Jurate just gave me an hour long relaxation massage.
If it weren't for all my chaturanga muscles, I'd already have melted through the blue couch, the white sheet and ended up as a happy puddle on the wood floor.
The walls are deep turquoise and Meyer lemon yellow.The kitchen is large enough to support a microwave, a teeny-tiny fridge (especially to American standards), an oven and a big enough sink.
This is the perfect size. Nothing is superfluous.
Jurate slumbers in the spare room. Milda and Mario have taken a delicious smelling dinner to their bedroom and are watching a film (leaving all the delicious smells in the living room with me).
I lower, lift, lower, lift, eyelids on the couch.
Three weeks of retreat are finished. One week off, then one more week to go.
My body feels strong. Tired, but strong.
My enthusiasm remains, but my energy is gone.
This last retreat sapped me dry.
As my old gardening boss would tsk while fingering the soil around a beloved, reeking dracunculus vulgaris,
"dry, dry, dry."
One week of relaxation will be good for this vagabond's spirit.
I'll get to move slowly again.
Peas in bouquets won't catch me by surprise.
Each retreat gifts me with diverse challenges. I'm learning how to gracefully, gratefully accept criticism, adjust lesson plans, teach thai by the seat of my pants and let go of the things that aren't important.
I'm learning to acknowledge the things that aren't important. To me.
Making an impact on the world isn't important to me. Being remembered isn't important. Giving this person a massage in the most loving manner possible is important to me. Right now.
I don't daydream so often anymore.
What I do this winter isn't important to me. I have vague ideas for Central and South America, but nothing that distracts me from here. From now. This beach is important to me. Feeling Jurate's brush as she paints something epic on my hairy, hippie legs is important to me.
 |
| This is where you ignore the fact that my toes look like swollen grapes and behold Jurate's glorious foot/leg art. |
The third retreat is finished. Instead of welcoming the fourth group of guests, we loaded the loaded car into the ferry for the two and a half hour journey back to Split.
What will I do differently for the final retreat?
-- is what I wrote in my journal as I considered the feedback we'd received from the previous guests. One particularly useful/painful bit was from another teacher who suggested I keep the sessions more about the students and less about me.
I am always so mindful of that! my heart pounded in angry, bewildered protest. That's why I do my meditation walks and keep my own consistent practice outside of the "classroom".
The yoga teacher wrote that I should include more assists and that she'd even noticed me closing my eyes from time to time.
I don't assist students because it's impossible to interfere during the flow aspect of Vinyasa and I prefer to precisely verbalize the cues during the static portion. "Lift the kneecaps, firm the thighs, drive back through the right heel and inhale as the left leg sweeps high, hips level, pressing down through the fingers -- " I think it's much more beneficial for people to develop the awareness they need to adjust themselves as opposed to being adjusted by the instructor. I also think it's important for them to see me in the poses and to be able to move with me. I occasionally close my eyes because I need to feel things in my body before I can communicate them with the class. It's like closing my eyes when eating chocolate cake. I need to taste the chocolate cake before I can describe it.
But what would have made this better for her? How can I communicate my care in a more clear manner?
I softened my frustrated forehead lines and contemplatively chewed on my purple pen.
I'll experiment. I have these people for twelve classes, so I'll spend the first class introducing vinyasa yoga and slowly adjusting everyone in their postures. No flow. I'll spend the second class teaching them how to assist each other. Then I'll let them know exactly WHY I'm not assisting -- I want them to gain awareness of their own bodies. Perhaps the explanation plus the focus on assists at the beginning of the retreat will help them to understand why verbal cues are important and to feel more cared for overall.
Yes.
"How can I better communicate my care?" has become a go-to question.
I know I care. I know I care enough. I think everyone cares and everyone cares enough. I believe that care gets lost in translation or turned inside-out by insecurity and fear. So how can I better communicate my care to these people in this situation?
Another go-to question has become, "Is there an answer I'm needing to hear right now? Am I attached to that answer? What will my reaction be if I receive something different?"
If I go to Milda with the question, "What did you think of my class?" and I need to hear the answer, "I thought it was the best thing ever!" then I don't ask her the question. I ask for a cup of coffee instead. Then I take my cup of coffee outside, open up my journal and ask myself the question, "why do I need that answer?"
I think the questions we ask are nearly as important as the stories we tell. The stories we tell ourselves shape our perspectives and color the lenses through which we see life. The questions we ask shape our stories.
How can I better communicate my care? Am I reacting mindlessly or am I responding mindfully? Am I waiting or am I being patient? What do I need to hear? Why am I attached to this answer? how can I let go of this attachment?
I believe that pure communication, connection, growth can be achieved only when we lose all attachment/anticipation to what/how the other person "should" respond.
Because how can we listen if the back of our mind is going round and round, "I hope you say you liked my class, I hope you say you liked my class, I hope -- "
How can I communicate, connect or grow if I haven't yet learned to listen?
No comments:
Post a Comment