smile, breathe

Yoga 1 week later, same circumstances, didn't leave the house all day, it was hot outside, I was feeling down, but 10 minutes until it would have been too late to leave for class, I just convinced myself to go because it just does me so good (so, soo good) and Krista, well she is just such a great teacher it made my  decision that much easier.

It was 96..7…8...9* degrees outside on this June afternoon.
The room inside was just as hot.

Vinyasa, for all intensive purposes it means flow.

Imagine, move and hot, move in hot, then move and hot, and then more move in hot: 

an imagine puddle of sweat was happening.

It started quickly and progressed from a plop..plop..plop, to a constant stream. 

 My mind chuckled recalling wanting to be in a pool just the other day and realizing that I got my wish:

I was in a pool...of my own sweat.

Krista, she told a story to set the intention for the class - she spent the earlier part of her afternoon in the Mission District, and having to use the restroom, found the closest one in a seedy bar a few doors down the block. The bathroom walls covered in ink and graffiti, the messages scrawled not to be repeated in class save one: Smile, you never know it might change someone else's day.

I haven't been smiling a lot, really at all.

I took that message as personal and to heart.

Another reminder: with the good, the bad, the ugly, let it all out, get through it, open your heart.

"Bow to your practice, bow to your friends,

and from an old lady, when you find real, genuine friends, keep them."

Oh that message, the message of clinging to, treasuring, and holding your friends close,

that one spoke straight to the heart of me.

It was a really tough class. I felt really strong and then I felt really weak.
It was a battle, but that was fine today because warrior pose is my favorite

and there was a lot of warrior flow today.

Standing there, feet planted intentionally, arms outstretched, staring down my arm towards my fingertips like I was staring down barrel of a gun, watching the sweat glisten off my arm, over my shoulder, past the tattoos, rolling to my forearm, and then dripping down off my elbow onto the floor.

I felt strong standing there like that.

As we came to the end, she said this is a special class "my lambs, because this is my last for this time slot."

I sunk a little bit.

She said "it's too hot and I am too old to keep teaching in this hot of a class, my mother was younger than me when she passed and I have to listen to my body."

I can understand that.

When I looked up, I noticed 3 or 4 other women crying, and I know what that feels like,

'cause I come to yoga for the same reasons they do.

Much to our comfort and to stop our tears, Krista assured us she would still be teaching Sunday, Mellow Flow. Church Flow, that's what she calls it, and that's what I call it too.
It'll go on, they'll be another great teacher for the midafternoon class and I'll keep going to Church Flow,

but just when I thought this class would be an easy go of it, it never is.

Be with your breath.

Just keeps reminding me of the birthday present that I am going to get and all of the moments in life when you have to remember to breath, and that really if you can't breath, you can't live.

If you're heart stops beating, your lungs stop pumping.
Even while you're heart can still pump, your lungs can stop breathing and although we've found ways to work around that, lack of breath is lack of life.

It's the painful and deliberate consideration of compassion family members have to make when they have loved ones at the end. Do we let them live on machines?
What kind of quality of life is that?
We've had those conversations in my family,
more frequently now as the older generation continues to get older

Very, very recently, I know what the pain of that decision looks like, what it feels like, what it does to a family. The decision to "unhook" the machines and let the last few breaths come
slow, unsteady, but natural until the last one.

I hear the words echo in my head from a memorial service I just attended a few weeks prior:

"It was my privilege to be there for my precious baby to take her first breath, and it was my privilege to be there, on Mother's Day, to hold her in my arms as she took her last."

The end of breath is the end of life.

Well, life here, in this body, as we know it tangibly.

Still thinking, of all the times you're nervous and someone said to you, your mom,
your coach, your trainer, your best friend "just take a deep breath"

All those times I've said it, hundreds.of.thousands.of.times now over the.course.of.my.10-year.career:
"just take a deep breath"
"just calm down and then answer me"
"just remind them to breathe"
"are they breathing?"
"can you feel, see, or hear any breath coming out?"
"just keep monitoring their breathing and let me know if anything changes"

Labor, bringing life into the world, what do they teach you?

Breathe, you have to breathe, breathe through the contraction, breathe through the pain.

So any question I had about my birthday present has been put to rest.

Just breathe.

Smile and just breathe.

back in the saddle

Hot Yoga ...it is my church these days.

Unlike church, spandex and piled high hair is the outfit and showing off your tattoos is the way to make friends with your neighbors, not turn them off.  Body art is the norm, it is the expression of you.  In this setting, it is a conversation piece and a nod of approval.

I go for my mind, for my body, and when I most expect it and when I least expect it, I end up being there because my heart needs it the most.  It's hard these days to quiet your mind, to focus on anything.  It's hard to be still and quiet enough to hear the sound of your own breathing, of the sound of your own life.  I go for the quiet, for the dim light of the room, for the escape from the cell phone, for the heat, for the pressure, for the encouragement, for the practice of doing something simply for me.

In a slippy towel/downward dog "incident", I injured my shoulder in class about two months ago and hadn't been back until today.  Interesting that my yoga, my practice, my church was missing from my life for the last two months, and oh so much has happened in that time frame.  When I stepped into the candlelit room, I instantly knew that every little bit of the Scarlett O'Hara that told me to get up, get dressed, stop moping around, and get back in the yoga saddle, was right.  My inner Scarlett O'Hara knows what's up and she doesn't mess around.

(My picture of the day: the yoga scene in the middle of the room, it brings a soft focus to my practice)


The teacher, Krista, when she turned around, smiled at me, walked right over, told me how good it was to see me, and then she gave me a hug - a real, genuine hug, a lingering "embrace" - dare I say she held me? Dare I say I haven't been given a hug like that in a long time? I remember a hug from last Summer in a humid driveway that lingered, I've replayed that one in my head many times over.  I remember an embrace from last month in a church before the start of a memorial service by a man who I looked up to as a father figure who simply held me close and through choked up words thanked me for always holding his daughter near and speaking her name freely. I remember two years ago almost exactly, my father holding me tight in the living room of our shared house after I blew my lid for the umpteenth time and stood my ground about how our relationship was spiraling down and out of control and he promised me that he'd work on it. Hugs, embraces, being held, they don't come often or freely in my world.  Sad?  Maybe.  At least I'm not clueless to it.  Note to self: work on that.

It occurred to me after class, as I sat sweaty in my car how much we need human touch and that it's ok to need it.  It's ok to be someone that needs, it's not a sign of weakness, it's a sign of strength.  Holding everyone at bay, the world at bay, an arm's length away, it not right, its not healthy, its not love, its not life.  I had this exact conversation with a friend the other day about how it's ok to need someone else, their love, their strength, their touch.  There is a difference between being needy and needing someone.  The lines get blurry, but the need to be held should never be criticized.

There are always a series of mantras, reminders repeated throughout the class:

"Why are you here?"
"Remember your breath"
"Soften - listen to all those parts of your body of your mind that you need to soften and let them"
"Let go of that which does not serve you"

My mind wandered, and it came back, and it wandered, and it came back again...I was sweaty and hurting and not able to keep my balance, out of practice, and out of step, struggling to maintain my composure, forgetting to breathe. Not unlike how my life has waxed and waned over the last few years.  But I kept on going, breaking when I needed to, catching my breath face down in the mat, coming up to laugh at myself when I looked back down again and my own Shroud of Turin was painted in sweat -  the outline of my face soaked into my orange yoga towel - eyes, nostrils, big exhaling lips, and the outline of my heart shaped face, all in a sweaty shilouette.  Even in struggle, sweat, and self-reflection, there is always humor.  Always.

Finally towards the end of class, in pigeon pose, which I am paying for dearly, and with this hauntingly beautiful song reverberating off the walls, I let it go. I let it all out.  This song was another "love at first sound" song - another piece of music that moved me instantly.  Just a few notes in, I found myself not quite sobbing, but face down into my forearms, choking on my breath.  I just cried.  "Let go of all that does not serve you" echoing quietly in my mind.  I knew what was not serving me, what was taking up my thoughts and my worries and my fears.  I knew that I had to do something about it.  I knew that it wouldn't be easy and that something had changed.  Call it intuition, but I knew that I had to "let it go".

So, skipping the grocery store, and the to-do list for the night at home with a good friend, I ended up still sweaty in my yoga clothes, in front of my computer, unintentionally, but knowing that it would not be a short hello, and started the conversation of what I knew would end up being some kind of letting go.  THE conversation as it's been so aptly named.

Had I have not gone to class, I might still be needing to have that conversation, but having gone to class, it was a reminder that I have to be in the practice of letting go that which does not serve me.  Fear, anxiety, words unspoken, hate, loss, curiosity, unanswered questions, regrets, remorse, I have to let them out.  I have to let them go if they're ever going to be replaced by things that are their opposite - bravery, calm, peace of mind, love, clarity, thankfulness, and forgiveness.

I don't think we are ever truly rid of the people that come into our lives.  I don't think that I've seen the end of that conversation.  I don't think that you can be impacted by someone and forget about them. Even if they leave this life - like my sweet Catie girl.  I will always remember her for all the sweet, quiet, calm lessons she taught us all every single day.  But in this moment, with the current circumstances, there are something that I have to let go.   They do not serve me now.  They may serve me down the road when there's more time, more clarity, more peace - when trust proves that I did the right thing by listening to my sweating, sobbing, distractedly clear heart.

"Let go of that which does not serve you."

Namaste

Stretching forward, all the way forward, slight bend in my knees, hands planted flat on the ground, head hanging low, feeling EVERYthing stretch, stretching further and deeper with every inhale, knowing there was nothing to be done about the stream of sweat running literally running off my forehead, down my nose down into a puddle in front of me, I just had to give it all up. This was no little drip, this was impressive. I know it sounds gross, but it's nothing short of rewarding to walk into that room and feel the heat, literally and physically feel the heat, and know that I have managed to talk myself through the mental game of wanting to just give up and walk out half a dozen times already. But I don't. I don't want to walk out, despite the heat and the secondary lapses of feeling light headed. This is one of the most serious physical challenges I have ever put myself through and I'm loving it.

Tonight, sleep deprived, back already sore from life, lifting, moving, being on my feet all day, just doing my best to keep up and push my limits and work out some of that deep settled in scar tissue from years and years of bad posture and self-neglect, I find myself trying to dissect the playlist on sound alone...I instantly recognized this song by John Hiatt, more for myself than anyone else. A reminder to have a little faith in myself.

In the dim room, breathless, sweating beyond my control, shoulders burning, legs shaking, despite the fact that there was a room full of other people each concentrating on their own pose, nothing less than being forced to just concentrate on my breathing and let my mind wander into thinking about just me, there's a song (that for the life of me, I can't find online right now) that has gotten me twice now. No one any the wiser, lost in having to just give in and work through the challenge of, I started to cry, tears and sweat running down my face. No point in keeping it in or trying to ignore it.

From the instructor "Listen to your breath. Feel your heartbeat. Breathe in strength and beauty, release all the negative, it does not serve you now. It does not serve you in this moment."

I released the long, sleepless day, the previous weekend's feeling of being disposable, the feeling of being locked up and having no place to call home, the worry about not being good enough to capture the beauty I see all around me, the thought that I've wrecked my body in a few short years, that I'll never be able to get this pose, that I'll never find love, wondering how I'm going to pay for all of it, the bad feelings, the shitty things I've said, the shitty things I want to still say, the feelings of hopelessness and insecurity, I let it all out, sweat it out, exhaled it out, cried it out. Just let it out and in that last few moments of class, cooling down, eyes closed, legs crossed, focusing on the steady in and the steady out of air into my lungs, EVERYthing was peaceful. EVERYthing was calm. EVERYthing was right for me in that moment.

Namaste.
"Let it be."
"I bow to you."
"The spirit in me reflects the spirit in you."

Meet the Girls

Otherwise known as, Lauren does yoga.

The class requirements are very minimal:

pay the fee
sign the the waiver
bring your own mat
wear comfortable clothing

In the last couple of weeks, I've stretched my chi, found my balance, and learned about the asanas. I've posed like a dog, a cat, a cow, and a serpent, but not a camel. Apparently, that's for the advanced class...oh, how I can't wait.

Yoga is so the opposite of me. It's calm, balanced, and routine. I don't love it and I don't hate it. The teacher is the epitome of yoga teachers. She is petite and bubbly, she can hold her body up bent like a pretezel on one arm, and she breaths like Darth Vader.

My favorite part of the class is the beginning stretch and the ending stretch. Who would not want to calmly sit cross legged in a slightly warmish room with such soothing instructions, "find your place of calm, a place of safety, let your thoughts wander to the physical realm, feel spots of tension, and release them."

Well, apparently, my physical realm took that too seriously. As we sat like Indians and centered ourselves, rocking our hips to a more balanced place on the mat, listening to soft chants and faint bells tolling, I happened to open my eyes just slightly with my head bent down to notice...half an aeriola hanging out of my comfort clothing. The method to my dressing madness was that a stretchable tube top under my tank top would be better suited than a constricting sports bra. Uhhh, think again.

Luckily, everyone else was in their place of calm (probably hoping that they wouldn't fart or queef when we launced into downward-dog-seprent-half-sun-docked-boat pose) and didn't notice that I was half nude sitting in the room.

*Big Sigh*

Prayer for enlightment:

OM
ASATOMA SADGAMAYA
TAMASOMA JYOTHIRGAMAYA
MRITHYORMA AMRUTANGAMAYA
OM SHANTI, SHANTI, SHANTI

Translation:

Lead us from darkness to light
From ignorance to truth
And from death to eternity
Let peace prevail everywhere
(unspoken) Let Lauren's breasts not hang out in the rec room at the downtown senior center on Thursday nights