Yoga was an everyday meditative and physical practice in my life, for decades. Then, one day, when I was no more worried about my situation than any other day, I popped up from a yoga practice and discovered that my life wasn't what I thought it was at all. Ex-husband-related drama ensued, but let's just say that decades of skillful deception became visible with a single email.
I did not in any way connect this with yoga. What kind of sense would that make? But whenever I would try to practice after that, there would be panic. It wasn't a full-blown panic attack, but yoga stopped being pleasant. Somehow, in some limbic center of my brain, a connection between terrible things and yoga had been made. I stopped doing yoga. And here we are.
My body is stiff and ache-y. The arthritis in my hands is poorly managed, and my knees are just an embarrassment. I feel scattered and distracted. If people my age accept these feelings as the normal developments of an aging body and mind, then seriously.... I am super sorry. But I just can't go there with you. I know that yoga gets me around at least some of that.
Yesterday, for no particular reason, I accepted the invitation from an acquaintance to check out a new yoga studio in town. I, who at one time had so many yoga mats that my daughter put me on a mat-diet, had to go buy a mat before class. That was weird. I almost left when the teacher revealed herself to be a former student of mine. Cripes. But there were only six people in the class, so slipping out was pretty much not an option.
The universe had conspired. The invitation came at the right time. I couldn't leave once I got there. And all went well. The experience had no panic. There weren't even any idle thoughts of that terrible time. There was something resembling calm, and it's been a long time since I felt that.
Which is not quite the same thing as saying that my conscious mind was still. Oh My Heavenly Days. Apparently my physical and cognitive non-fidgeting skills need a little polish-up. As my monkey-mind chattered away at me, I realized that this must be what it feels like to be dis-connected from one's body. I thought of Sir Ken Robinson's amusing claim that academics are profoundly dis-embodied, thinking of their bodies as simply the vehicle for getting their brains to the next meeting.
I never thought that applied to me. Yet, I clearly have not been living a life of yogic balance - not by a long shot. I think I've been using my body subconsciously/on purpose to distance myself from people and things that frighten me.
The thing about yoga is that it invites me to be kinder to my body, to celebrate what it can do -whatever that is. My body is neither my adversary nor my protection from scary things. It's me, just as much as my brain is. I need to stop seeing myself as separate parts and remain in conversation with ALL of me. So, I'll go back to yoga.
Does that make ANY sense?
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