I walked into class tonight at the height of stress. Bad day in Bedrock. But surprisingly, it didn't follow me across the floor to where I set up my mat. Maybe it's the soft lighting, soft voices, soft music of the studio all in contrast with the harshness of Corporate America that melts anxiety away. I don't know. But never did I need a quiet practice more than tonight.
The class was small enough that we could practice with the wall and we started out with our backs on the floor and our feet up the wall. I hyper-extend my knees and my elbows. A chiropractor once told me that I have flexi-joints. My knee caps float, I pop and crack spontaneously...none of this however in such a way that I'm abnormally flexible. Just enormously clumsy. So, I tend not to be able to straighten my legs properly because I throw my knees too far back. Taking Angela's advice, I've started engaging my quadriceps each time I feel like I'm hyper-extending to try to get used to how it feels to stand up straight. Propping my legs against the wall helped me visualize what's going on in the legs because my knees can't go beyond the wall. It's interesting when you've been doing something to yourself for 28 years. It's the little things we don't pay attention to that have such a big impact.
A pose that is quickly becoming my favorite is Pigeon: one knee bent out in front and the other leg straight out behind you. With all these hip-opening poses, I can definitely see the damage the car accidents have done. The left hip is twisted for a start and was jammed twice at high speed. But I don't believe it has to stay that way. It has already opened considerably since October. I just keep talking to it (motivating it...yelling at it) and breathing into it. I just don't accept that how things are is how they have to stay. It seems that everything in yoga is aimed at meeting my specific needs. I'm sure everyone feels that way because we each seek our own brand of healing. Tonight we used the wall to open up the shoulders. The left shoulder was also jammed. Six months of chiropractic/massage therapy didn't unjam it. And occasionally, the arm still goes numb in the middle of the night. But after tonight, I have another tool for my bag. Walk the arm up the wall to 12 o'clock then to 11 and 10 and 9. Crazy pain. But a stretch I haven't tried. One, however, that I think is essential to my practice.
I should mention that I don't take medication. None. Not even Tylenol. A lot of people with Arthritis and Ulcerative Colitis are on medication and need to be. I have been blessed. I am able to control the diseases with diet, exercise and nutritional supplements. According to the doctors, I'm supposed to be taking 9 Asacol a day to the detriment of my hair, kidneys and liver. So, I took the risk and stopped taking it. But I knew I had to drastically change my lifestyle. That's why I've given up meat and obsess over fiber, why I eat apples for the Boron they contain. I'm a health nut because I lost my health once. And I know that you never fully get it back. But what you do get is a greater appreciation for what you do have and what you are able to do.
My quads are wicked sore from Camel Flow last night and even more so from Downward Facing Dog up the wall tonight. But I'm getting better at toe stretch. I can almost flatten my hands on the mat. My hamstrings are opening ever-so-slightly. My heart is opening and releasing and apparently that spontaneous angry cry session last night over a momentarily unattainable back bend was a good thing. It was a release from deep within. I like that explanation a lot better. So, I'll go with it. And I see evidence of it. Tonight when I closed my eyes, I saw a very strange image in my head when I was dedicating my practice to the uplifting of another human being. It was a shadow running very fast and almost throwing itself to the ground. It was so tangible, I almost felt my head move with it. If my eyes had been open, I would've gotten dizzy. I don't know what it was or what it means. I just observed it and let it be. This in itself is a victory. I analyze everything. As Ellen Burstyn said in Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood, "I chew on something until all the flavor's gone out of it and then, I stick it in my hair." This too can change. Can't is not a word I embrace this year (and maybe ever again). I'd rather think I can and be proven wrong than think I can't and be proven right. The me of six months ago wouldn't have thought I'd be contemplating handstands and balances and back bends much less attempting and semi-accomplishing them. But the me of today thinks that _____________ is possible. I just have to fill in that blank.
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