As I finally broke, I succumbed to a state of paralysis, a state of peculiar contemplation. I reached a state of being broken within which letting go suddenly came naturally, with no one, nowehre and nothing to hold on to any longer. And it became easy to let go of everyone and everything. For a moment, it appeared easy to let go of even life itself, contrary to all existential compulsion. But first, there were two more days. And what comes next, who knows?!
* * * * *
Sunday. Day 2 of building a yoga practice at home.
The first thing my lover does when he gets up in the morning, is make himself a coffee. I heard him from the yoga chamber, where I'd snuk into, while everyone was sleeping, for the first time. For the second time, I set out the new black yoga mat with the golden mandala moon-phases running along the middle. I laid it down in the center of the small room facing the window with a view of the Eastern sky and a fairy-tale, baby-green, spring-time lanscape of forests, the park on the hill with giant trees, old houses with solid slanted roofs, and the train tracks. In this position, I would have plenty of space to stretch out the arms without hitting the walls of a chamber barely big enough to accomodate a single bed. Thus, a room deemed just right for yoga, just big enough for a mat and a static stretching body in sporadic motion.
A train rolled by as I began Sun Salutation A. And I tolerated my distracted mind. But my body felt particularly stiff that morning. It felt heavy, acid and sore from the workouts of the previous days. A few repetitions at the machines for training abdominal muscles, the transverse and obliques, plus yoga class with my teens, after a long walk to the river in the morning, on Friday. At the gym on Saturday morning, European Tae Bo beat up our bodies in its customary way. Sitting in the sauna wasn't enough to sweat out the pain, nor was the body appeased by rinsing it off with ice-cold water thereafter. Even my seventeen-year-old son, the one with the most endurance and strength finally felt fatigued, after weeks of working out regularly at the gym and taking long walks around the landscape.
On Tuesday evening, my teens went to Fitboxing without me. It's a class characterized by a tough and charismatic female trainer with otherwise only men. My daughter trained with her brother, and I felt bad for not being there to train with lady coach like the week before - as if she weren't used to being the only woman amidst men, a condition I know all too well here in conservative Switzerland, where traditional gender role expectations prevail. But I had gotten my period for the third time in six weeks and was bloody exhausted. Have I had my period on average every two weeks since we moved here because of stress or perimenopause? Who knows? But it sucks, it literally sucks the energy out of me. Yoga Mistress Geta Iyengar thinks that bleeding gets rid of excess heat in the body. I'm left to wonder whether it's a good thing. Perhaps, all these changes are so exhausting, that the body wants to force rest through blood.
Sun Salutation A: once.
Sun Salutation B: once.
My feet never felt so heavy on my hands in Pada-Hastasana (foot-hand position).
Then, Lover peeked into the room sweetly saying "beautiful woman" while I struggled in Utthita-Parsvakonasana (extended side-angle). And I snapped at him as he triggered my ADHD. "What the fuck!? You know how hard it is for me right now to even get on the mat?" He understood, I hope, and left. I feld kind of bad, especially as I feared that my mind had already succumbed to the interruption.
But I managed to push through Prasarita-Padottanasana A (spread-leg stretched-out position). I widened my legs enough to feel my hair on the floor as my yearning to get my head on the mat and lift my body into the air expressed itself. I woefully noticed that especially my lower back is so awfully tight. All this muscle fatigue makes me feel heavy and incapable. But I have also begun to notice changes over the weeks in the condition of my muscular structure, as I'm determined to get ripped and develop portruding abs for the first time in my life. I am also curious to explore what muscularity might do to a yoga practice.
However, I confess that the extent of my motherly physique fills me with doubts. Not to mention this perimenopausal affliction womanhood reserves for the middle-aged! Alas, I'll keep trying still, pushing the weekly work-outs with my ambitious kids, who believe in me like no one else, who love me unconditionally and hold me to account ruthlessly.
* * * * *
I find myself questioning the wisdom of "beginner's mind" lately. It's supposed to be a very zen-y notion that caputres the importance of having a non-judgemental, open and fresh mind or something like that. But it feels more like a con concept, an empty promise, a fool's way out. What is beginning without knowledge? What is an unpracticed mind? A student without a teacher, what wisdom will they find? What is choice without judgement? What is intelligence without a context? Is experience unkind? Putting and end to illusions and delusions takes devotion, training and perseverance. Stubborn is the meditator who continuously returns their attention to the breath, and persistent the yogis and yoginis who pour Prana all over their mat as they emulate death.
(to be continued)
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