Streaking, Streaming, Flowing, Flooding -- Vis, Croatia

The room is warm. Outside is wet. My brain is foggy. The water is simmering. The French Press is full of coffee grounds.

Delicious.

My mug is empty. Three flies and one moth rest in various stages of decay on the windowsill to my right. Next to my empty mug. The water is boiling.

The moment.

A moment ago I was practicing a mindfulness reading for meditation this morning. A moment from now, I will most likely be reading the mindfulness meditation to a bouncy yoga teacher from Portland (who only eats happy chickens), a sensitive fashion designer from Milan (who eats no chicken) and a soft-spoken biologist from Germany (who lives in Sweden). 

This moment.

Raspberry red sends rivulets of color from the teabag into the hot water. Streaking, streaming, flowing, flooding.

Don't think menstruation of the goddess, don't think menstruation of the goddess, don't think --

There's a cat that roams around the villa at night. It howls and yowls and crawls and prowls.

Milda thinks it's a ghost.

Mario accepts that it's a cat.

I choose to believe that Domagoj has left half his aura here to haunt us all.

To make sure we don't corrupt his yoga with our hollow, shallow western interpretation.

He makes yoga into a religion. 

Small bubbles shoot to the surface of my tea, joining groups of bubbles and then dissolving (if that's what bubbles do). Smells of berries and lemon and herbs waft to my nose. Steam heats my forehead.

Jurate sleeps behind me. Softly, softly.

Footsteps in the corridor. Slamming doors, creaking floors, chipper voices, faintly humming refrigerators.

Next moment.

I'll teach two hours of Thai massage in a minute or two.

Followed by sixty minutes of deep opening yoga.

Followed by thirty minutes of play.

Should anyone care to join.

Last moment.

Meditation on mindfulness. Meditation on breath. Meditation on release through writing. 

A seventy-five minute vinyasa flow session.

Jurate wakes and rises behind me. Softly, softly.

Puts on her shoes.

Slowly, slowly.

I think I broke her in yoga this morning.

In part of the last moment. 

Now.

The room is dark.

A new cup of tea rests to my left.

don't think -- 

I don't.

My body is tired.  

I collapsed into a heavy hour-long coma after my two hours of teaching Thai.

I love giving massages... but they leave me feeling so drained.

Jurate didn't join me for yoga this afternoon.

I'm sure I broke her this morning. 

The group was a hard crowd.

No moaning, no groaning, no laughter or deep sighs of pleasure.

Just,

"Is this okay for you?"

"Yeah... it's okay."

...

Massage should be delicious.

Like coffee.

And bacon.

Not just "okay".

Maybe that's why I'm drained. Teaching massage to people who react like it's bacon makes teaching massage almost as nice as eating bacon.

Teaching massage to people who react like it's iceberg lettuce makes teaching massage almost as nice as eating... iceberg lettuce.

Which is significantly less nice than bacon.

Menstruation of the Goddess -- Vis, Croatia

I'm starting this post from the loft area of the villa housing Mario, Milda, Jurate and me.Thick red carpet contrasts the honey wood floor. I prop myself up against a gazillion little pillows on the white corner couch and sigh.

It's so beautifully quiet. 

It's Saturday. It's 16:19. The nine guests of the second retreat have packed up and been ferried back to Split, the villa has been cleaned and dinner has been made.

Now we're simply waiting for the new guests to arrive.
 
This is the longest period of time I've had to just relax in two weeks. I'm not accustomed to having so little free time... these full working days with little privacy are definitely taking their toll. 

But I'm so happy. It's an adjustment, for sure, but I'm totally happy I made it. That I'm capable of making it. 

This week was another new experience.

As most weeks tend to be.

I was thrilled that I had the opportunity to connect with a few of the younger girls who wanted a practice more vigorous than Domagoj's.

I was ecstatic that Milda, Mario, Jurate and I all grew a lot closer as friends and more efficient as a team. It took me about a week and a half to adjust to Croatian sensibilities and to fit into this 7/11, 24/7 lifestyle, but I feel simply fantastic right about now.

Croatians are a very direct lot, just so you know. When you visit this region of the Balkans, prepare yourself to experience delicious food, spectacular beaches, and people who tell you that you're behaving like an idiot if you are.... well, behaving like an idiot. They don't worry about offending people, but neither do they ever really take offense. They say what they feel when they feel it and then they let it go.

No personalization. No internalization. It's magic. 

But I'm not magic yet and for the amount of traveling I've done, I'm still absurdly sensitive. So Milda was kind enough to brew a pot of tea and set aside some time to explain things to me.

"We are so thankful to have you here," my new friend said as she sipped her steaming, fruity tea. "And please don't take it personally whenever we say things in such a straightforward way -- it is just the culture."

That's all I needed to hear. Oy. Maybe it would be a good idea for me to live in Croatia for a few months. Perhaps I'd lose the unnecessary bits of my sensitive nature.

I didn't particular enjoy participating in Domagoj's classes (my back is still recovering and I'm still trying to rein in my riled up inner bitch), but I did learn bits and pieces of Sacred Geometry and how to touch my forehead, then my nipples, then my genitals while chanting sanskrit.

The funniest part of this was how proud Domagoj sounded when he remembered the English word for nipples.

I completely, totally lost my shit. Ellie and Emily and I giggled and gasped all over his sacred geometry.

We took our sacred geometry drawings to the beach on Thursday to paint. As mine wasn't finished (I'd fled the room under the pretense of having to help with lunch), I chose to paint cute yogic symbols on rocks instead. I was minding my own business, having a grand old time, when Domagoj approached.

"What is this paint?" he picked up my cheap, red acrylic paint.

"It's acrylic," I continued to paint a simple sign for harmony on a smooth white stone.

"Yes, it is acrylic. You don't need water or oil or anything for it," the dark-haired teacher sniffed at the paint. "And this is totally toxic. Cheap. Not as good as what I usually use for my paintings."

"Well," I dipped my cheap paintbrush in the cheap jar of free water from the sea. "I'm a poor traveler. It's the best I can do."

"Let me show you how to paint a real OM sign," Domagoj grabbed my brush from my hand as soon as I'd finished washing it."This is how it is truly done. Most modern interpretations are corrupt."

"Ah. Well, thanks for showing me."

"Painting on rocks is a good idea," Domagoj stood up. "I will now paint yogic symbols for everyone to take home."

As long as you don't write, "this is how it's REALLY done" underneath, people should like it just fine. Sweet idea. 

Domagoj wandered back with a few rocks held in his spindly hands.

"Would you give me the red paint?" he gestured towards my paints.

"Actually, these are my paints," I tried not to smirk but definitely failed. "The group paints are over there," I gestured towards the even cheaper washable tempera paints used by Jurate and the guests.

"Ah. I see."

Domagoj left me alone for the rest of the afternoon. But I was alone in being left alone. He hassled Jurate about what color to use in her painting.

"You must use red in the center -- not this bright green. Red is the sign of the goddess. It is blood, the sign of menstruation."

"I don't like red," Jurate applied another stroke of green.

"But it is not correct," Domagoj persisted.

"I don't like red," Jurate insisted.

Domagoj gave up on Jurate and went off to harass someone more harass-able.

"You see how perfect my painting is? Does anyone have a painting this perfect?"

I asked Jurate to paint something on my foot. She chose the koru, a symbol for new life in New Zealand.

"I think my foot painting is perfect," I said to Jurate as Domagoj strutted his perfectly menstruating painting.

The new guests will arrive in a few hours.

Milda, Mario, Jurate and I will meet them.

It will be a week of providing them with a space to explore. To feel the freedom to find what works for them.

Not to tell them to use the color red because it represents the menstruation of the goddess.

BE the Grasshopper -- Vis, Croatia

I haven't made a budget in months.

I've hardly glanced at my bank accounts at all, as a matter of fact.

My journal entries used to resemble the following:

England expenses:
Airport to Victoria Coach Station = 6 pounds
Volunteer with Harriet = 2 pounds per day, MAX
Couchsurf in London = 5 pounds per day, MAX

Total for England = XX

Now my journal entries delve into the realm of bumblebees and personal discoveries.

I'm learning how to trust. To trust that things will come to me as I need them.

Experiences will come.

Relationships will come.

Money will come.

I don't worry about accumulating.

About saving for rainy days.

Saving up now for something that might never be.

I'm truly living like the grasshopper from Aesop's Fables.

Except that the grasshopper didn't know how to move with the seasons. 

I'm learning to see the difference between the state of "waiting" and the state of "patience".

Waiting is thinking about a day when things will be different than they are now.

Patience is accepting the day as it is now.

I'm learning to be patient. 

When I was in Istanbul, I was desperate for a pair of colorful, comfortable harem pants -- but I didn't have any extra money and I knew the cold weather wouldn't permit me to wear them, anyway.

I didn't buy the colorful harem pants.

When I arrived in Vis, Kristina threw a pair of red, green, orange and black pants at me.

"For you," she said as I caught the feather-light garment.

YES. It's time for me to receive the pants. 

Oddly enough, the week in which received my colorful, comfortable harem pants was the first week all year wherein the weather was warm enough to actually wear the pants.

Life will bring me what I need as I need it. I just need to be patient. Present. 

I was in need of good socks to wear with my barefoot shoes. My mother sent me a care package with smartwool socks just as it became warm enough to retire my boots and unpack my barefoot shoes. 

There's a special kind of sheep cheese in Croatia called Paksi Sir. It's the most famous artisan cheese in Croatia and is produced only on the island of Pag.

I must have this cheese, I thought as soon as I finished reading Wikipedia's article on Croatian cuisine.

Because of mountains breaking up Adriatic Sea breezes, most of Pag Island is covered in beautiful white salt dust. One of the few plants capable of surviving in such salty soil is the aromatic Pag's Sage. Sheep eat this salty sage and villagers of Pag make cheese out of their salty milk.

I must have this cheese. 

Domagoj's gift to the villa was a wheel of Pag cheese.

Ha! It was time for me to receive the cheese.  

And just as I'm learning to trust life to give me what I need, I'm beginning to let my intuition guide me to give life what it needs.

Only two people came to meditation last night. This was expected. It's near the end of the week and most retreat goers are too tired for two hours of meditation every day.

"Jurate, if no one else comes, we should just give these ladies massages," I spontaneously said to my partner in mediation.

No one else came.

Jurate received a lesson in Thai massage and the two ladies brave enough for two hours of meditation a day received hour long massages.

They didn't protest.

I usually spend the same amount of time massaging calves and hamstrings, but for some reason, I spent over twice as long on this woman's hamstrings.

They need a bit more love, I thought as I fit my foot into her upper legs. 

After five minutes of deep relaxation at the end of the hour, she sat up, rubbed her face and said, "All my pain is gone. I don't know how I can thank you."

I had forgotten that this woman had been suffering from sciatica all week. The pain was manifesting itself in her glutes and hamstrings.

Which was where I'd focused my energy.

I almost started crying. She almost started crying.

We were a big, ridiculous, moppy mess.

It was time for her to receive release. 

I taught with Kristina during my first week at the retreat. The students who came to my classes gave me confidence and courage and I gave them a few words they could relate with and some postures that felt good in their bodies.

Domagoj took over the main classes this week. This gave me space to learn (although I'm not very interested in his style of yoga) and time to redesign the meditation practice with Jurate.

I will teach next week's retreat alone. The first week gave me confidence.

The second week reestablished my beginner's mind. The third week starts tomorrow.

I feel prepared.

Life gives me the experiences I need as I need them.

Danish 7/11 -- Vis, Croatia

Yoga retreats aren't all fun and games.

I feel like a Danish 7/11

On duty 24/7.

Always available to help out with all the little tasks. Odds and ends. Bits and bobs.

Just like Milda, Mario and Jurate. Goodness gracious, those people work so hard.

Domagoj doesn't seem to believe in helping out with bits and bobs. He prefers to nap in hammocks or  discuss the secrets of tantra.

But the rest of us are always available to answer all the little questions.

To put toilet paper in the bathrooms.

To wear our problem-solving, how-can-I-help-you hats. 

I teach yoga, teach meditation, socialize, set tables, take yoga, take out trash.

Sweep the studio.

Research, research, research what I'll do for my next class.

Girl be tired.

Two more days of this retreat... then a simple retreat with just a few people... then a whole week with just Mario and Milda and Jurate in Split.

Girl. Be. Tired.

My back hurts. The obscene amount of sitting done in Domagoj's class has destroyed my thoracic spine. It cracks like dried sticks, crunches like potato chips and creaks like the door to the dining room downstairs.

Back be sore.

Sitting in a "comfortable" seated position for at least three and a half hours a day (two hours of meditation + Domagoj's classes) has destroyed my kneecaps. They don't crack or crunch or creak, but they scream something awful.

Knees. Be. Sore.

Meditation went well this morning. I read, we healed, we sang, we sat.

We emptied.

Jurate and I have been playing with the meditation routine. Instead of presenting the group with one method of meditation and saying, "find a way to make it work for you," we're presenting the group with many variations and saying, "I hope you can find something that works for you."

Meditation through writing. 

Meditation through exploring the senses.

Meditation through drawing.

Meditation through lying down and being guided.

Meditation through quietly focusing on the breath.

Meditation through singing and connecting with others.

This will be our schedule for next week:

Sunday: 

Morning - Introductions all around in the morning

Evening - Circle ceremony, Vipasana (self-guided meditation), one thing out, one thing in

Monday: 

Morning - Vipasana, introduction to Mindfulness, mind dump (writing or drawing)

Evening - Vipasana, Mindfulness meditation, focus on sense of touch

Tuesday: 

Morning - Vipasana, Introduction to Loving Kindness, mind dump

Evening - Vipasana, Loving Kindness meditation, focus on sense of hearing

Wednesday: 

Morning - Healing circle with song, Vipasana, mind dump

Evening - Vipasana, Resistance meditation, focus on sense of smell

Thursday: 

Morning - Healing circle with song, Vipasana, mind dump

Evening - Vipasana, Forgiveness meditation, focus on sense of sight

Friday: 

Morning - Vipasana, mindful eating meditation, mind dump

Evening - Vipasana, focus on sense of taste (I will have them spend fifteen minutes eating a square of chocolate), closing circle ceremony

I was feeling overwhelmed in mind, spirit, knees and back. I wanted to go walking in the sun.

I skipped Domagoj's morning class and went walking in the rain. 

I'm writing inside an old abandoned building that I happened to chance upon on a previous walk.

Hiding from the rain. 

The dirt floor is covered by a clumpy bed of pine needles mixed with gravel. The dirt is dry. 

Birds insistently twitter in spite of the rain. A fly buzzes just as persistently (and 8 gazillion times as obnoxiously). 

The walls are copper and cream colored stone with layers of grey mortar in between. 

The ceiling is rotten plank beams of wood that look as if they could tumble down at any moment. 

So long as they kill that bloody fly while they're at it. 

It's raining harder.

The birds have stopped. 

The bloody fly carries on. 

Alone. 

Perhaps I'll continue my walk in the rain. 

Perhaps it'll turn into a walk in the sun.

Peeved and Corrupt -- Vis, Croatia

It's dark outside the small kitchen window.

F*ck. 
 
I missed the sunset again.

I hate missing sunsets.

I missed the sunrise again.

I hate missing sunrises.

I missed most of the in-between. 

I'm missing so many moments.

Because I'm here. Sitting at the desk. Type, type, typing nonsense. Clickety clacking about my personal realizations and driveling on about my drama.

Or I'm there. Listening to a master yogi tell me how peacock pose prevents poisoning.

Good grief. Some of this stuff is just... absurd. Driving your elbows into your chest to cure poisoning? Cranking bones into positions no bones were designed to go? Sitting for hours at a time? Telling newbies to yoga that they need to constrict their vaginas when they exhale to engage their mula bandha? Never, EVER tell a newbie to constrict her vagina.

I'm no longer starstruck by Domagoj. I recognize and respect him as an encyclopedia of knowledge, but I just can't handle all the "No one does this posture correctly in modern yoga. This. This is yoga. This is how it is done. Yes, this is the true way it is done." I sit in his class, try to be open-minded about his very traditional style of yoga and am merely told that what I practice is a "corruption" of yoga.

If people are treating themselves with loving kindness and sensitivity in that moment, then they are practicing yoga. Real yoga.

I'm in a foul mood. 

I'm also realizing just how addicted I am to this blog.

I still need it so much.

I need to feel like I can reach out and touch people. I need to feel connected. Connected in a way that doesn't change month after month, day after day.

This blog. This trivial little piece of writing is the one thing that remains consistent in my life.

I can't let it go. Even though all I want to do is go for a quiet walk through the hills, letting my mind escape from my body and just feeling the earth. Without thinking about how I'll describe it later. 

I'm tired.

The day was long.

So, so long.

I'm angry. I'm frustrated.

For the last three days, I've been sitting in positions that have given me nothing but pain. For the last three days, I've been allowing insult after insult slide off my aching shoulders.

But tonight, I'm feeling somewhat supersaturated.

I'm just f*cking peeved.

But I'm a yoga teacher (of fake yoga, apparently). I guide meditations. I play like a child.

I'm not allowed to be f*cking peeved.

Breathe it out. Let it go. 

No. I want to shout. I want to cry. I want to curl up in a little ball and pound my fists and thump my heels. 

Yes. I want a good ol' tantrum. I want to tantrum like a child.

I haven't even been in Croatia for two weeks... and I'm utterly exhausted. I gave so much on the last retreat... and ever bit of giving felt natural and needed. 

But I feel like there's not much left for today. 

It all feels so trite when compared to this evening's sunset.

Which I didn't see because I was consumed with my triteness. 
 
What am I missing by being here? In this room?

I want to be outside. I want to be running up mountains. Exploring the island. Listening to the birds.

I'm here.

At the desk.

The sun has set.

Perhaps I'll see the stars tonight.

Teaching Thai -- Vis, Croatia

I'm starting this post from the main dining room of the villa. Nicola (an easy-going Italian chap) stirs in his bed upstairs and I try to slow my breath, lessen my fidgeting and lighten the strokes of my pen so as not to wake him. The fridge rumbles and moans (and makes me feel less guilty about the noise I'm making). An insect of some kind or other clicks, ticks, chirps on the wall to my left. The sink drips fitfully. My belly is pleasantly occupied by apple and pag cheese, so for once, it is the one place in the room from whence no grumbles originate. 

It's 5:45. I'm waiting here until 6:00 rolls around and I can lead two of the more athletic girls through an optional vinyasa flow. Their physical needs weren't quite met by Domagoj's gentle, pranayama based classes, so I invited them to join in on my personal practice. It'll be fantastic to work with people who really want to be there. Free, optional classes are the absolute best. No obligation -- only gratitude.

"Thank-you for coming."

"Thank-you for letting us be here."

Domagoj's teaching style is slow. Slow and... fractureed and judgmental and long-winded.

There's a valuable lesson to be learned here. This encyclopedia of knowledge doesn't seem to have a filter. When I teach in the future, make sure that what I share is enough and no more. Allow what I say to flow with what I do. Also, just because I'm playing the role of instructor doesn't mean I have to speak all the time. Learn to listen. Learn to ask more questions. Be aware of what's enough and what's too much. Just like people play their edge in their practice, I have to play their edge as a teacher. What can they absorb at this moment?

Domagoj knowledgeably prattles on for at least fifteen minutes before commencing in asana and pranayama. He sings praises about his teachers (and how they chose him out of many) and waxes on and on about pamphlets he's written and youtube channels where we can find his work.

If I hear the name "Mark Whitwall" one more time, I'm going to put a sinful slice of salami in his vegetarian chili and rob him of his yoga powers.

I taught Thai massage yesterday. We were scheduled to go to Stiniva beach for our early afternoon break, but it mizzled and drizzled all morning and all afternoon, so Jurate asked if I'd be up for teaching Thai.

In an hour.

I'm getting much better at not panicking when this kind of unexpected business barges through the door.

I've only taught one class before... and since Nici was kind enough to purchase my book, all my info is now stored on Milda's computer. Blurgh. Can I lead this two hour session with no notes? Are there any other options available to us right now? No? No. Okay. Aimee's leading Thai for the second time ever. 

Here goes. 

Here went.  Here went wonderfully. It inspires me to watch how quickly people can transcend physical boundaries and start to lovingly, playfully therapeutically touch each other.

These are the spaces I want to help create.

"Each touch is a gift. Pour your body weight evenly through your hands. Explore how your body fits into theirs. Explore with the heels of your feet, the palms of your hands, your fingers and toes. Be here. Be mindful. Be aware of your partner's breath. If they look happy, you're probably doing it right. If they look like they're receiving an electric shock, perhaps it's time to reevaluate your technique. As you connect, allow yourself to melt into trust. Trust your partner to love. Trust your partner to care. Trust your partner to receive. Trust your partner to communicate their needs. See if you can take the deep trust you feel in this moment and carry it with you through the door and into the rest of your day."

Jurate (who is quickly becoming a very close friend) and I participated in Domagoj's restorative evening class before leading the final meditation. As I'd downloaded a meditation app for my iphone (complete with timer and Tibetan singing bowl sound effects), we were even more professional sounding than usual.

Which isn't exceedingly professional, but hey, this is my first week being co-master of meditation. I'm allowing myself slack. And feathers.

In other news, I've been enjoying balancing on thighs.

Pressing lovely ladies into deeper down dogs --

Flying people on my feet and releasing compressed spines.

There's a lot of sitting in Domagoj's class --

-- so there are a good many spines to be released.

This makes me a happy, happy yogi.

Although Domagoi says that none of us are allowed to call ourselves yogis.

Receiving Domagoj -- Vis, Croatia

Domagoj has arrived.

This yoga instructor has a copious (and intimidating) amount of knowledge and experience as far as pranayama, meditation and art therapy go. During the week that he's at the yoga retreat, I just get to sit back and absorb. Although (as discussed in previous posts) these limbs aren't my cup of çay at the moment, it's going to be an incredibly useful experience to learn more about them. Because one day, I might grow to like Earl Grey.

I am back to being the grasshopper.

In every way.

And it feels perfect.

Today was my first day of nearly 100% receiving. The transition between last week and this week has been difficult for me because I feel as if I've somehow lost my place. I was just starting to settle into a comfortable routine in the villa and to have it shift so suddenly and so dramatically sent me into panic mode.

They don't want me here. They don't need me anymore. They're just putting up with me because they feel obligated. Because they know I have little money and they feel sorry for me.

I hate the notion that people feel obligated to help me.  Obligated to host me. Obligated to fulfill their commitment to give me food and housing because otherwise my vagabond yogi ass would be yogaing up and down the streets. When I was volunteering in Devon, I could very much tell that Harriet was only tolerating (barely tolerating) my presence during the last two weeks of my stay.

She wants me gone. ACH. So uncomfortable. I'll just try to stay far, far away from this moody alien lady. To walk on eggshells. To make it feel as if I've already left. 

I hate living as if I've already left... but this is something I catch myself doing time and time again.

Be here. Regardless of whether or not you're wanted, this is where you are. It's useless to want to be somewhere else.

So I tried to squelch my feelings of awkwardness and guilt and just enjoy the gifts my unpredictable life has landed in my lap this week. As Kristina told me during her week-long stay in Vis, Domagoj is indeed an encyclopedia of yoga. I've been his acquaintance for a grand total of 24 hours, and I've already learned more about yogic philosophy than I did in my three weeks of teacher training in Spain. Of course, it helps that Domagoj loves to talk about yoga. A lot. It also helps that I love to listen to people discussing yoga.

I helped with the group introductions on Sunday morning and then participated in one of his yoga classes.

I've never done so much pranayama in my life. I missed the asanas. I also developed a mild sore on my tongue from biting it every time he bashed Western yoga.

Dude. Cool your Eastern jets. Western yoga works for some people. Perhaps it's not TRUE yoga according to traditional techniques and definition -- but it still deserves to be recognized for the positive impact it has on people's lives. "True yoga" or not -- I've seen it make so many practitioners happier and healthier.

 It felt bizarre to be on the other side of the room. To be led through a routine. To be guided by someone else.

Other than the acro training in London and crazy kundalini in Devon, this is the first time I've taken classes since Roisin's amazing classes in Ireland last July. Good god, that is far too long. I need to find a way to receive more. 

I observed the new group as we practiced intense pranayama interspersed with a few incredibly basic asanas.

Such different energy this week... they're... they're quiet. I kind of miss the robust energy of the last group. I want to hear Ned's contagious laughter. I want to see Mari walking around barefoot. I want to feel Nici kiss me on the cheek and I want to hear her laugh at me when I blush.

No expectations, Bourget. Beginner's mind. Just because they're not as raucous as the last group doesn't mean you can't connect. Doesn't mean you can't give. Doesn't mean you can't learn. Doesn't mean they're not absolutely fabulous people. Learn to let go of your need to compare. Let people be beautiful by themselves and not because they're "more or less" than someone who touched your life before.

My knees and hips have never been so sore in practice. Sitting in a "comfortable" cross-legged seated position for such long periods of time is wreaking havoc on my back and legs. Arthritic psoriasis is kicking in and my joints are creaking and cracking like the wood floor in Giovanni's kitchen. I feel like I should be able to handle this sort of discomfort (I am a yoga teacher and all), but then I remember not to "should" all over myself. 

What you feel is what you feel. Right now, you feel loads and loads of pain. Let it rest at that. 

I did three hours of yoga yesterday. Jurate and I are leading the meditations together this week, which is a lovely new experience for me. She commences with a fifteen-minute self-guided meditation, I take over and read to them for fifteen minutes (while she performs a few thai massage assists as they rest in Savasana), and then they finish with another fifteen minutes of self-guided meditation. We have one session in the morning and one session in the evening.We're currently learning a delightfully playful mantra to Hanuman which we will incorporate at the beginning of the practice, so half-Sanskrit words have been half-bouncing about my brain all day.

The new teacher is a student of Mark Whitwell, who is a student of Desikachar who is the son of Krishnamacharya, the founder of modern yoga. While I find this extraordinarily impressive, I'm starting to get a bit tired about hearing it over and over and over again.

"My teacher, Mark Whitwell, student of Desikachar -- "

"My teacher, Mark Whitwell, student of Desikachar -- "

Stand on your own two feet. My mind is sufficiently blown, for goodness sake. You've studied with someone who studied with someone who introduced modern yoga to the world. Now let it alone and let them alone and show me what you know. I want to see your yoga -- not theirs. 
 
Mario took us to Vis for the excursion. As it was Easter Sunday, most everything was closed -- but we are a patient lot, so decided to sit at a bar and just hope that we'd be served. Which we were. Eventually. 

I helped with lunch, participated in a very relaxing yoga class, led a meditation class, ate dinner and tumbled into bed, utterly exhausted.

Almost four hours of yoga. Two hours of meditation. Helping out in the kitchen and socializing with guests for all the time in-between. I want to write.... I want to read... I want to paint... but....

Girl be tired.  

My Yoga -- Vis, Croatia

I'm starting this post from the courtyard.

It's Saturday.

The sun is shining.

Finally.

The breeze is delicate.

At last. 

It's 15:45.

We've finished cleaning rooms, shopping for groceries and making dinner.

Guests will be arriving soon.

This week has been one of the most transformational weeks of my life. I started off terrified that no one would be able to relate with me or enjoy my style of yoga. I started off tired and insecure and petrified that Milda and Mario would regret allowing me to be a part of their retreat and would promptly send me packing to Split. I was nervous about working with beginners, with injuries and stepping into the shoes of teacher to women so much wiser than me.

I don't like wearing shoes. I don't like teacher shoes, student shoes, athlete shoes, movie star shoes. 
Some feel far more comfortable than others, but all keep me from sensing my surroundings. I just want to be Aimee. If I tag anything to "Aimee", it becomes an attachment to identity. Don't think of shoes. Think of how much you love people, how much you love yoga and how much you love to learn and share. Let the rest go and see what happens.

But by the end of the week, grasshopper Aimee had mysteriously transformed into guru Aimee.

I haven't earned the right to wear these shoes... I thought for the gazillionth time. And even if I had earned the right, I wouldn't want to wear them. If I identify with being a spiritual leader of sorts, it will only get in the way of my beginner's mind. 

Love people. Love learning. Love sharing. Let the rest go and see what happens. 

By the end of the week, nine beautiful retreat goers were flowing through vinyasa sequences with me, guided only by their victorious, steady, strong inhalations and exhalations. We breathed as one body. We moved as one body. We filled the room with more positive energy (I'm going to be talking yoga cheese for the next month, so read on at your own risk) than I imagined possible.

We laughed as we sat on each others' thighs in our closing circle ceremony. We melted into child's pose when we lost our breath. We floated into headstands for the first time and playfully flew on top of each others' feet. We explored basic techniques of Thai massage and spent hours loving all over each other.

Am I really facilitating this? 

I couldn't believe it. Can't believe it.

I'm so... full. Absolutely bubbling over. This is my yoga. I think I've found it. I don't need mantras or bandhas or an abundance of AAAAUUUMM. I don't need to teach meditation or live off of lentils and rice for the rest of my life. I'll leave that kind of yoga to people who like lentils and rice. 

I've found what I want.

I want to create spaces for people to playfully and lovingly connect with themselves and with others. I want them to explore their bodies and the bodies of others. I want to help people realize just how many gifts they have to give and create a space for them to give and receive with no judgment -- just simple, beautiful gratitude. Gratitude to give and gratitude to receive. Gratitude to touch and gratitude to be touched. Gratitude to love and gratitude to be loved.

To the people who shared this experience with me:


I'm grateful for you. So, so grateful. Your encouragement, your receptivity, your kindness, your gratitude gave me the freedom to play.

And guess what I found while playing?

I found a path.

Thank-you for lifting me up. Letting me stand on your shoulders. Helping me find this new perspective.

You will always be close to my heart. 

 

I won't teach yoga this week. When Milda told me that another teacher (with a couple decades of experience on me) was coming to take over the classes for the second week of Dalmatia Yoga Retreat, my gut reaction was something like --

Ouch. I knew it. What I give isn't as valuable as what he gives. 

 -- and then I actually thought about this turn of events for a few moments.

Umm.... this is probably actually just what I need. A week to walk barefoot, observe and reestablish my beginner's mind. Milda said I could take some of his classes. Use this time to rejuvenate. Be inspired. I'll do my readings, help with chores, assist in his classes and spend the week learning, learning, learning. Last week was giving. This week is receiving. Embrace the balance. Accept life's gift to relax and to learn.

Also, you should go ahead and stop feeling so damn insecure. It's stupid. Especially when you get feedback like this from a woman for whom you have profound respect:  

Aimee is a magical yoga teacher.
She has that rare ability to facilitate the needs of all her students.
She is aware...
Her bubbly and warm personality is infectious and she inspires you to reach your full potential and play with the beautiful mediums yoga offers.
She is wise and intuitive and senses the mood of her students.
Above all her classes are fun...
She releases the child within you... the child you long to connect with ...
Aimee colours her woods and enlightens and enlivens your spirit.
She is a magical teacher.

Yes. I think I've found my yoga.

A New Path -- Vis, Croatia

My final reading:

My walk was short this morning. I scrambled up rocks, between prickly bushes, over deceptively fluffy grass.

I stepped on a stone half my size. It slipped, slid, careened down the slope and nearly took me with it. I pushed through bushes I thought would be soft, and my skin was snagged and scratched.

I saw no way out of the inhospitable hedge. My legs stung, my smartwool ripped, my hands burrowed deep into my pockets, hiding from the angry flora.

I couldn't find my balance. Rock after rock wobbled underneath me. Plant after plant reached out with bitter branches. I seriously considered just turning around and scampering helter-skelter down the hill.

And then I remembered to breathe. Then I remembered to be still. 

What now? 

I found a rock wall and scrambled up, placing my feet as delicately as possible to avoid bringing the wall down underneath me.

It was a new perspective. I saw an open path further down the hill. No brutal brush to block the way.

But I had to get a few cuts and scrapes on the way in order to find this perspective. I had to leave my usual way and play with something new. 

You've all been playing with new things this week. New ideas, new routines, new people, new practices. I'm sure some of you have felt rocks shifting underneath your feet and felt a little bit overwhelmed or a little bit lost. I know I have. This has been one of the most full, challenging, encouraging weeks of my life as a vagabond adventurer.

And now I have a new perspective of what my life can be. Blockages have shifted and I've discovered a deeper understanding of the paths available to me. Limitations have been explored and I've found a new edge.

Where am I more open? What can I see, hear, feel, taste, touch now? 

I encourage you to spend this practice, this day thinking about a new perspective. When you return to your day-to-day life, see if you can think about your routines before just falling back into them. See if you can analyze your habits. What do you do simply because it's easier to follow your old footprints than to create new ones?

Like trudging through deep snow. It's simpler to walk where you've walked before.

I encourage you to make new prints. Move in a new direction.

Imagine yourself standing on the wall. You can see the broken branches and the overturned rocks marking your journey here. To this place. To this body. To this mind. See your old path from where you stand.

Do you want to fall back into old habits? are they consistent with the person you are in this moment?

I used to be shy. I used to be so shy that I'd have a panic attack every time my mother asked me to make a phone call.

I used to fear getting lost. I was so afraid that I'd never drive anywhere new and always drove home the same way.

So afraid that I never felt free to explore a new path.

These aspects of my personality were inconsistent with the person I felt I was. Were inconsistent with how I wanted to flow through life.

What path can I take that will help me change these things? 

Travel. I can travel. I can get lost and learn to love it. I can talk with people and learn to feel confident. The path of travel with help the outside become more consistent with the inside. More harmonious. 

Stand on the wall. See the paths stretching out before you. From this perspective, choose one that will set you in the direction of harmony. Harmony of thought, action, spirit.

The Whole Wide World and Everything in it -- Vis, Croatia

The sun feels late this morning. Perhaps it's because I feel so late and the sun is still slumbering behind a thick curtain of clouds.

It's 6:34.

My feet were too cold to walk barefoot today. My toes tingled, my heels felt like frozen lumps and my ankles ached. Even though I'd wanted to go all out and get my hobbit on, my body firmly asked me to please wear shoes this morning... and wait until a warmer day to frolic barefoot through the fields.

"Remember that one time you caught frostbite in Ireland? Yes? Well, we do too. Be gentle with us. We were hurt. Be patient with us. We're recovering. Be compassionate with us. We''re the only feet you've got."

There are times when I'm overwhelmed and frustrated by my limitations. I view them as humiliating, hateful chains holding me back, binding me down, preventing me from living a full life. I beat myself up, tear myself down and let those hateful, hurtful thoughts carry me around and around this self-destructive merry-go-round.

Why is my body so broken? 

I have psoriasis. This condition affects my skin, my joints, my circulation, my mood. It occasionally becomes so intense and painful that I can hardly move. The aching of arthritic feeling joints confines me to the couch. The itching and burning of my scalp makes it difficult to be present. To be focused.

I caught frostbite in my feet in 2011. To this day, hot showers are difficult because my sad, fat feet swell into plump balloons and hot tubs are out of the question (unless I sit in such a way that only my torso is submerged).

My bone on bone compression keeps me from melting down or flying up into yoga postures I've been working on for years.

This is my body. These are my limitations. I can choose to resent and resist or love and accept. 

To resent and resist would be to put myself outside of my body. To wallow in feelings of anger and "why did this happen to me?" simply deepens the pain.

To love and accept is to journey into the body with compassion. To joyfully explore the limitations to see how they make your life unique.

This is my body. These are my limitations. I can choose to view them as chains or as paintbrushes. 

I believe that every person is an artist. I believe that life is a giant, glorious canvas and each choice we make on our individual journeys is a piece of paint brushed on.

The reason my painting looks different from yours is because I have different paints.   Different brushes. A different perspective.

If a photographer took one picture of the whole wide world and everything in it, I don't believe this photograph would be art. It would be more along the lines of google maps -- which is tremendously useful, but doesn't fall into the realm of art, in my opinion. When an artist focuses his limited lens on something that has meaning to him, I believe he is creating art. His perspective. His choice. His frame. His story.

If we were all equipped with the same magical lens that could capture the whole wide world and everything in it, we'd have nothing to share. We'd have nothing to learn from each other. Our pictures would all look the same.

The limitations of my mind and body give me a unique perspective. Accept and explore the pain. See how it shapes the pictures you take. Accept and explore the blockages. See the colors of your palette and use them to make your painting an expression of your soul. 

I have no money to stay in fancy hotels. This limitation helps me find beautiful people.

I have closed, tight hips. I will never safely do the splits, but I've learned to balance on my arms like a yoga ninja.

I have no room in my bag for oil paints, so I learned to use my watercolors.

As you flow through your practice and then through your day, I encourage you to explore your limitations. Find the blockages. Instead of resenting them, see what it feels like to accept and explore.

How do these brushes shape your painting? how do these colors lend it life?

Stiniva Beach -- Vis, Croatia

I'm starting this post from the patio at the our breathtaking retreat in Vis. A palm tree jubilantly displays its fan-shaped leaves to my right, dandelion flowers and rosemary sprigs drink from a glass in front of me and a hammock swings in the delicate breeze just beyond. A wood and brick ceiling protects me from the delicate pitter patter of the rain and I feel like I could sit and look and listen for hours.

I love how the leaves bend to accept the rain. How it sends the fragile, elegant flowers into a string of haphazard chaines turns. The rock walls don't appear bothered in the least. 

How lonely the hammock looks. 

Igor sits to my left. Drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette and checking his phone.

I hope he's enjoying the rain as much as I am.

Yesterday's schedule ran much more smoothly. I emphasized twists in the morning flow and included a guided meditation on loving kindness and savasana assists in the evening deep opening sequence.

My group loved it. I was absolutely elated.

Vinyasa yoga is like a brilliantly awkward film. The first time you watch it, you're like, "whaaaat is this about?" the second time you spend half the film hiding your awkward chuckles. The third time, you're like, "this is the most brilliant thing I've ever seen." Yes. This is vinyasa yoga. People are chuckling awkwardly right now.

For the afternoon excursion, Mario loaded us into the taxi van and deposited us at a trail head that led to a gorgeous tiny beach.

It felt incredible to scamper down the cliff.

I was a mountain goat in my past life. Or a marmot. Something that loved scampering around in the rocks.

Walking back up the cliff was even better. But the conversations I had while soaking in sunshine on the beach were by far the best.

We talked about the value of planning.

"I think that planning has the potential to create attachment. Attachment has the potential to create anxiety. Anxiety has the potential to create fear. Fear can cause people to horde possessions, to sink into depression, to collapse into panic attacks... Planning also has the potential to create hope, which is a source of inspiration for loads of people... but in my experience, it's best to plan loosely without attachments to results. Also, I don't think the future exists, so to me, planning serves as an escape from the present. Which I definitely still need to do at times, but I'm learning to relax and let life find me."

We talked about religion, adventure sports, meditation and art. We ate nuts and dried fruit and threw stones into the sea.

I want to spend my life with people like this... I'll try not to become too attached to the idea, though. Ach. 

I expressed my teaching insecurities to Kristina that evening.

"Aimee, what you make is yoga. And this is the kind of yoga you should be making. Until you are thirty, asana should be the most important. You are young, you feel good in your body, you enjoy it. When you are thirty, pranayama is most important. When you are forty, it is meditation. You are on the good journey. Just accept when your journey changes and you need something different. You are super!"

Kristina reached forward and gave me a kiss. And once again told me that I was "super".

I think I love her.