Tonight instead of sinking into bed I felt magnetically repelled away from it. I exercised today, for once not to burn calories but as insurance against insomnia. It didn’t work and now here I am once again completely awake in the middle of the night. I never used to be this way. I could always count on sleep no matter what turmoil was happening in my life—illness, death, breakups—sleep always came.
I went to Yoga Basics with Kira on Wednesday evening. I ended up practicing in between two tuned in yoginis who helped me feel comfortable doing my own thing a bit. I hate doing my own thing while surrounded by a bunch of other people who are following the instructions. I dread the thought of being in some exuberant, exposed standing pose while everyone’s on the floor. Doing something different also means other people might notice you more which I don’t like. I don’t want to be seen in yoga.
We did this nice thing with “om.” Kira talked about how the sound is made up of 4 parts: ah, oh, mmmm, and silence. Each sound comes from a different place (belly, upper chest, head, and air above head, respectively). Then we brought our hands down from over our heads as we…forget it.
Why do I sometimes feel fake writing about this stuff? As our plans for doing the teacher training look more and more definite, I get more and more doubtful about whether I’m ready. I still constantly feel like such a beginner, and more importantly, I’m this ball of skepticism and anxiety. I still can’t say chakra without giggling. I don’t know if I believe that prana/chi/energy is real or just a figment of my imagination. I don’t even do yoga at home! Or meditate. I’m messy. I’m a sugar addict. I’m from Iowa, for god’s sake. I’ve already gotten about as weird as an Iowan can get. I’m stretched to my Midwestern limits and terrified of going over the deep end.
But yet I want to. I want to feel these beautiful-sounding things. I love the idea of possessing powerful femininity and (here’s a scary new agey word) goddess-like grace. I’m drawn to powerful female yoga teachers; I’m never as inspired by the men. (except cardamon/m of course, whose classes I frequented often) I’m pulled but I hold back because I’m afraid of being fake and I need to go at my own pace. I’m still figuring out what it means to be a female.
I am a person who is enticed by the pleasure of sadness and I think I’m afraid to give up the piece of my personality that’s still got some angst, melancholy, romanticism. The sturm und drang. My office sent me to this seminar called “Insight” where I shared this fact about myself and I didn’t feel widely understood. But I stick to it. I enjoy the shadow side of life and I will never enjoy a yoga practice that’s all about becoming a shiny happy (religious?) person at the cost of giving up a true, sensitive experience of the world. “A little evil lurks inside happiness” according to this NYT Article- http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9C0CE2D71130F933A15755C0A9629C8B63.
I always love my first yoga class after a week or so away from the mat because it’s the working through of the physical and emotional stiffness that feels so good. I love the in-between moment of release more than the bland before and the bland after. It’s easy to find sweet spots, as French Toast calls them, when you have a lot of tight spots.
Sis, we should start a list of songs that are good to listen to while doing yoga. Like that one you told me about, You Are Never Alone by Socalled for pigeon, to get things started. And of course the song that is the title of this entry, IOWA by Dar Williams.