red dot little duck

From the man…

And then You are like this:

A small bird decorated
With orange patches of light
Waving your wings near my window,

Encouraging me with all of existence’s love –
To dance.

And then You are like this:

A cruel word that stabs me
From the mouth of a strange costume You wear;
A guise You had too long tricked me into thinking
Could be other – than You.

And then You are…

The firmament
That spins at the end of a string in Your hand
That You offer to mine saying,
“Did you drop this – surely
This is yours.”

And then You are, Oh then You are:

The Beloved of every creature
Revealed with such grandeur – bursting
From each cell in my body,
I kneel, I laugh,
I weep, I sing,
I sing.

~Hafiz~

Forward…

Everybody poops. At least most do. There are books and websites devoted to the elimination of bodily waste. That’s what poop is. It’s the part of everything you take in that the body can’t use. In my case, it’s been a troublesome area.

Coming to India I was super scared I was going to get food poisoning and not be able to stop pooping. Turns out, that didn’t happen.

After four weeks of being here I hadn’t gone to the loo more than four times. And they weren’t happy times. Blocked up like you would not believe. So, in desperation I came to the Dixit Health Clinic – a home for ayurveda panchakarma specialties. This place is the real deal. The staff was sweet, understanding, caring and supportive – all in their own way. That helped a lot because it was crazy intense.

Here are some of the daily details as pulled from my journal… enjoy.

First day panchakarma cleanse. Not really what I was hoping would happen here at Dr. Kumars. It was not my intention to do this cleanse. Drinking ghee. So gross. Plus… an enema. Yep. That’s right. Tube up the anus and some solution of tea and herbs and ghee sent into my intestines. Talk about an interesting sensation. It was given to me. Not so much a gift. Two Indian women walk into the waiting room and say, “please come” holding up a bucket and tube. Not subtle. Then go into the room, they tell me to take off my pants; I’m half naked with the two of them about to do this to me. So embarrassing. Seriously. Aren’t I supposed to be here all blissed out or something? I mean – I’m in India, practicing yoga for fucks sake! Later… have milk and ghee in my hair and the smell is horrid.

Day two at the ayurvedic clinic. Second enema; more movement but still feel the block. More ghee. The only cool part of taking ghee is they sit you down in front of the Puja and sing a little prayer before you take it. In fact they sing a little prayer before every treatment. Makes it kind of sweet. But got to drink that stuff fast and not think about it. Lots of hot water to follow it up. Next… Shirodhara, the treatment where warm ghee and milk are poured over the third eye, relaxes the mind. It’s true. The smell wasn’t as bad this time.

Day three. The woman doctor asks me, “did you move your bowels today?” Again I’m in the waiting room and it’s totally full. I could swear the Indian woman next to me stifled some laughter. I responded honestly with a NO. Third enema. Can’t believe I’m so backed up I would need three enemas. I better poop by tomorrow; otherwise I’m going to lie. More ghee – larger quantity… gross. I think I stopped breathing during Shirodhara today. Now that’s relaxed.

Day four. The last day for ghee. I was given 120ml. Gagged halfway through it. The ladies were right there with me. Rubbing my back, giving lots of support. Thought I was going to break down and cry. That came later. No enema. It was only half a lie.

Day five. No ghee! Instead I was brought this lovely tea made of Cumin and Jaggary. It was light; a little sweet and somewhat of a dream come true. Then, my first Ayurvedic massage. Sarvanga Abhyanga. This is how it works. I’m told to strip down, again in front of two lovely women, put on a pseudo loincloth and lay down on a wooden table. No padding, no modesty. Get covered in hot oil – everywhere except the vajayjay. After more oil getting rubbed, or slightly beaten, into my scalp they start in on my body. It’s not particularly soothing. They synchronize their movements, sliding their hands along my torso and limbs and kind of beat the oil into my skin. Including my chest. Which, luckily I was warned about. Relaxing? Not exactly, but in the end it’s pretty awesome. Then it’s into the hot box. A steam bath called Bashpa Sweda. The set up looks a little like something from medieval times, but mostly enjoyable. Now a bath and time to relax before lunch prepared by a lovely woman who makes the best chapatis in Mysore. Shirodhara and a rickshaw home.

Day six. Another enema. For cryin’ in the night.

Day Seven… totally cried when she told me we were to do another one. Enema number five. Today was a downer. Strait up. Even after the massage, steam box, awesome chapatis and shirodhara. Just wanted to curl up and quit.

Day eight and nine. Purge day. It wasn’t so bad taking the herbs that were meant to induce a day of sitting on the pot. A bit thick, but not bad. The difficult part? Not knowing how it would actually affect me. Spent the day sucking on raisins to help the nausea and enjoying the view from the bathroom. Watched a few movies in my off time… day nine – It ended up lasting through to the next morning. Missed practice; so dizzy. Possibly a few days of recovery left – getting back on solid food and such. Feel lighter so far but quite fatigued.

Over all, this whole thing was a drain. It was uncomfortable, I didn’t really want to do it, and I missed out on a few things I really did want to do. It wasn’t hard being on a restricted diet. I already was. Missed coffee and morning coconuts though and definitely didn’t like missing practice. Today, Sharath asked, “why not coming yesterday?” and when I told him I was sick he asked for my doctor’s note and gave me that sort of side grin. Kind of like I’m watchin’ you. I was thinking, you’ll see my doctor’s note when I pass the hell out! As my plans changed and seclusion enveloped my body, mind and space, I found a little patience and some quiet. And that was beautiful. Had time to think about what I need to put into my body to promote good digestion. Plus, clearing out the goods was a positive priority… and they appear to be quite clear. Tomorrow, it’s coconuts and coffee. Delight…

There is something that happens to women all over the world, at least several that I know. It’s generally not talked about, unless you’re with a couple of close girlfriends; there may even be wine involved. It can be quite a memorable moment really, encompassed by the term… qweef. What’s a qweef? one might ask. Well, it’s when air, involuntarily, gets sucked into a woman’s vagina and then escapes rapidly creating a sound similar to that of passing gas. It’s uncontrollable. Usually catching the woman off guard – perhaps a bit embarrassed, depending on the circumstances. There is no telling when this might happen and it’s completely out of our control.

Remember this is not passing gas. It has nothing to do with what I ate for lunch or a continual fight towards regularity. (More on that later.) And it is certainly not as frequent. Statistically speaking, depending on your lifestyle.

The other day as I was doing the finishing postures in the women’s changing room, I felt it. As soon as I lifted up into Sarvangasana, shoulder stand, the air entered in. Damn it. The one thing I had going for me, is that I knew it was geared up to go; but still, I had no control and no telling when it would make its escape. I moved through the shoulder stand series… nothing happened. Matsyasana… nothing. The instant I went into Utanapadasana it happened. Damn it. I mean it’s not like I can look at the person next to me and apologize and say, “Seriously, that wasn’t a fart.” Because it’s not quiet – it’s very audible. At least in my experience. And you know… once… no big deal, but three days in a row? Now that’s a little annoying.

At least I wasn’t closing out on stage in the main room…

I’ve been here for five weeks now. Remembering the first walk into the Shala. So nervous. Afraid I might step on someone or put my things in the wrong place or… be stopped at Sutpa Kurmasana. The latter was my reality.

Everyday I get help with the posture. If not from Sharath, from one of his assistants. At one point he told me, “It is my challenge now.” with a little gleam in his eye. If he doesn’t come right away I do it two or three times. Now, how is this supposed to work? I would try sneaking in Eka Pada Sirsana to prep for it and get caught. Shaking head. So I would do more things at home; postures to help open my hips, a restricted diet, restricted walking. Through this process, a whole slew of questions have been flying around my head. Starting with, What the hell? Why is that person moving on and I’m not? Seriously? Is that even up-dog? What am I doing here? ARGH!

Shelley Enlow in Supta Kurmasana, at the Spokane Yoga Shala – photo by Eric Galey – Mine looked nothing like this…

At some point during all of this I gave in. Deciding I would gain more if I submitted and worked within the space I was confined to. And there was SO MUCH there to work with! It was not confinement at all; rather a beautiful opportunity to dig deep into the fullness of my practice. Looking in every breath for the joy. The focus. Presence. And finding it! I got some strength back. Explored my legs in every posture. My arms, my breath, Chaturanga. I made it a point not to notice the other practitioners around me because it clouds my focus. Distracts me. As soon as I stopped pushing and released from the need to move further, it started to come. So it goes.

Today, Sharath put me into Supta Kurmasana. So strong and solid. He grabbed one arm, and then the other, pushed them together and I caught it. Then the left foot, and the right foot, five quick breaths and whole thing popped open like a hot kernel of corn. I was like, whoa, it happened! So stoked! That was the first time I had ever bound my hands and feet in the six or so years I’ve been practicing Ashtanga yoga. Sharath smiled, “Ah, it is coming. You take next posture.” He knew I had been chomping at the bit. So I took that as the green light. Riding the high. I did Garbha Pindasana, Kukkutasana, Baddhakonasana… and then I got yelled at… “I gave you only one!” He looked at me like, what are you doing? I just started laughing. I was so excited and so ready to move forward; it was like the dam had burst open and I wasn’t even thinking about what I was doing. “Finish Baddhakonasana.” He said, looking at me sideways. And watching very closely. Then, “OK, one more.” So I did Upavistha Konasana A and B. And I looked at him. “OK, one more.” So I did Supta Konasana. I looked at him again, full of hope, and he told me to stop. That was it. “Slowly.” he said.

After doing the finishing postures, reciting the closing prayer and taking rest I got dressed and headed out, stopping for a moment to give thanks for the days teaching. He came out to talk to me and said, “Next week you go slowly. You must be patient.” I nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed and humbled for not paying attention to what I was doing, and said, “Yes, patient.” I thanked him and walked through the narrow door to retrieve my shoes. Then this thought screamed out… Patient?! I’ve been pretty damn patient! I mean seriously! Five weeks? …with each step, tired legs carrying me home, it started to sink in. Perhaps, I really haven’t been very patient. But, I’m still stoked.

I talked yesterday with a man about karma; wonderful Indian man with a strip of red paste between his eyes and a level, kind voice. More specifically the question was about Samskara and how Karma related to that. As usual the answer was not so straight up. It’s like a bit of wind blowing through and around, and to understand, one has to certainly be paying attention to the path of the floating object, the original question. To start with, Samskara, as I came to understand it via this conversation, is, at a basic level, change. You change a pattern and that is Samskara. Karma is (again according to this conversation) biological. It is a result of a pattern or patterns. Some of which we are born with in regard to what we are taught from the day we opened our eyes. Some would even say in the womb. It comes from habitual patterns or beliefs that continue to take us to a certain state. However, we are not “stuck” with this Karma. We have the ability to change it. “You identify the root of this behavior, and you change that. Now you have changed your Karma.” He said with a slight head bobble. Eyes glittering. I could tell he loved talking about it but was also ready for his lunch.

I would love to open discussion on this so for those with some insight please share. For now, this is what I got from my conversation… Samskara is working through your Karma. No one is stuck with their Karma. You simply have to be willing to dig the well and find the root.

New Years Eve was fairly uneventful. I met up with some people at a place called the Green Hotel for a little while, ventured through the grounds and did a bit of light shopping at the gift shop. The hotel was quite beautiful; an old colonial style place with lots of outdoor seating and well-groomed courtyard. It felt like most New Years Eve’s often do for me… so, I took my leave for home around 7:30 or 8pm. Once there, I got ready for an early practice and settled in for rest.

At midnight, perhaps a little before, the fireworks started. Celebrations all through the city! This continued for at least a couple hours. Even with all the excitement in the air I really wanted sleep. Earplugs were not cutting it. Shit. I was so tired and set to get up at 4:30am. Strange dreams followed me as I drifted in and out of consciousness eventually leaving my mind in a fog as I stumbled down to the Shala.

Practice was a little disappointing. I was tired, bit stomach sick, grumpy. Not so good feeling to start the New Year. Grrrrr… So brilliantly, I decide to head to Chamundi Hill. I hopped a bus to Mysore and then another bus up a long and windy road to one of the most sacred hills in Southern India. Had this idea in my head that I could leave something there. Something to show past is past, let go. Where? How? It was so crowed. Tons of people everywhere! Upon the realization that what I had intended to do was most likely not going to happen I also remembered I had to be back at the Shala by 4pm. Shit! So I walked around a little, snapped a couple photos and started thinking about how to get out of there. Next realization? I don’t know how to get back to a bus. It was chaos up there!

A little overwhelmed at this point, I figure I will just keep walking. It’s hot. I pass a few guys hanging out in their car and they say “at least 20kl” to the bottom. I’m like “OK.” Have no idea how far that is. But I figure I haven’t much choice so I keep going. REALLY don’t want to walk all the way to the bus stand. So I start looking for busses to flag down and there are people hanging off the doors. Not getting on there. Keep walking. And then all of a sudden, this car stops and a nice man pops his head out the window and says, “Can I drop you, Madam?” I’m thinking, “Drop me?” Too funny. After a bit of self-deliberation I hop in the car. Never done that in my life.

There were four men. None of them spoke much English but they started asking me where I’m from and what my name is. “Where do you stay?” “What do you think of India?” and so on. We struggled through some answers and then some of my questions. I listened to them chatting away in Kanada. They were very patient and candid and turned out to be extremely sweet, genuine men. It was refreshing to meet them. So kind to give me a lift, to “drop me” down the hill. We stopped at a garden just down the street from the bus stop and they requested we take some photos. So each one of them got their photo with me. I got the one below.

The one on the left was the driver, a “criminal police” and the one on the right was the kind man to offer me the lift (wish I could remember their names). It totally made my day. Their kindness melted off the rough start and left some lightness. Happy New Year.

Physically, emotionally compromised, I lay down. Rest… sleep. With unsettledness comes diseased feeling. Drifting towards dreamland I see him. Standing nearby; my avatar – strong, steady. My avatar. He takes shape of a mighty brown horse. His appearance: humble and kind yet powerful. When I am confused, he waits with me – patience. When I am sick, he takes watch – protection. When I am broken, he carries me – compassion.

When I awake, I awake in awe. Gratitude… OM Hari OM.

After a recent correspondence with my teacher I have a little something more to say… you see – he has such a beautiful way of saying things, even things that are hard to hear. And it sometimes takes a while for me to hear them…

This conditioning is not simply based on statements or visuals. Not entirely formed by media representations or things I’ve heard. This conditioning is old; it’s been cultivated over years of hiding. What’s happened here is I have continued to believe these things and on a certain level it’s more comfortable to continue to believe them (because I already know what that feels like) rather than to face the pain of what I am hiding from.

What have I been hiding from? The truth of how I see myself.

Things going for me? More than two… Yes, the practice. As the fire begins to burn with renewed vigor, the amount I have learned and continue to learn from its struggles and its triumphs have begun to resurface. This is where the development of awareness comes. Awareness of movement, awareness of breath and most importantly thought patterns. But here are a couple things I left out…

A desire to see myself differently – this is important – thank you David. This desire is going to take something new happening in order to create new beliefs. So I’m on the train.

People I practice with, my family, my friends. Their stories, their support and love; this they put out into the world. That is inspiration – being able to see it as inspiration… that is a gift.

PS – Thank you for your comments; you are beautiful…

It’s not the first time a teacher has mentioned I should trim it down. Perhaps Sharath’s approach was a bit subtler; it was certainly still direct – to the point. Oh man. I know that the intention of this suggestion is not to take me down a notch. Nor is it an implication that I am in some way inadequate. In fact, I believe it is coming from a place of love and caring. They see me struggling, they know that dropping weight would help, so one way or another the conversation comes. Unfortunately, the monsters come too.

I was the first girl in my class to get boobs. I was taller, wider, and at some point a boy named Aaron called me “thunder thighs” on the four square court. Fourth grade – brutal. Still remember what that felt like. It got worse once I started running track. Whoa. Much of my younger years were spent feeling bad about myself. Striving, trying but, never fully believing. During that time, the monsters were born. They are the ones that sit in the back of my brain and wait for the opportunity to remind me of their presence. Throwing stones – a one-two punch. Brutal. It’s conditioning at it’s finest. Lie number one, “Look like this (magazine cover model) and someone will love you and make you happy.” Lie number two, “You can’t do it? You totally suck. Loser.” Lie number three, “Hey Fatty McFatfat.” And so on.

Now I’m here with none of the usual distractions of work, nights out, dinners, drinks… the inner workings of my brain are not as occupied. So they get loud. When they get poked they get louder. Currently… Loud.

I’ve got at least two things going for me. One: the practice. Two: awareness. So I continue. Keeping faith that one day, through practice, I’ll knock those monsters out. Suckas.