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.
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