3 posts tagged “yoga”
Amazing the difference a day can make! I don't know why I forget time and again the most obvious cures for the dark cloud ickiness...Ignoring the elephant didn't help, so I took a cue from the Hindu's and worshiped him as a deity. I gave him a bath (shower), anointed him with oils (Nivea hand cream), and then brought him to the garden for a day spent digging in the dirt.
The elephant has been appeased.
There was also a sprinkle of the usual Miss Scotch luck to lighten the mood, in that I filed my taxes and discovered a fat 4-figure refund is on the way...Cha Ching! Also, made an appointment to speak with a counselor at the California College of the Arts re: the furniture program tomorrow. Score! All in all, things are looking up. With the help of our friend's at Vick's, makers of Nyquil, I was able to sleep until 10:00 am. Awoke fresh as a daisy, cleaned the house, did yoga, meditated, and worked in the yard all day. I also managed to do all the laundry, including the bedding, and take one of those decadent hot showers where everything manages to get shaved and the hair washed & conditioned.
A minor miracle the hot water never ran out.
Lastly, I would like to direct your attention to the fact that it is Taco Tuesday, the most holy of weekday's celebrated at the casa ScotchPants. Just waiting for the man to get home to get this party started. Rudy is wearing his little poncho and the Christmas lights are aglow. Thank you to all for your kind words and encouragement. I don't know what I would do without you.
Dear Elephant in the Room,
Hi! What is it that you so urgently needed to discuss with me at 6:00 this morning? Before we begin, I would like to graciously thank you for extending your office hours, though it is still dark out - the regular 4:00 am wake-up call really wasn't working for me. Okay, you have my full attention now Mr. Elephant, what may I help you with?
Oh, you just wanted to remind me that I don't have a job, my bank account is dwindling, and what? I'm 28-years-old facing certain failure at life. Really? Why so harsh? I really don't think I'm a failure - I just like to joke about it sometimes with that self-deprecating humor that everyone...Oh, you're serious? Oh. Not kidding. Okay, then.
Let's see - when was the last time we had these early morning conversations? I remember, it was the Summer of 2003 and I had just graduated from college. I moved to a rural outer island of Hawaii and couldn't find work. We often woke together to peruse the internet for jobs abroad and work-from-home opportunities. Those were good times - the gripping fear, soul-crushing doubts I would ever amount to anything better than a valium-soaked housewife, and most of all - the insomnia. If it weren't for that part, I believe I could actually ignore you, Mr. Elephant. But, as you know, I am a champion sleeper and this restlessness will not be tolerated.
So, let's stop wasting time here: You think I won't be able to find a woodworking position in the Bay Area? You think I won't amount to anything in this field without Frank's tutelage? You're doubtful I will find a Furniture Design program without further accruing major student loan debt?
All valid concerns, Senior Elephante. I suppose, there is a chance that nothing will work out for me here - but is that really the likely scenario? I mean, I have no doubt that this is what I am meant to do in life, so surely, something must pan out eventually, right? Perhaps I simply haven't tried hard enough - I mean, these things don't always work out overnight (though admittedly for me, they often do).
Is it a back-up plan you want me to formulate? Because you know it's not like me to settle for anything short of perfection. Would you be satisfied if I simply tried harder? You want me to call these woodworking folks rather than emailing? Shall I meditate on this opportunity unfolding before me? Or do you simply get-off on watching me pace the house alone in the dark?
Fine. I will take this early morning opportunity and keep seeking my next woodworking position. But, hey - just in case you are friendly with The Universe - may I also put in a request for a yoga guru to enter my life and guide me along in my practice? Oh, and the woodworker/employer and the guru don't have to be the same person, but that would be awfully convenient, huh? Just saying...
Yours,
Miss Scotch
Ouch. I'm cranky and I think I pulled a butt muscle. Last week, while walking the dog, I happened upon a yoga studio that recently opened in the neighborhood. A cursory glance revealed most classes run a steep $20 per session, with one student-led class on Saturday for a mere $5. In desperate need of a decent stretch, I decided to give the student class a shot.
Now, I'm a strong believer that all yoga is inherently good - but there is one school of thought that really tries my patience - that is the Iyengar school; this particular studio's specialty, of course. I have several bones to pick with B.K.S. Iyengar - the first of which is the school's (self-determined) exclusive right to claim "certification" for its yoga instructors. Surely, the yogis of ancient India would smirk at this notion. In my humble opinion, this is a scam. Paying money to the Iyengar franchise makes you no more or less qualified to teach yoga than simply honing the craft on your own time. Secondly, I dislike Iyengar for it's heavy reliance on props. Surely, the greatest yogis didn't buy spongy bricks, chairs, ropes, or any number of contraptions to master their practice - they barely even wore clothes.
But even still, I entered the class with an open mind. I was hoping that, perhaps, the classes I had attended before were just bad apples. Upon entering the room, however, my complaints were immediately validated. I staked out my little corner, and sat in lotus pose with the rest of the class. As soon as I began to quiet my mind, I was interrupted by the instructor who announced loudly, "Excuse me. You may find it helpful to sit on some blankets." I looked around and noticed that, indeed, everyone else had their buttocks elevated. I said, "Do I have to?" This came out much snottier than I had intended - but the instructor continued unphased, "Ummm..well, everyone else is." I didn't press the issue - I didn't mention what would happen if everyone else decided to jump off a bridge, but already, I knew this was going to be a rough session.
Yoga, when practiced with grace and mastery, is not unlike a dance. One moves rhythmically with the breath, in continuous motion. It is a dance that builds strength, flexibility, self-discipline, and beauty. If yoga had an awkward first kiss with the boy next door, that would be the class I attended yesterday. Stop and start. Stop and start. Fumble. Sweat. Like this? Am I doing it right? Fumble. Sweat.
It was a clusterfuck of ineptitude. Student teacher on fumbling beginner. Every few poses there was a lady in the class who would stop - complain about some ailment loudly to the rest of us - then demand more blankets or spongy things to prop her ankle or wrist or whatever it was that was bothering her. The instructor, of course, obliged her by stopping the class and procuring said item. Instead of, I don't know, telling her to breath into the pain and to let her body do the healing work itself. This is yoga. Offering spongy crutches to folks that disrupt the whole class defies the very purpose of the practice - which is to promote the flexibility to remain in seated meditation for long periods.
Despite all the whining, I am happy to report that I am pleasantly sore today and my body is reporting that what we did yesterday in between folding chairs and putting ropes away, was in fact, work. Tomorrow I have my sights set on a new studio, this one is an unfortunate commute from the house, but is running a $30 for 30 days special. Also, it is not an Iyengar studio. However, complaining about the high cost of yoga classes may be the next frontier for discussion.
