theme and variations

Hello, dear readers. It's been a while since I've been able to write anything -- about a week.

I had an Amtrak adventure through the Sierra Nevada mountains, Nevada desert, and all the way into Salt Lake City. My one morning in the salty town was an experience worthy of its own post, so that is forthcoming. For now, I want to focus on a theme and variations which have come to the forefront of my trip.

The theme of self-discovery and growth has been ever present in this trip; it was one of my main objectives and intentions for this month of in-between-ness. I have zero intentions of reaching some sort of "completion" of this, oh no, I'm just curious and desiring of expanding the sense of self and the direction, especially in regards to the "next step" kind of questions that keep popping up.

There have been so many *things* happening all of the time, and so many wonderful people to share them with throughout the last couple of years. Extroversion has always come across stronger my introversion, go figure, but just this year something changed. I realized that I am that strange kind of person who is deeply introverted, and who needs to protect that, in order to remain so extroverted.

My experience with yoga over the course of this trip has allowed me that special sacred space for the cultivation of a whole, introverted and extroverted combined. Yoga practice is such an inward, thoughtful and breath-ful activity, and yet can be done in a cathedral with a hundred new faces, or by oneself on the living room carpet. Last night, I did yoga with three other women on a raft paddled by my oldest brother. We floated down the Snake River in Wyoming, from Wilson to South Park, with views of the Tetons in the distance, and the occasional bald eagle nest and blue heron spotting. As the sun sank, we clasped each others hands, seated in a close circle, and sang out "OMs" that rang throughout the night, calling out to the almost-full and brightly shining moon.

This reads a bit like a fantasy-fiction novel, something my 15-year-old self would stay up late on a summer's night to read, with a cup of jasmine tea. But, it's just a simple re-telling of what happened last night. I have the dirt on my feet and levity in my heart to prove it, if you're wondering.

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My very first day on the trip ended with yoga practice. It was in the cathedral, mentioned before with so many people. I'll admit that as I walked in I was a bit hesitant about doing yoga for the first time in months with so many people there to see. They all looked so damn trendy and beautiful and Northern California. But there's something peaceful about laying down your mat, taking child's pose, and breathing in and out. I came out of the pose, glanced around, and caught a few people smiling over at me. Everyone seemed to just be glad to be there. My friends showed up, the class began, and I let the focus move inward and outward, in and out, breathing and moving. Live, improvised music filled the cathedral space with searching and straining, and releasing and sighing. I held uplifted poses and trained my eyes on the faraway stained glass windows -- I looked down to my feet and rooted myself to the earth.

Some years ago, I was living in Austria and made friends with a man named Paul who ran a lovely shop on the corner near my room. We would have tea, which became tea and coffee and more tea and sweets, and he invited me to a yoga practice. It was not the Western athleticized yoga, to which I was accustomed, but yoga focused on breath, energy, and relation to the other people in the room. It was an eye-opening experience, and the lovely women even shared their chai recipe with me, which I still make. Afterward, Paul and I were visiting in the shop, and he told me that I was a person "of the air" constantly moving, captivated by possibility, and having the ability to float off to faraway, wonderful places. Paul urged me to strengthen my connection to the earth, so that I would never lose my grounding.

I don't think it is a coincidence that years later, the words from a therapist that would get through to me would be her suggestion to place my feet firmly on the ground, and press downward. She asked me to try doing this once or twice a week, anywhere. At work, at my dorm-room desk, anytime anxiety, fear, or nervous energy was making me unable to focus or calm down. Taking that minute to think about my feet, toes, and the substance underneath them was a bridge returning to earth. This year, after calling 9-1-1 when a bike commuter was flipped into the middle of Massachusetts Avenue by a man in a parked car opening his door, I began to run on adrenaline. I didn't mean to, but whenever I started to feel like I was in the middle of doing something important, life-or-death important, my heart would start to beat and I would get this feeling that my lungs were moving up and up and up, and that I couldn't stop it. It had an incredible effect on my work, creativity, and practicing, but I wasn't able to go to sleep or rest or take care of myself. I got extremely sick a few weeks before Christmas and was forced to stop moving for almost five days. I had spent months not listening to my body, pushing and pushing and thriving off of so much adrenaline but never stopping to rest or let it subside. It doesn't work, to live floating on that kind of energy. You have to have something to ground you. I had no idea I needed that.

Yoga has become for me a way to dance in between the earth and the air. It is a slow-moving dance, an expression of love for myself and for those around me. It's a commitment to staying grounded and to taking care of myself, but it's also the development of the power to fly. Training my vision on the setting sunlight streaming through stained glass windows made my whole being rise up in thanks. Fixing my gaze on the bright moon to hold me steady in an uplifted and outstreched pose released a laugh of delight and wonder at how glorious it is, to stay still. 


*****
I'm hoping the variations will continue. Maybe it will lead to yoga on the Amtrak train, or yoga at the top of a mountain after a day's climb. Sunrise yoga definitely needs to happen, but sunset may still be my favorite. Believe me, I slept like a rock afterward.

-lab