Yogasmic

All that worrying for naught....

Week I of the Immersion was amazing. I am now, officially, an Anusarian. I hope they get Richard Dreyfuss for the screen adaptation.

It was too amazing and too full to go into here in detail. And my mind is still racing. But I'll give you some highlights.

I am SORE. Sore in muscles I'd forgotten were there. Stiff in joints I thought I'd long ago learned how to work 'till exhaustion. But it's not the stiff and soreness that comes from a herky jerky aerobics class or a pulled something or other. It's a sore that says I have expanded and opened to new depths. New experiences with the Universe. In some ways, it reminds me of the sore I get while farming. Interesting, that....

Deb is way cool. She's out there but really down to Earth. While offering lecture on Saturday, she was talking about recognizing the inherent goodness in all of us. And then she said, "Of course, we're all like, "SURE, you see beauty, but if you only really knew me..."" Acknowledging that we're all secretely afraid that there's something missing or flawed at our core. Which made me feel infinitely better. Because if she feels that way too, there's hope for me.

Yoga is orgasmic. When you get a pose - when your body GETS pose - it's like a huge fireball going off in your body and mind that screams YES! Just ask Patrick who finally understands Trikonasana.

It's all about balance. We can't be too concerned with extending outward -- fixing the whole world, always saying yes. But we also can't be too concerned with concentrating at our core -- fixating on ourselves at the expense of all else. A lesson it's high time I embodied.

And the final thing I learned -- knowing a lession and embodying a lesson are two different things. And yoga is the -- no, yoga is "a" -- path from one to the other.

Namaste.

It Can Be Unnerving to Align with the Divine

Tomorrow begins the much anticipated yoga immersion. I am very excited. I am also very nervous.

I am always questing. I am one of those people prone to looking for the next big thing that will "change my life." (Why I want my life to change so badly is a book unto itself because, really, it's not so bad.) The fact that I realize this and acknowledge it is probably good. But it means that I tend to build things up in my mind. And we all know what happens when there's high expectations.

The theme for this particular immersion is "Align with the Divine." The description describes recognizing and uniting with the divine spark that exists within all of us. Pretty heady stuff. If ever there was a life-changing experience, sounds like this would be it, eh?

So although I *have* built this up in my mind, I'm trying to ignore that. Focus on the enjoyment of preparation. Accept that the immersion will be what it will be and that I will still be Kalesy -- better or worse -- when I get through.

Also trying to ignore the obnoxious voice in my soul that tells me what really is inside me is a deep pit of black tarry muck which no amount of yoga can ever fix. Cuz that's counterproductive, really, now ain't it?

State of the Union

A friend of mine made an insightful comment at my writing group last night.

"Kalesey," he said, "really cherishes her personal space."

He's not wrong.

The very same subject had come up just hours before with me and Mr. Zips. He'd made a similarly insightful comment when he said he realized that there's only a part of me that wants to be in a relationship. The other part wants to be left alone.

He's right.

Wierd thing is, I don't know which part of me I like any more.

It used to be that I loved that I loved my own company. I was the crazy writer cat lady (YOU are a CRAZY cat lady) who had weekends where she spoke to not a single human soul. It meant that I could get lost in my own plots and details. And when I went insane - as I was sure to do - no one was there to get hit by the shrapnel.

But now that I have another (wonderful) human being in my life full time, I find that I'm feeling apologetic -- even guilty -- about wanting to be such a loner.

And this morning, when I woke up in his arms and realized I had to say goodbye to him in a few short whiles, I was genuinely sad.

What this means for me or my future, I have no idea. But at 31, it's probably a good thing that I'm still learning about myself.

From Her Loins

It's no secret that I have no desire to be a breeder. I would be a terrible mother.

But if there's anyone who would (will) be a fabulous mother, it's my friend from high school, Q Valentine.

Take a look at this picture of her precious, angelic, brand new little girl.

This Perfect Day

I went for a walk around Walden Pond today. I probably shouldn't have, since my doctor has told me to stay off my feet until the swelling goes down. (Thirty years old with bunions? Are you kidding me?) But I really needed to get out, go hug some trees.

It was cold but bright, so when the wind calmed down I could feel the warmth of the sun against my skin. The water on the pond is still trying to make up its mind about freezing, and slush was just starting to form around the edges. In a few places, air had been trapped under the ice and came bubbling up to the surface as if some strange undersea creature was letting out its breath in slow, measured exhales.

The winter birds were in full song, darting in and out among bare branches. I played hide and seek with a woodpecker for awhile. He was determined not to let me get a good luck at him, always perching with the sun as a backdrop or darting around to the back of a thick trunk.

Halfway around the pond I started noticing red rose petals strewn along the ground, their bright crimson in stark contrast to the mottled brown leaves underfoot. I have no idea who left the petals -- maybe a heartbroken woman scattering a peace offering from an unfaithful lover. Maybe a black-fingernailed goth girl performing a mystic ritual. Maybe it was just someone who didn't want to put a wilting flower in the garbage can.

It's nice, once in awhile, to have a happy mystery occupy your thoughts while you're out clearing your mind.