Food, Food, Food.

This…

~VS~ this…

Many thoughts on food today. And yesterday. Quite possibly the last fifteen or so years of my life. Today however was thick with them. You see, the past two weeks have been lived out in the spirit of fasting. More of a partial fast designed to limit my intake, cut out unnecessary items and really hone-in what I put into my body. For the most part the changes were not that difficult as I’ve followed this basic plan before. Don’t eat this or that, more of those and less of them and don’t eat now or later. The most common themes being; avoid all dairy, bread and refined sugar; focus on whole grains, steamed veggies and fruit; no food in the morning and no food at night. Oh and no alcohol, which I hadn’t been doing anyway. Simple enough.

It wasn’t too hard cutting out the dairy. Bread? Could do without but definitely thought about toast from time to time. Cookies? MMMmmmmm… cookies. Ultimately though, the restricted diet was fairly easy to obtain and maintain and I plan on staying with it’s general principles as a regular thing.

The first week I felt great. Energy, lightness, enthusiasm. Strong. However, as my body struggled to adjust to the new regimen and the heat I started to get tired. Dizzy. Lethargic. I hit a wall. My body, completely non-complient. Frustration set in. The inner battle; Do it! Don’t give in, work harder! -vs- Breathe, slow down, take it easy; pretty much a losing one. The body usually wins.

After that, I was ready to dive into a bag of Jelly Bellys and chocolate cake with a bowl of buttered popcorn all curled up to watch “Goonies” in a dark, cool room. Actually I would have eaten anything put in front of me. Aside from a stake that is. But, I noticed something new. I wasn’t really hungry. My belly wasn’t hungry. It was a different feeling. Hollowness, a desire for something else. To be held… comforted?

Thoughts varied from failure to complete my practice and money being tight to missing my family, the mountains and my old apartment. Longing. So, I had to wonder… what is this really about? What does food really mean to me? What do these things I miss and desire mean to me and my life as a whole? What space is it that I’m attempting to fill with food or anything for that matter and how does that relate to this sense of security I long for? Then… what is that exactly? Security? All I know for sure at this point is I can’t get that from a pint of Chocolate Therapy, even though it’s damn tasty ice cream.

Two Blogs for the Price of One

Chilling on the purple shala couch, post Tuesday night mysore.

The Heat

I remember being a kid and hiding in the car on a hot day. Was afraid I would get in trouble for doing something wrong. Too scared to get out, huddled on the floorboards of the front seat of our old green pontiac. It was so hot. Miserable and claustrophobic. Feeling trapped as beads of sweat ran down my cheeks; the stagnant aroma of hot upholstery; suffocating, sobbing. Motivated by the overwhelming fear of being reprimanded or disapproved of I sat there. Frozen… so to speak.

It’s interesting to me, these triggers to memories and emotions. The memory of believing I would be reprimanded if I was to get out of that car, face the consequences and then my life would somehow be over. Believing myself to be trapped; hot, miserable and unable to make the decision to open the door. Fairly primal reaction. Hiding. What felt like a smart move towards self-preservation was actually the development of a bad habit. Many layers of development. JUST OPEN THE DOOR!

There have been a few times this summer while adjusting to the east coast heat, when I felt like that little girl. Suffocating, afraid of failure, of blowing it, trapping myself in the green pontiac of my own thought process. Interesting. The rad part? Recognition of inaccurate beliefs and dropping into a place where opening the door isn’t so hard. Actually feels quite good.

Minding the Mysore Room

Thursdays practice? A veritable sauna. Sweat factory. Unbelievably whoa. Amazing for my somewhat stealthily stiff joints though tough to maintain rhythm. Still… It was pretty friggin’ super. No panic, only practice. Felt good, light, ready. Inspired by events earlier that morning…

As part of the apprenticeship I am working on with David at AYSP, two other ladies and I take turns opening the shala and teaching/facilitating the space until David gets there. Thursday was my day. So far, the time spent observing, assisting and teaching, has been… awesome. The amount of activity that goes on in there is mind blowing. Inspiring. Students of all different levels, requiring all different levels of assistance. From the small tweak of a twist to the fundamentals of learning the sequence. Some flying, some dragging (yes, that’s me sometimes), some breathing, some learning to breathe. Each having their own individual experience within themselves while sharing space with twenty other people. And ONE teacher.

He walks in, puts down his keys, takes a second to assess the room and dives straight in. Like a ninja he moves through the room. Talk about animalistic. As if he can see things before they happen. Like a cats keen night vision; useful on a hunt. In this case, for alignment. As many of his students can attest to, his ability to see what is going on with their bodies in regards to alignment and engagement is scary accurate.

The inspiration I get from being in the mysore room is immense. Watching the rhythm of movement, seeing the beauty of the room breathing. Observing and developing an understanding where/how things can shift into alignment with a slight this or a subtle that. Learning to understand a persons practice and how I can best facilitate their evolution in it… whoa. Incredible.