red dot little duck

I woke up at 5am, determined to keep vigilant at being productively occupied with myself. Edited some photos and wrote. At 9am I walked to the Shala, unsure of what to expect. Anxious. The entryway was full of others waiting for their turn. Watching through the open door as people moved through their practice. “One more.” Sharath called, and someone would jump up and hustle inside.

Eventually it was my turn. I got up put my mat down and tip toed to the changing room to put my stuff down. There were ladies everywhere closing out their practice. I was so nervous! What was I supposed to do? Ok, don’t panic. Just put your crap down and go start. One woman in the changing room noticed the look on my face and told me to relax and enjoy my practice. Good advice.

I started like I normally would. Opening prayer. Sun Salutation A. Sun Salutation B. All the while trying not to notice everyone still in the entryway watching, waiting. Somewhere around Tiriang Mukha, he told me to move up to the front. Crap. I’m thinking he wants to keep a close watch on me. I’m certain this is true. Marichyasana  D was just around the corner.

I kept going, caught a bind in Marichyasana D (wasn’t sure that was going to happen) and then kept going… Garbha Pindasana.

“Wait.” He says from a few mats over. Coming closer he asks, “You bind Marichyasana D?”

“Yes.” I replied, thinking barely.

He looked like he didn’t believe me. “I must see it. Sorry. Tomorrow. You stop here.” He paused. “You bind Supta Kurmasana?”

“No.” I said feeling a bit embarrassed.

“You stop.” He said knowingly. “Slowly you go. Backbends.” So I stopped and moved into backbends.

Was afraid that would happen. It was humbling. Started Reminding myself that I wasn’t good enough. That I used to be able to do more. I was better before.

“Joanna, no coming up. Don’t move your feet. Three backbends then you fold forward. You go slow.” He said.

“No coming up?”

“No.” he said.

“Ok.” Dropping more deeply into a place of believing I’m not worthy.

I did my best to limit the tears. Embarrassing. Crying at the Shala. Come on!

As I left, I stopped to thank Sharath for class. I put my hands together and dropped my head with a slight bow; he did the same. His smile – beautifully genuine. Something in his face, his eyes said to me, slowly it will come.

It seems I may have to remind myself a few times that there is no actual evidence supporting the belief that I am not good enough. That statement is just not true. Things have changed. This is true. My practice has changed and so perhaps it comes from a different place than it did before. I am here to learn more about that. That is exactly why I am here. Slow down and learn.

Our driver, Vali, dropped us off at our house #15, 3^rd Stage, Contour Rd, Gokulam, Mysore. It was 6:30am. The sun was just coming up; a modestly lit sky. We talked with our landlords, dumped our stuff off and headed out. Breakfast and a walk-about… get the lay of the land.

We walked a lot that day. Not sure where all the energy came from. Excitement. We went to a couple restaurants eager to try the local fair. Found some ATMs. Picked up some supplies for the house. Had my first coconut from the coconut stand. Saw more poverty and garbage. This time, unlike the dark drive through Bangalore, I could see the beauty among the poverty. Brilliantly colored Saris, vibrant flowers hanging in doorways, smiling faces, patterns drawn on entryways… tradition; it was both magnificently beautiful and crazy humbling.

It was an early night and I slept hard.

Next day I woke at 5am and took practice in my room. It was amazing. No heater needed. The sound of morning prayers floating through the windows accompanied my solo breath. Beautiful. Grounding. Later, after wondering down into a particularly poor part of town and getting pointed at several times we hopped in a rickshaw that took us downtown – the market – Mysore. We stopped for lunch and apparently it is customary to just sit at a table even if there are others there. So we sat and ate with two Indian men across from us. A little weird: also, oddly awesome. Good food too. Masala Dosa. Yum! We never actually make it into the market. We ended up leaving shortly after being led down a shady path by a Muslim stranger, Salim, and our jet leg caught up to us.

Short rest then to the Shala: register for class. I was the second person there. Waiting patiently. We started getting called in around 3:30pm. Conference was to start at 4pm. There where a lot of us and as it turns out it doesn’t much matter who got there first. So I ended up being there for Conference. I wasn’t really prepared for that and franticly searched for a pen. Which, I did not find. It was a good foundational talk about the Yamas and Niyamas. Questions were asked towards the end and in response to a question regarding ahimsa in our own practice Sharath said, “Enjoy your asana.” Simple. I will be referring to that many times over the next few months.

After conference, I registered, handed over a pile of rupees for a month’s tuition and a chanting class (that I didn’t know about) and got my start time. 9:30am. … Man.

We left Spokane at 6am Thursday, December 8, 2012 on a journey to Bangalore. It was a short flight, not a lot to report on; read a book… Siddhartha. I think I will be reading that again…

We had a long layover in the Denver airport. A campout. We watched the plane pull up that would take us to Frankfurt, Germany and waited. No problem. 7.5 hours. Gave us plenty of time to walk the entire airport in search of soup. Which, we never found.

Man… lets go already!

Plane number two: fairly uneventful flight. This is a good thing. I watched three movies, dozed off a few times, ate airline meals (a story in themselves) – even had a beer. Good beer too. Something German. The Frankfurt airport was insane. It seemed extremely unorganized and super slow. And there we were, in another airport. Camped out. Watching the plane we were about to board that would take us to Bangalore.

Plane number three: another 8 hours on board. I slept, chatted a bit with the Indian woman next to me, slept some more, ate airline meals – skipped the beer.

Finally, we get off the plane in Bangalore, get in line and wait. Immigration. I think we got into the slowest line imaginable. After two hours we got through and our driver was there to pick us up. Vali – a very nice man. It was about 3am Saturday, December 10, 2012. Things were still pretty surreal at this point.

It was dark but the moon was full. Shadows cast across billboards and construction sites. Piles of garbage, everywhere. Cows. Dogs. More garbage. People sleeping on the street or in small tent like huts. Most constructed directly next to a business or house. Poverty next to plenty. Surreal. This was Bangalore… first sight. I was both thrilled and saddened. I will see Bangalore again, perhaps after my time here in Mysore it will be with new eyes and a better understanding of things.

Through dazed eyes we continued the 3.5 hour drive to Mysore.

I’ve been running around with a certain sense – need – to say goodbye to everyone.

Bye. See ya. Going to miss you. It’ll be a while. Take care… I love you.

Perhaps it’s because it’s the first time in my life I have not had a plan. I mean I do have a plan, right? Learn, study, practice… travel deep into the heart of my existence. All that. But what’s after that? People asking? What are you going to do? Well SHIT, man! I don’t know!

I do know that the amount of support has been overwhelmingly amazing. I do know that I will be back… eventually. And I also know that this is a big deal and it’s glorious!

6 days.

Filmed at the Spokane Yoga Shala. 

The FIRST day of the cleanse SUCKED. I was soooo grouchy. Thinking “why would anyone do this to themselves?” (our first attempt at making the kitchardi was pretty much a fail and it tasted terrible) Then day two got a little easier, I basically sequestered myself in my office and didn’t really talk with anyone. Day three, Mike says something to me about setting an intention for the cleanse. I’m like, “intention? hhmmmmm… intention…” so I thought about it.

Day four I started my cycle and caught a cold. Day five I got my immunization shots for my trip. Both of these things added a little more pressure on the unpleasantness button. All the while I was thinking about my intention. I thought about it through drinking a half a cup of Flax seed oil. I thought about it as I ate another bowl of Kitchardi, as I gulped down bitter herbs and rubbed oil all over my body. I thought about it as I resisted the daytime snacks and the coffee and the after work glass of wine. I thought about it and thought about it. Intention… And then came the day of the purge.

I had gotten up about 5am so that I could drink the castor oil and get through most of the unpleasantness before I taught class at 9:30 and then a restorative workshop at 11. I read through the directions carefully and followed all the steps. Carefully. It was now 7:30 and nothing. I felt sick. Like the flu and stepped in and was slapping me around. I hadn’t pooped in days so I knew that if it didn’t happen soon I was probably going to die. Literally. I tried everything. Belly massage, jumping jacks, childs pose… and then it happened. I will spare you most of the details but what was coming out of me was unlike anything I had ever imagined. So gross. And so I’m sitting there as my insides are flowing into the porcelain throne, thinking, “what the hell was my intention?”

Later that day, as I started to feel better – lighter, it finally came to me. Throughout the week I had cut out the distractions, taking things out of my day that weren’t really supporting what I wanted to do with my life and my practice. And it wasn’t that hard once the decision was made to do it. Yes there were moments when I just wanted a handful of cheddar pirate booty or a mini butterfinger but for the most part it wasn’t that hard. Eventually it brought things back into focus. A place of knowing that I can create the conditions needed to support my practice and my life. And I am so incredibly GRATEFUL.

The organization of things has been keeping my mind occupied. Packing, moving, filing files; working files, you know… for work. Not just my day job but my side job… side jobs. So last night, as I waited for things to copy from there to there, I drifted back to the reason for all of this… oh man (ma) India!

What to pack!?? Yoga clothes – check. Favorite pair of pants – check. T-shirt – check. (have a feeling I will be wearing that T-shirt quite often) Probably some underwear… no need for socks. What about feminine hygiene? Dental floss? Fingernail clippers? Should I bring an eye pillow? Light vs dark colors? Have a shall…

Four weeks from today I will be on a plane… a jet plane! Jai!

It’s nice sometimes, to have a hot bowl of soup. Get a chance to slow down; sit, let the warmth seep through. Soup. Nourishment. It’s so simple, so easy. Leftover soup, often more flavorful than the first go around, heat it up in a pan and enjoy. All the ingredients have had time to fully meld together. Makes the place smell nice; stove heats the room a little – conditions are right. Times like these are ones to keep in the memory rolodex; the simplicity in taking a moment and enjoying something. Often, when we are presented with the opportunity to actually slow down and sit, it’s not as voluntary or enjoyable as this.

After living in the same place for nearly a … long time, the handle on the door to the back porch had begun to deteriorate.  This hadn’t been a problem until the other night when it finished it’s deterioration and denied my re-entry. No way. I have stuff to do… places to be! I was stuck on the porch. Hmmm.

I was able to get a call out and eventually help was on the way. Phew. No problem, I will have a seat. After all, it was completely out of my control. I sat. Not a lot that I could do… pacing, thoughts of breaking the door, sit.  Perhaps it was the fact that I didn’t have much choice in the matter or that I knew the door would open eventually, but in the end I did choose to sit, be still … and it felt good… it took a minute though.

The weekend continued in this way, ripple effects of changing plans, altering the course. Nothing seemed to pan out. It was as if my brain, was deteriorating like that damn door handle. The more I tried to open the door, the more stuck I felt. Several times, having to return to a seated position. After some time and effort, I chose to sit, like left over soup, and let the ingredients meld together…

In other news

India – been dreaming about it. It’s right around the corner! My friend Lars and I will be traveling together. We both practice at yoga shala Spokane and in about six weeks we will be walking the streets of Mysore. Been chatting about apartments and things to pack. Prepping. It’s all coming so fast!

… and I recalled the sound – you had played the rhythm on my knee… together, right, left, right, together. I was wearing my cowboy boots. And as I swaggered down the sidewalk – listening to the street performers, I suddenly imagined myself dancing with you to a slow country groove…

I decided to start getting rid of a few things. So much crap I have been packing around with me for the majority of my life. A good portion being stuff that really didn’t matter much to me at all. Boring things like financial records and such. Sure, interesting to a degree but not necessary and certainly a bit of a weight. Then there was another set of stuff. Journals, letters, pictures. One box. Holding the hopes and dreams of a person I no longer identified with. I wanted to let her go so I decided to burn it all; from bank statements to the words of a longing dreamer.

I figured by burning them I would feel less like her, this person I decided I didn’t want to be anymore. As the boxes emptied, I found receipts from most every milestone in my life. Car payments for the old Honda, hospital bills from check-ups to car accidents, vacations, moving to and from New Mexico, pay stubs from Murphy’s pizza in Ronan, Montana and well, a majority of things I had experienced in my life. It was interesting and even a bit nostalgic. Then the letters. The journals.

Glancing at the words, I saw her, a version of me. So much sadness, a longing dreamer. And as I flipped through my past and tossed the pages, pictures and letters into the flames, I realized something, she wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t that bad. That there was also a lot of love, creativity, hopes and dreams. I still have dreams. Always have hopes and dreams. Keeping that part of me alive while trying something new… cultivating compassion for my past and my present.

It was intense. Sitting there in front of the fire, so close to the flames. Beads of sweat rolled down my cheeks. So hot. Ultimately it felt good. Burning things I had held on to for so long. To know that I didn’t need to carry all that with me anymore. Physically or psychologically. That my past didn’t have to define me as I am today. Those memories, those pieces of me were given space, recognized and honored. Not forgotten.

And so, currently I sit in this seemingly new place. Planning. Preparing. Yet it’s as if it has been sitting inside of me my whole life. My true self has been knocking at the door of this existence the entire time. Waiting. And although I don’t know where it’s all going to take me or even who that true self really is, in the end… I’m ready.