No, it’s not a new, more aggressive kind of arachnid. It’s what I was just doing out in the backyard. It all started when I identified the little round balls all over the couch I’d just cleaned. Birdseed! Our perp is, of course, the dog. The thing is, even as she stands out in the yard and eats the seed, she never looks like she is particularly enjoying it. She just feels obligated to consume anything that is edible, apparently. So she ate all the seed I put out this morning, then came into the house and spread the crumbs that were stuck to her jowls.
Clearly, the Buddha birdfeeder had to be up higher off the ground. The Buddha has been on a low platform of…I’m actually not sure what they are. Paving thingies. Rough-edged bigger-than-a-brick, smaller-than-a-concrete-block things with one rounded side. The rounded side allows you to make curved walls when you stack the bricks. I fashioned the low platform when we first moved into this house, pilfering a few of the paving thingies from a structure the old owners had built under the master bedroom window. Apparently it was a kind of flowerbox–about three feet high by four feet wide, and full of dirt. The Cop has been dismantling the structure and removing the dirt in installments. I guess having something like that against the house can compromise the house structure. Whatever. I just wanted some of the blocks.
The Cop has gotten to the point where we now have a deconstructed flowerbox, which means a bunch of stacks of paving bricks under the tangerine tree, and a pile of dirt. The bricks would do quite nicely for an upgrade to the Buddha’s platform. As soon as I started picking up a brick, though, my desert mind kicked in. First thing I think of, when I am dealing with corners and crevasses, are black widows. I’ve killed a few black widows over the years–and felt pretty bad doing it–but the thing you notice most is how incredibly aggressive they are. When something gets into the web, the black widow goes tearing straight at it. Second thing I thought of were scorpions. I think bricks might be too cool for them in the fall, but they do like small spaces. They, too, are aggressive.
Just as I was thinking this over and picking up a brick, something went scurrying away. Too fast to really identify, it could have been a small lizard or a spider. Not a black widow, though; a black widow would have come right at me. Maybe a brown recluse? Okay. I picked up another brick, shuttling it over to the platform. Then another brick, and another frantic rustling amid the remaining pile. I thought about all the things it could be. Another brick. And another. Once I got uncomfortable enough, I realized I was going to have to break down and get my gardening gloves.
Ah, but wait. Right on the patio were The Cop’s gloves for the heavy bag. Actually, they’re more like mittens. Either way, though, they were the perfect solution for the rest of my paving brick adventure. I put them on and was ready for battle.
It was very interesting to me, how when I realized there might be some danger to picking up the bricks barehanded, I felt compelled to push the envelope. I could have just gotten gloves. But I wanted to see how far I could push it before it really bothered me. I’m not sure how, but I feel like that little game also manifests in Ashtanga, that it’s something I love about practice. I thought about rock climbing. I remember sticking my hands into the cracks of rocks and having things fly out–bats, birds, bugs. I heard stories of people grabbing snakes as they reached for holds. Of course, being up high and clinging to a wall helps put getting bitten by a surprised animal into perspective, but still. I never thought about the danger to my hands.
I think I love practice because you can court that little danger–that uncomfortable feeling (What if I fall on my head? What if I hurt myself?) and learn to move through it. There is always a lot of debate about injury in Ashtanga, with plenty of people willing to believe that if something is dangerous, we shouldn’t do it–but where do you draw the line? I want some danger. I want to feel some adrenaline and have the opportunity to challenge myself to keep a clear mind. I think lots of people use personal or emotional drama to create those feelings. I don’t want that. I want the (albeit small) physical frisson; I want to have some skin in the game. It makes more sense to me, philosophically, I guess: mind unchanging, body transient. Keeping a still mind and playing the edge with the body is all about how life is–how death is. The body is always out there in the wilderness, no matter how we try to pretend otherwise.
The Buddha is now up at a height that should discourage the dog. I imagine she could climb up, but I don’t think she’ll bother, not for birdseed. Already the doves are out there, checking things out. Maybe eating any spiders that were on the bricks I moved.
No practice today. I’m thinking that since I am in a self-practice kind of mode, I might keep a more classical Sunday through Friday schedule.
Actually, of course, the practice isn’t dangerous. I’m dangerous. My past forays into yin yoga have resulted in knee tweaks and back crinks. Why? Because in yin you are not supposed to push, and I don’t understand what that means. My internal yin monolog goes: Okay, so don’t push. Don’t push. Relax and enjoy. Ooh, this feels nice. The whole point is to relax and not push. Hmmmm…I wonder if I can get a little further into this?