS problem with teenagers getting sent off to war, to die for their country. I have an even MORE serious problem with teenagers who neither understand nor believe in the war getting sent off to die for their country. And an even MORE more serious problem with the parents of these same teens, when those parents withhold their love and support, making no effort to understand their own children...the implication seemed to be that had Claude had any parental support, any other possibilities besides living on the streets moment to moment, he might not have had to go at all. Perhaps he would have stayed in school. Perhaps, like my dad he would have gotten married and had a baby.

I think...I am not positive about this...that I am a Vietnam Baby. A shield against the draft. Born in 1965, I seem to have heard murmerings of this sort of thing.

Anyway, Gavin Creel's Claude is MAGIC. That's the only word for him. Will Swenson was so adept at playing Berger as an irritating, obnoxious, cocky and of the moment-ly arrogant late-teenage boy, that it made me consider for the first time in all the times I've seen Hair, how young and unformed these kids were, yet facing such terrible, life-altering choices.

This was also the first Hair production I've seen in which the Jesus/Religion imagery came through so, hmmmm, for lack of a better word, passionately. Claude as Christ. Claude as spiritual leader, compassionate, kind and decent even when treated poorly. Claude as sacrificial. Claude as resurrected in acid trips. It's not a strong connection, but even to a non-Catholic, it somehow adds power to the message. Not sure why. Purely a visceral thing.

It is also the first Hair production I've seen as a mother. And I really felt my age. These kids up there: they are not my peers. Even if I hadn't been busy wiping my tears during the curtain call, I don't think I would have put myself up there to dance on stage. I felt it was for the younger crowd, those who still might hope to dance on a Broadway stage for real someday. Not for me, a middle-aged woman in a sundress and cardigan, living an upper middle class life which would have provided all the exemptions my children ever needed to dodge the draft bullet in the 1960's.

That made me feel my age more than anything else has in my life. I need to work on
feeling okay with that. With my age. With the passage of time.

Meanwhile, I have to go read some online guides to "parents protecting teens on internet social networks", since I discovered yesterday that my 12-year old has a YouTube account, is a sometimes-contributer to discussions on YouTube regarding the band, Green Day, and its lead singer, elfish Billie Joe Armstrong, and has YouTube "friends" with names like "Green Day Girl" who said in a recent message, "Itunes always fucks up the album year". I mean, who the HELL is Green Day Girl?

Oy. I feel uneasy. But I have six more weeks before he is home again, so I have plenty of time to read up on how to keep him safe during these interactions. But I do feel uneasy.

Woooo!!! Is my head spinning or what?

YC

Delightful quiet

I miss my kids. But I love my quiet, quiet house. And I love the fact that I no longer follow Ze Rules, whereby I spent my seven weeks of quiet last summer waking at dawn and railroading it into the city where I had my arms yanked halfway out of their sockets and my triceps stretched to the point of feeling that same burning, ripping feeling that I felt when I was giving birth to my first child, unmedicated.

Nay!

This summer, I awaken at Whatever The Fuck Time I Awaken. It's a lovely time to wake up, let me tell you. And I exercise in Whatever The Fuck Way I Wish To, which means running as many as six miles at a time without worrying about the tightness it might bring to my hammies and quads, or taking to the trails at the nearby nature preserve, or taking a Bikram class, or doing whatever portion of the Ashtanga series' that I am able with a broken hand. And at the end of the day, I experience this wonderful thing called "Not Being Ridiculously Tired at a Ridiculously Early Hour", which means that I can do wonderful things like...see friends (for lunch in Bedford, for dinner in the meat packing district)! go to the theater (Hair)! watch a stupidly long movie (Benjamin Button)! stay out til 2 a.m. (after dinner in the meat packing district)! sleep in my friend's townhouse in Manhattan (after staying out til 2 a.m.)! sleep late and meander over to a diner for some scrambled eggs, toast and coffee and the walk five or six miles around the city without worrying about the tightness of my hips or whether the food will make my twists nauseating!

I do admit that abandoning Ze Rules leaves me feeling, at times, a bit adrift. But it's a good kind of adrift. I see friends I hadn't seen in years. I do things I never would have dared to do.

And yet: the world has not cratered.

My jeans still fit, are maybe even a bit looser, perhaps due to more intense cardio and less anaerobic yoga. My heartrate is still in the low 50's. My skin is soft and smooth and clear. My demeanor is calm. I do not feel this intense desire to spend my days strategizing how I will get my toes in Kapotasana and talking about it incessantly.

Sure, I feel a bit like a leper in the Ashtanga world. My former Ashtanga friends no longer call or write. And sometimes I am haunted by then notion of having given so much power to my teachers over my body and my happiness...and by the realization that those who I perceived to have had all of the answers, whose minds I would have paid beaucoup bucks to unlock and understand, were as clueless as I was and as arbitrary and at times capricious as anyone.

But this is what happens when you extricate yourself from a cult.

And it seems worth it to me to be my own master right now.

YC

Whew.

I feel much better now.

Kids are leaving tomorrow, and I am not falling apart at the seams.

My hand is still broken, but I ran six miles today. I have no idea how that happened either other than the putting one foot in front of the other.

No time for yoga today (what with running and taking the kids swimming), but I did lay on my 55 cm ball to stretch things out.

My arthritic fingers are noduled up in full force these past few days - hand surgeon says it relates to the stress of having broken my hand. But I'm alright. My fucking reconstruction is looking worse (to me) every day. But I have a plan.

Maybe all this good cheer is simply the result of having a housekeeper these past two weeks. It's so much easier to keep at the fingerprints and the dog hair when someone else is doing the bathrooms, the sheets and towels and the vacuuming. That said, I look forward to really polishing this place up this summer and moving the kids toys - all of em - to the newly finished basement. Assuming that it actually is finished one of these days. Right now, the walls, floor, ceiling, lighting, doors, bathroom - all done. What remains is the paint job. Then it's time to get the place up and running as a full-on recreation room (my yoga room needs nothing but paint of course).

So, someone called me a chicken shit today - an anonymous commenter. Ha. I am so NOT chicken shit just because I choose not to suffer unduly. Not that I owe an explanation. But I felt like giving one anyway.

YC

Modifications, Flexibility, Strength...it's not about the yoga.

So, there I was, all cock-sure and arrogant about being able to cold-turkey rehab myself off of some pychotropics on which I have made myself dependent over a period of more than a decade. For a few days, it was nice. All of the smiles with far less of the irritability that seems to come from the dosage being higher than my current needs. I liked the cold-turkey idea.

But apparently, it did not like me. After watching Transformers (stupidest successful movie ever; yes Megan Fox is hotness personified, but holy Shia Lebouf, where was MY eye candy? And re Megan Fox...hot yes, but I was disturbed and taken out of the moment in the movie when occasionally the camera captured her in the background of the frame, wearing what appeared to be a slack-faced look of utter stupidity that could not have been, and surely was not intended to be, acting. But yes, she is hawt. Like a steam engine hot.), I drove my kids home, put them to bed and suddenly found my eyes watering, leaking salty fluid onto my cheeks. What is this? When was the last time I wept? I couldn't say. I don't know if I ever weep, per se, where nothing is really going on, and yet I just start crying.

I am going to miss my kids terribly, that is for sure. But weeping two nights before they leave? Certainly, they are the lights in my life, providing me with seemingly endless entertainment, giggles, engagement in good thought, engagement in strategic planning, filling my heart with pride every single day. Every. Single. Day.

Something was wrong. Clearly. I pondered. I was weeping. If I have been working on ANYTHING these past few years in yoga, in psychoanalysis, in meditation, it has been to try to be GOOD to myself.

Of course, the other side is the valid argument against psychotropics: what is WRONG with some negative emotion? What is wrong with feeling our feelings?

I let the two sides debate it in my head as I alternately enjoyed this novel feeling of feeling deep, unmitigated sadness over the upcoming seven weeks without the joy of my children right here in my house, tears leaking out of my eyes in puddles and streams, while realizing, this isn't going to help me function tomorrow. Feeling one's angst is all well and good, and no drug should remove all of it the way I feel my drug of choice has been doing for years. But does one need to weep until their eyes look like they're bleeding? Does one need to kiss one's child good night and run out of the room choking down a throat full of mourning? And what if the mourning is way out of proportion to the events being mourned? Isn't there some level of appropriate affect to be used as a threshold test?

I got on my computer and looked up withdrawal symptoms and half-life for the drug in question. I saw very sane things written, things that resonated about wanting to feel all emotions, even sadness, but not wanting to collapse into non-functionality. I lay in bed and pictured myself today, on my kids' last day home before camp. And I pictured myself picturing horrible things happening to them, to us. Bus crashes. Car crashes. Food poisoning. Aneurisms. Choking incidents. Things that have no place in a functional mind, with the exception of the occasional pass-through that makes little or no impact. These images, on the other hand, had major impact. I began praying to God, apologizing to God for not believing before. I wanted him to take away the images, which I can only describe as akin to the voices heard in A Beautiful Mind. You KNOW they are wrong. But you can't make them go away. You CAN ignore them. But I was finding them rushing at me with such velocity that I knew I would remain vigilently in battle mode.

Who wants that?

And so, I went downstairs to where I have been keeping my stash and took a stepped-down dose of my pills. And I passed calmly into sleep, woke up with a spring in my step and am actually able to talk about this today, without shame, without fear, as if I were talking about someone else, as if I were describing a character in a movie.

I look FORWARD to crying real tears again someday when the time is appropriate. Not when I am responding to made up waking-nightmare images that I can't seem to banish from my head. Not when I am responding to nothing really in particular other than sending my kids off to the exact place they are literally DESPERATE to go.

For now, I am back on this lowered dose, and I consider that to be a modification. Or an exercise in flexibility. To this I will add the strength to structure a step-down program that will be, to the extent it feels healthy, VERY structured, with dates and amounts written and planned in a calendar, and tied to the healing of my broken hand, whose unexpected inherent disappointments has added a layer of pathos to my life, which perhaps makes a cold-turkey withdrawal not right for ME at this time. Maybe it would be right for me at another time, or for someone else at this time. But for me, the same way that I have to face the fact that the arthritis in my wrists is going to keep me from ever having the kind of Full Wheel that I would wish to have (because it just fucking HURTS like a MUTHAFUCKAH to support any portion of my weight on wrists bent at 90 degrees), I have to face that this is not the right time to go cold turkey. Give me a rehab center and a rubber room and a daily group session and my own crisis counselor, and yeah, I could do it. But seeing as I am just living my life here now, I think this modified plan is best.

YC

Getting clean

I find it interesting that "clean", so long (and still) associated with being free from drugs and alcohol, is now a word that describes a way of eating that does not give rise to guilt. More specifically, "clean eating" is another way of saying "virtuous eating" or "not making a pig of myself". Sure, for some people, it means more avocado, olive oil and tofu, while for others it means more lean meat, red wine and iceberg lettuce. But ultimately, it is used to refer to partaking in foods that are not "bad foods", whatever they are.

I try never to use the word to refer to food. I do use it to refer to what I have been doing to my house these days, both inside and outside. I prefer clean, uncluttered lines. I prefer closets that could double as rooms, or nooks, as it were. I prefer gardens that are fairly symmetrical and orderly, although definitely NOT formal gardens (although I reserve the right to some day create one).

Today, I cleaned the back porch, which, due to the endless (16 of 18 days, or 17 of 19, can't remember which) rain in June, has begun to grow its own ecosystem on the floor between the flagstones. Can you say "ew"? I may have gone camping once, and I may enjoy hiking in the woods; I even enjoy digging in the dirt. But unidentified mosses and the like growing on grout just disgusts me to no end. And this, theoretically is my summer yoga studio. The downstairs yoga room is supposed to be my winter studio. It's just gotten a LOT of use these days, unfortunately.

It was yucky. Bleach galore. And then water galore to dilute the bleach so it doesn't kill the plants growing along the sides of the porch.

Another horrid side effect of the endless rain? BUGS. Not in my house, but on my plants. Plants that never saw any insect damage before are lacy with holes, the handiwork of hungry bugs brought out by the excessive moisture in the air. I don't understand the connection. But I have been told that bugs are out in force this spring/summer due to the rain.

I realize this is boring as hell.

I also had my MRI today, to check whether my left implant has ruptured. Yeah, fun. I fell asleep. Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. I guess I can never claim to be claustrophobic. I am very very very low grade anxious about the results...like what if they see something they weren't even looking for, if you know what I mean...? But that's what I thought when I had my head CT to diagnose my deviated septum. So nothing new there.

Anyway, still boring.

So, yeah, speaking of clean, I've decided to go cold turkey on some of the meds on which I have been dependant since seven years ago, when I was diagnosed with cancer. Tapering doesn't work for me. Maybe cold turkey won't either. But tapering gave me too much to ponder. Too complicated. Cold turkey is much better for me. I think. We shall see. It's been two days, and so far so good.

Hand-disabled yoga later today.

YC

How to Do Ashtanga

I thought THIS was LOL-hilarious on so many levels, including the notion of TELLING your teacher how to put you into the pose. I want to find more Ashtanga how-to's so I can giggle...and be elitist for just another moment because I kind of miss that now that I have kicked myself out of the cult.

I am in WAY better spirits today, in spite of the rain, which I had better be getting used to seeing as it has shown no signs of stopping any time soon. And here is a goofy, overly maudlin analogy to go with that notion: Today as I was walking around my property, like I do most mornings, I was taking note of the insane growth of many of my shade-loving perennials and shrubs and of how my sun-lovers are kind of stunted for the most part. I was feeling a bit cross about that, when Adam, my 10-year old, brought my attention to the brook that runs along one side of the front yard. He wanted to show me how the water level was the highest he's ever seen it. What I noticed was that next to the brook was a rogue Hosta - a highly-prized shade-loving perennial that costs good money to purchase in a nursery, and is often a waste of time around here because the deer consider it to be their version of a gourmet mesculun salad. Yet there it was. In the wild. I certainly hadn't planted it. And it wasn't there last year. Would it be gilding the lily to note that next to the Hosta was a patch of Lamium? Another perennial that I have never seen available in the wild?

I haven't decided whether to leave these endlessly-rainy-season prizes where they are or to transplant them to beds where I already have already cultivated some of their kind. But I kind of found myself cheered by the fact that I have that choice now.

YC

Enough with the whining and bitching

Some days I just want to do yoga. Especially on days when it is torentially downpouring and being outdoors is impossible. Today was one of those days. And I spent my entire morning, mourning. Bitching, moaning. Negativity. Was so depressed that I went out of the house without noticing that my shirt was on backwards.

Came home, complained some more. Tried to envision a summer with no vinyasa, just asana, and not even any inversions.

And then I just said ENOUGH.

I got on my mat and did 10 modified sun salutations (Inhale arms up, exhale fold forward, inhale look up, exhale fold forward, inhale arms up, exhale samasthiti - second five with utkatasana). Felt great. Then all of Standing - but grabbing opposite elbows in Parsvotanasana, and stabilizing myself against a wall for the two standing balancing poses, and when it came time to do the vinyasa leading to Utkatasana and the Virabadrasanas, I did the following: INhale arms up, EX fold, IN look up, EX step back into a lunge...and then a series of lunges on the one side, leading to Hanumanasana, then the other side, finished with Utkatasana and then sat down for Primary.

In between each pose (not in between sides, at least not today), I did Navasana, then crossed ankles and skootched forward for forearm plank, lowered into sphinx, then pushed back to Virasana. Then got into the next pose. When it came time for Navasana, I did Ardha Navasana in between instead of pressing up. When it came time for Bujapidasana, I got up and did a bound Parsvakonasana, then Tarasana instead of Kurmasana. Didn't thread through for Garba, but rolled back and forth in Lotus pose, and the rest of Primary was totally doable.

Did an unbound Pasasana (prayer hands), Krounchasana, Salabhasana, then Ustrasana. Then instead of Urdvha Dhanurasana, I pressed up on my forearms. Then I turned around to the wall and did Pincha against the wall (for stability...can't play with weight bearing on different parts of the hand when wearing a cast!). Then Plow, to Karna Pidasana to the Lotus version of Karna Pidasana to headstand to the Three Seated Finishing poses, minus Uth Pluthi.

And I feel good!!!

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just don't want to get all sullen about my modifications. I know that this is only temporary, and I just have to remember that...

YC

She was thin, thin, thin.

"Ruth Lauer-Manenti, a senior Jivamukti teacher, relayed the story of how she first went to Mysore to practice with Pattabhi Jois. “Sharon Gannon [director and co-founder of Jivamukti] had just come back from Mysore. She was thin, thin, thin. She looked kind of green and she had a dislocated shoulder. She said, Ruth, you gotta go. So I went the next day.”" ---- Yoga Nation

I'm not sure I understand the point of this anecdote, which was relayed at the memorial for SKPJ in NYC earlier this week. All I know is that standing where I stand right now, the prospect of a dislocated shoulder, severe weight loss and a green complexion would have me running in the opposite direction.

That said, I am working towards balance in my life. And that means not throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Ashtanga has done a lot of good for me. The negatives that I see should not define it for me, and I don't think they do.

YC

so pretty...so natural...so bye bye

Apparently, while I was off somewhere paying attention to really important things like how to get my head up my own ass while backbending and twisting at the same time, I missed the men's magazine that voted Sarah Jessica Parker the Unsexiest Woman of the Year (or of all time, not sure which).

That sucks. That truly sucks not just for her but for the rest of us when the woman being dissed looked like the photo above.

Is it any wonder that she went ahead and removed her mole and surgically stapped on some skin-colored melons to try to fit into mass media's idealized version of a hard-bodied stick figure with giant mammaries and feet that were made for walking in red-soled stiletto platforms?

Sigh. It's not her fault really, exactly. It's more like she is just trying to get by in this highly demented and mysogynistic world we live in. Sure, we could wish that she could have bucked the trend. But why should we expect that?

Oh, and speaking of boobs...looking into a whole nother procedure. The breaking of the hand has liberated me somewhat...if I can't do yoga for two months, might as well be recovering from major surgery too....Fingers crossed...this one seems like a good one if I should be so lucky to qualify...

YC

SOO depressing

WHY?!!!! WHY WHY WHY???

Why would anyone do such a thing?

YC

Existential questions

Why do you try to touch your feet to your heels in a backbend, my orthopoedic surgeon asked me.

Why do you need to push your thoracic spine into a bend when its natural form is kyphotic (curved out, not arched in)?

Why indeed?

I was asking him what I should do about my Stage I osteo-arthritic wrists, when they hurt in full wheel. His answer: don't do it when it hurts. Joints experience degeneration over time, he explained. Do you want to exacerbate it?

Hmmmm. Well, I explained, most of my teachers offer suggestions for me to deepen my backbend to get the weight off my wrists.

That was when he pulled out the big ammo: WHY?

WHY?

Why do I do this?

I do yoga to stay fit. Period. I wanted to do all of Primary without help. Check. I wanted to do the beginning of Second in order to get my backbends back after years of Primary-related neglect. Check. The rest? Hell if I know.

I explained to him that the teachers pull students into poses they can't quite do on their own. I explained that the teachers get us deeper than we otherwise might. I told him of suggestions by teacher-level cybershala students to "take the leg behind the head and PULL DOWN WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT".

WHY?

Um.

Sure, some yogis are doing the crazy poses well into their 60's and beyond. But they may well be the exception, and not the rule.

Maybe at age 43, with signs of impending arthritis in my joints and a very real limitation in my backbending ability in the form of scarring and skin-tightness due to my double mastectomy, I should just ENJOY where I am in the practice and stop striving to improve?

Maybe it is time to just say no to any form of being muscled into any pose? Like, just saying no to having my fingers pulled to my toes in Kapotasana? Because there is this other possibility that I don't seem to have ever considered, and that is that over time, some poses get easier and call for a deepening (example: paschimotanasana), but that deepening could happen naturally, as opposed to the result of a teacher yanking limbs, however artfully. That deepening could be discovered by the student finding her own hands reaching her own toes.

I am shocked by my receptivity to being essentially called a fool for buying into this manhandling in the name of "going deeper". Maybe it made sense some years ago when I was getting started, when my goal was clear: finish Primary because it is supposedly therapeutic as a gestalt, and indeed I believe it has been. But now, what IS my agenda? I don't have one really other than "get my feet to my toes in Kapo"?

But WHY? Kapo is not necessary for "yoga chikitsa" (yoga therapy - putting the body right). Kapo is just, well, it would be an ego boost for me. But that is flawed thinking.

As for Legs Behind Head poses, those will come or not if my body reaches for them. I no longer will cajole them into existence. If getting deeper in Eka Pada Sirsasana suddenly calls for me to have my leg lying softly across the backs of my shoulders, then I'll know. But until then...WHY? Why push it?

I KNEW this was happening. First I gave up Torah. Then "God". Now Ashtanga.

I want yoga to enhance my life, not to take over my life.

So there you have it. Today, I took my innaugural five-mile run down the main road between Bedford and Greenwich, in the drizzling rain, and it was lovely. No worries about my hips or hammies going tight, which is ludicrous because:

WHY? Why would it matter? Would I lose my job with Cirque du Soleil? Oh. Wait. I don't bend for a living. And I don't want to live to bend. I just want to bend, and live and age gracefully, not fighting aging as an enemy.

Later tonight, I'll watch some boob tube and do some stretches to stay supple. Reasonable goal.

YC

frazzled. broken. optimistic.

Broke my hand today doing titti c. so dont expect good grammar or spelling. it's called a boxer's fracture. funny because i have been watching Burn Notice on tv and recently heard the main character talking about all the little bones in your hand that you could break while punchin someone in the face. when i lost my balance, and broke my fall with my thumb, i heard a little snap.

like a chicken bone.

oh, snap.

of course i kept going, even did the seven headstands. even did backbends on one hand. and such good backbends too. oh well. they will still be there in 6-8 weeks. maybe even moreso, since i wont be muscling-up with vinyasas. the plan is to run and hike for exercise and streeeeeeetch...work the legs behind the head, backbends that don't involve balancing on hands...for example, dwi viparita dandadasana, which is yummy anyway...and non-binding twists, like ardha matsyandrasana.

i like challenges.

but why frazzled? because i have so much householder and other stuff to deal with. a small leak on the third floor causing mold on the second floor, a bunch of anthills i want obliterated, brian's pc needing geek-squad attention stat, a broken dishwasher (husband is doing all dishes until it is fixed, hopefully thurs, because he is steadfastly refusing to buy a new dishwasher until he can convince himself that fisher & paykel isn't really going to replace this lemon) as well as a sudden urge to redo my fucking-awful re-reconstruction and the urge is deep and distressing, a haircut appointment tomorrow morning, a new housekeeper coming tuesday morning (praise science), and now to find an orthopedic surgeon/sports medicine doctor to deal with my ongoing hand care (emergency room is only the diagnosis and quick cast).

and also: class parties, masters program orientation, playoff games (brian's team made the semi-finals...go brian!!), packing for camp (trunks leave on the 20th!!).

but as i said, i love a challenge. love when i have to make due. it may be the drama queen in me. so, i am psyched for a different kind of fitness experience this summer. whatever it is, however it turns out, i have no choice.

might as well roll with it.

yc

Rest Day, sort of, and kind of bummed

I did 10 Sun Salutations and then had to start chauffeuring around. It was suburban-driving hell. No, wait, this wouldn't happen in a normal suburbs where things are close to each other. This was sub-suburban driving hell. Rural-regional driving hell.

Anyway, I had another window and decided that I needed to prune some perennials and that I would just take the day off from yoga and start again tomorrow. I did feel a lot better after the pruning. I think the need for pruning was weighing on me. All that rain has really desicrated my gardens, leaving the peonies lying all over the ground (I knew that was coming though), the mop-head hydrangeas mopping the dirt, and the weeds...oh, the weeds...they have gone steroidal. And then, some perennials grow like weeds, like, for example, Montauk Daisies. They bloom at the tail end of the summer, and up until then, they grow and grow and grow and can get up to two feet tall or more (daisies, remember, so that's kind of weird to be so tall). Anyway, the Montauk Daisies that border my back garden were beginning to remind me of the garden equivalent of an 80's hair band, so basically, I just gave em a flat top.

Problem solved. They really look quite spiffy. Kind of like my kids with their buzz cuts. Something powerful about a well-shorn head, be it a human head or a plant head.

Even though the pruning made me feel less cranky and out of sorts, still, something is weighing on me. And let me just say, it is a good problem to have. But it sucks anyway. It's my boobs. Lately, I've been getting the feeling that they are getting worse - flatter, more striated with muscle, more misshapen and pulled by scar tissue. I'm not sure if it's my imagination or not, but I was certain that there was a strapless bra that made me look good only a couple of months ago. And now, that bra just kind of sits there and does nothing. In fact, all of my bras are too big on me now. Where did my boobs go?

I can only surmise that it is the yoga. The pulling and stretching. And there is no way that I want to stop the yoga. I remember last summer when a doctor had the audacity to suggest as much. Asshole.

I'm really honestly kind of depressed about this.

And I've begun to toy with the idea of having the implants removed and having all the scar tissues eradicated and just going with pre-pubescent flat-chested. Ribs and nibs, minus the nibs, I guess. Or, maybe with. Who knows.

I can't go back to Dr. S, the one who did the silicone reconstruction a few years ago. He really offended me, and I don't want to get into that. I don't care if he is a good plastic surgeon. Bedside manner matters to me. Besides, maybe he isn't such a good plastic surgeon for me - his work ultimately failed on me, after all.

I could go back to Dr. A, not because I necessarily want him to do the re-re-reconstruction. But because I think it might be useful, and kind of low-stress, for me to return to the original doctor who was there at the very very very beginning of all this. He was the one who gave me the original saline implants. He was present at the original surgery giving rise to the need for the implants. So, a consult with him might be useful with regard to removal of the scar tissue and at least achieving a smoother result. Plus, I can bitch to him freely, since I know him for a long time, or at least I did. It might also be fun to just turn up at his office: alive.

Wow, I feel better having just gotten all that off my chest, er, to have expressed all that turmoil.

Monday. I will call Monday. Now that I have this resolved in my head, I need to do it now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But Monday will have to do.

YC

Yesterday and today

Yesterday, a very quick Second Series practice, minus Standing Series. I know that seems odd, but I did Sun Salutations in the morning then had to stop and do other things. When I came back to the yoga later in the day, I already felt very warm and didn't feel like running through the Sun Salutations again, or any of Standing for that matter. I just got right into it. And it was fine. Some days are like that.

Today, I kind of sleepwalked into my yoga room and began. Before I knew it, I had finished Primary, and barely 50 minutes had elapsed. Had I gotten the time wrong? I was just about to do backbends when I got a phone call from upstairs (it's ridiculous, I know, but the yoga room is pretty damn soundproof, given that it is constructed partially within the house's concrete foundation) saying that the baseball game for tonight was cancelled. So, I got back to practicing, did Second up to Kapotasana plus a LOT of backbend research. I used my trusty step-ladder, and I strapped my legs, then my arms, then my legs and my arms. And I wonder if I will ever bother backbending again WITHOUT a strap.

Feeling all energized, I went outside afterwards and cleared the weeds out of two beds (that I haven't photograped yet, since neither is in flower). One is looking good - the Catmint is starting to bloom, and behind the Catmint are a cluster of pink Astilbe. Catmint loves sun, and it gets sun. But this bed peaks out from under a tree, so behind the Catmint it's all shade: hence, the Astilbe. I transplanted a whole bunch of Columbine seedlings around another shady edge of that bed. We shall see how they do. But I am spurred on by the amazing Columbines in my woodland garden. They seem to have taken off without any help on my part at all, except for the initial planting.

The other bed I tended to today is sorely disappointing. At the back are some evergreen shrubs: Boxwood alternating with Andromeda. Next to that is ivy climbing a bare wall and in front of that, a trellis with a beautiful, young Wisteria. In front of all that, I had thought that I would create a cutting bed of Zinnias, my favorite summer annual. But having planted hundreds of Zinnias, only a handful have come up. And they're all concentrated around the front edge of the bed, leading me suspect that the bed does not get enough sun for Zinnias. I'm not convinced yet, however, since it has barely been sunny at all this spring. Tomorrow, if I am still motivated, I am going to transplant a whole mass of Foxglove seedlings. Foxgloves can handle part-sun.

I also have a bunch of Hollyhock seedlings which I am not sure what to do with. I think they need sun, like Zinnias do.

Must think. Man, I am so much more obsessed with my flower gardening than I am with yoga.

I should call myself Aesthetic Gardening Chickie.

YC

Today, yesterday and the day before.

Not in that order. Sunday, I got on the mat for the first time after six days off the mat - I had a really bad cold, the worst I have had in years. I could barely get out of bed for a couple of days there, and even now, I sound terrible, even if I am feeling mostly better. Did Half Primary, then three backbends, then closing. It was fine.

Yesterday, having only done Half Primary the day before, I was hungry for more asana, but I kept it to Primary and then a lot of backbends, then closing. Uneventful except to note that my back was bendy, but my wrists are still not great. I really don't know what the problem is with my wrists, but I assume that the bendier my back is, the less the wrists will matter.

Today, I was exhausted and sore, but I got myself to the mat anyway. Since I wasn't up for all the vinyasas of Primary, and I was curious as to what it would feel like to do three different practices in three different days, I did full Second, starting immediately after Parsvotanasana. Since I was also pressed for time, I made myself just plow right through it and not do any extra prep for anything. And you know something? It was awesome.

I love how I have no particular attachment to any poses in Second Series. I can't have any taken away, and I can't be given any. I know that Kapotasana isn't happening now, or maybe ever, or maybe just now. We shall see. And I couldn't care less about Karandavasana, so I just enjoy holding Pincha Mayurasana twice, each for 10 breaths. Finally, I know that Eka Pada comes and goes, but that even if I have to hold my leg in place with one hand, it doesn't matter because I am not looking to practice the Third Series poses where you have to keep the leg there without hands. Hence, no attachment. I just don't care, the way I used to not care when I took vinyasa classes and Bikram classes, and there was no linear agenda.

No linear agenda. Very very nice.

Bottom line, it was a great practice, and it went super-fast. From start to finish, less than 60 minutes, and I was sweating my ass off (which helped immensely in Yogi Nidrasana and Tittibasana C, but not so much in Mayurasana).

YC

Last year, this year

Last Year:



This Year:



Last Year:



This Year:



Last Year:



This Year:



Last Year:




This Year:




These were taken at the same time of year - late May/early June. What a difference a year makes. There is one weird thing...in a way, I feel nostalgic for the bare, empty gardens. They had so much potential, they filled the mind with so many ideas, so much inspiration. It's like seeing my kids go from babies to teens. It's a tiny bit bittersweet...

There's more, but I need to locate the before photos...and also take some 2009 photos when some other flowers come into bloom...

YC

Gabrielle Anwar on vanity and aging...

"I don't have anything on my lips. My daughter tells me that I have horrible things written about my lips, my leathery skin, and my tits. So, whatever. My lips look big because I over-line them with lip liner because I want to look like Angelina Jolie. My skin is leathery because I love the sun and I'm not as vain as I am in love with the sun. And my tits got really big because I had a baby and then they got really small and then they got really big again because I had another baby and then they got really small and then they got really big because I had another baby and then they got really small. You know what? It's called aging. So, I guess that would be nice to clarify."

I just LOVE this woman.

YC