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I’m not great with rules. I think I used to break them purposely, but now I just seem to have gotten out of the habit of paying attention to them at all.

For example, the rule about resting during recovery. The Cop has been looking askance at me since my return to work, which, though occuring via the bruise- and bandage-hiding medium of telecommuting, did stretch on for 9 1/2 hours yesterday.

He also looked at me funny as I lay around on the couch putting first one then the other leg behind my head. Not comfortably yet, but still. For some reason, I find lying around with my leg behind my head to be very, very funny. The only other asanas I’ve done during recovery are samakonasana (No leaning forward, or your eyes will pop out and you’ll be sorry! I imagined my surgeon saying. It was effective, too. I didn’t even feel tempted to lean forward.) and baddha konasana (again, the no-leaning-forward version). Hey wait a minute! In my link picture, Arjuna, top model of all things asana, is leaning a little. I was taught I had to be really straight up and down on this pose. I’ll have to ask about that. I’d be happier with the Arjuna version.

So that’s it for asana. Did do some pranayama with Michael Gannon’s CD, and that was pretty nice. I immediately started trying to figure out how I could manage pranayama breaks at the office. People always come to talk to me, so it’s not something I could keep hidden. On the one hand, they already think I’m weird, so maybe I don’t have much to lose. On the other hand, perhaps this would be the straw that finally brings a security escort to the exit.

I’m sure my boss would be amused. She thinks it’s funny that I leave the room sometimes, saying I’m going to “go think.” I’m sure it’d sound especially funny if I started needing time to “go breathe.”

Okay, so back to rules. There are rules attached to awards (down side), but awards are pretty cool (up side). Imagine my delight when someone whose blog often makes me think actually nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award. Thanks, Yogamum. I feel like a one-note kind of blogger, because while I may think, I pretty much only think about yoga practice. I let other bloggers do the thinking about other (likely more interesting) things.

Which makes it easy for me to nominate my own Thinking Bloggers:

Visions of Cody — Who writes about yoga and philosophy with self-awareness and a kind of hilarity you only find in the Boston area.

Inside Owl — Who is resolutely PoMo, with cracks around the writing edges that make it all delightfully human.

Hardcore Zen — Who is the first zen blog I’d share with anyone who was suspicious of zen — and we all should be

Bad News Hughes — Who is the guy to turn to when you feel like you’re a loser with a dysfunctional family, because he will top any story of humiliation or pain you could possibly come up with. (Well worth checking out his posts about Christmas with his family in 2004 and 2005!)

Mimi Smartypants — Who makes me wish I were a real blogger.

The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to the Thinking Blogger Award post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award.’

Uh oh, I just read the rules again. In the end, many of the bloggers I love actually make me laugh a lot. Is that the same as “think”?

I’m going to say yes. Hey, that’s actually kind of an interesting thought…

Well, probably not really the brink. Though the first thing I remember about the recovery room was the nurse saying, “Karen, breathe. You’re not breathing deeply enough.” My mind said, “Oops, not savasana. Ujjayi.” And I switched over until I fell asleep again, and then she had to remind me again.

I don’t do formal pranayama, but I did discover in zazen that when I am really relaxed, it feels so lovely to wait after the exhalation. Very still. Though inappropriate for the recovery room, apparently.

Okay, so the surgery was fine. Except for the anaesthesia. And the pain killers. Oh, and the pain. Truth be told, the pain isn’t what bothered me. It was the woozy stomach-achey feeling of all the drugs.

I pretty much just lay around for a few days, getting up only when my back started freaking out. I’m not a back sleeper, so the staying on my back business has been quite a project. I did use my iPod and Shuffle to listen to books when I couldn’t read, and that worked out nicely. Though I listened to a really depressing book (Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro), which probably wasn’t ideal, given the depressive effects of all the drugs. Luckily I didn’t listen to it before they put me out, otherwise I don’t think I would have clung to life. In other audio listening, though, I had the Bhagavad Gita. Rock on! Audio is a great way to approach this book. I suspect poetry in general is good via audio.

Yesterday I felt well enough to go out in the backyard and prune the fruit trees, all the while listening to the Gita. Between the sun and the audio and the dog standing beside me with her muzzle buried in the fragrant fruit clippings, it finally felt like things were kind of getting back to normal.

I’m losing the bruises, and less swollen, and today I had my stitches out. The saving grace to almost everything I do is that I don’t think about it too much. (Try climbing? Sure! And when we get to the lip of the deep canyon: Wow, that’s kind of far. And we’re going to use a rope attached to these small pieces of equipment? And I’m going to rappel by myself?) So what I learned today was that the only way to get the stitches out of my eyelids (not just the top creases, by the way, but along the lash line of the bottom lids and into the corners on both sides) was to let another human use pointy tweezers and really sharp scissors to snip and pull them out. Good thing I hadn’t thought about that!

And I have had an extraordinary revelation. At the end of surgery, I looked at myself and was kind of astounded by my turned-up cat eyes. My eyes had gotten really lax, and now they’re all tight and kind of slanted, when looked at from three-quarter view. They’ll relax some, but I have been finding the shape somewhat unfathomable. At least until this afternoon, when I remembered two images: one of them is a high school photo, my senior picture. I think my Mom actually still has it. I hated that photo, because I had plump cheeks and almond eyes, and from three-quarters view, it made my eyes look slanted.

The other image that came to mind was a portrait my landlady painted of me when I was 26. I had on a pink silk print kimono, and my hair was dyed blue-black and all wild and tangly. What always struck me about the image, though, was how she painted my eyes to look kind of turned up at the edges. It was a somewhat abstracted image, and the curve of the eyes very pronounced.

I’d totally forgotten about these images. I’ve spent the past few days trying to understand what I look like, because I look foreign to myself. And when my brain finally pulled up some “here’s what you kind of look like” images for me, it turns out they are old pictures of my self. I find it rather delightful, but also kind of freaky — to look different. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t think about it too much beforehand.

***

sthirasukhamasanam

***

Verse 2.46 from the Yoga Sutra. Sorry, Sanskrit Scholar, for the lack of accent marks

Desikachar translates it as: Asana must have the dual qualities of alertness and relaxation.

And he adds: There must be alertness without tension and relaxation without dullness or heaviness.

I read this a couple of days ago and though Volleyball Guy talks about it often, I was for some reason quite struck with it anew. I think perhaps because it not only informs asana practice, but also how I am trying to balance my mental state these days.

Farewell practice this morning was lovely. A little underlying preoccupation/tension in my mind, but not too bad. And in what felt like a bit of a gift from the universe, I managed little fingertip binds on both sides of pasasana, and even had my heels down. It was ugly, of course, but still, it’s always delightful to puzzle through the mechanics a bit and come up with some semblance of a pose. Now that I think about it, I can honestly say that it is my favorite part of practice. Not so much the “perfecting” (as if!) of poses, but that first time when you go, “Oh, so that’s how this goes!” before you teeter and crash out of some crazy, twisted facsimile of an asana.

Triumph of the human spirit and all.

Hmmm. Perhaps I’m channeling My Gift, who is always cheery and ironic when she is excited. She’s been very happy lately: she and a friend found a little house to rent just off campus, and she got a job this week at a veterinary clinic. And she went to a Bikram class, which she adored. I know folks talk about how they dread seeing their children grow up, but I don’t really get it. I love watching My Gift grow up!

Okay, off to work. Last day before my “vacation.”

My motivation is a little off. Sunday was the usual day off after a really deep Saturday practice. And yesterday I found myself thinking about Monday and Tuesday practices. Hard to motivate. Why? Because I’m going to have three weeks off starting Wednesday. Elective cosmetic surgery is the reason. Gonna get my eyes done.

I’ve wanted to do this for close to a decade. But it wasn’t feasible during the single-mom years, and then not during the “save for My Gift’s tuition” years, and then the new house — and when all of those things were finally squared away, I found myself reluctant to interrupt the new Ashtanga practice.

So here I am at last, with a very comfortable primary practice, and some progress into intermediate (though how far I should be going into it is still up in the air, at least to my mind). A good time, if there is such a thing, for a break.

As I said, though, this morning’s practice was a little hard to motivate, as I’m looking at a long break anyhow, and I’m also preoccupied with the upcoming surgery. Decided to just go ahead and do primary. Once I got to setu bandhasana, though, I figured I’d take a shot at pasasana. And don’t you know, I got the bind. Just on one side, and with my heels raised a bit, but a lovely moment nonetheless. I thought it was far, far away, the day that I would get that bind without assistance.

Knocked off there. That was enough for today.

Tomorrow, I imagine I will be even more preoccupied. But it’s settled already: it’ll be primary and pasasana. Many thoughts, of course, during practice — but the peacefulness still underlying.

Okay, coffee HAS to FOLLOW practice. Even if it’s home practice and you think you don’t care about barfing at home. Because in the end, you don’t barf, but the feeling of wanting to during ustrasana and kapotasana is a real buzz kill. Please, Karen! Please try to remember!

Geez. These lessons I keep trying to teach myself.

I hope I listen.

Practicing at home is a delight. Mucho instructive. Quiet, contemplative. I can hear my thoughts really loudly. “No!” as I started dropping back into kapotasana. Wow, I thought, that was really loud.

I’m always fascinated by the ongoing, usually subconscious monolog that we all have. I think that’s my big attraction to meditation, that there’s this secret world of inner experience, and it’s so easy to blot it out with external reality.

Okay, so anyhow. Practice was lovely and I got to relax and just be with my self. Which is more and more pleasant the older I get and the more I practice. I wasn’t such good company to myself for many years. And I think that’s common.

Supta kurmasana actually saw me with my feet crossed and one leg creeping up over my head. That’s the beauty of home practice for me: I create my own little projects to pursue. And if I don’t get it today, fine — it’s a reason to come back tomorrow.

Okay, so the trip to NYC was with four other folks from work. A teambuilding experience, because we’re a new, interdepartmental team, created to design and implement some pretty significant product management changes. I’m the odd man out, because I’m a designer. Designers, like engineers, are often the nemeses of product management people.

So I go on the trip, we all have a good time and learn a good deal. I walk away feeling like the team is gelling and all is well.

This morning is the report to the directors. I expect to listen and chime in. Oh no, the lead on the product team looks at me and says “Karen will walk us through our report.” Um, okay. First thought: Sabotage! Second thought: Aw, who cares? Breathe and be mindful and just do this.

And it went off swimmingly.

Thank you, practice.

Okay, coffee HAS to FOLLOW practice. Even if it’s home practice and you think you don’t care about barfing at home. Because in the end, you don’t barf, but the feeling of wanting to during ustrasana and kapotasana is a real buzz kill. Please, Karen! Please try to remember!

Geez. These lessons I keep trying to teach myself.

I hope I listen.

Practicing at home is a delight. Mucho instructive. Quiet, contemplative. I can hear my thoughts really loudly. “No!” as I started dropping back into kapotasana. Wow, I thought, that was really loud.

I’m always fascinated by the ongoing, usually subconscious monolog that we all have. I think that’s my big attraction to meditation, that there’s this secret world of inner experience, and it’s so easy to blot it out with external reality.

Okay, so anyhow. Practice was lovely and I got to relax and just be with my self. Which is more and more pleasant the older I get and the more I practice. I wasn’t such good company to myself for many years. And I think that’s common.

Supta kurmasana actually saw me with my feet crossed and one leg creeping up over my head. That’s the beauty of home practice for me: I create my own little projects to pursue. And if I don’t get it today, fine — it’s a reason to come back tomorrow.

Okay, so the trip to NYC was with four other folks from work. A teambuilding experience, because we’re a new, interdepartmental team, created to design and implement some pretty significant product management changes. I’m the odd man out, because I’m a designer. Designers, like engineers, are often the nemeses of product management people.

So I go on the trip, we all have a good time and learn a good deal. I walk away feeling like the team is gelling and all is well.

This morning is the report to the directors. I expect to listen and chime in. Oh no, the lead on the product team looks at me and says “Karen will walk us through our report.” Um, okay. First thought: Sabotage! Second thought: Aw, who cares? Breathe and be mindful and just do this.

And it went off swimmingly.

Thank you, practice.

Last night, before bed, The Cop said, “Aren’t you happy you’ll be practicing in the morning?” Yes! Skipped Saturday led because I didn’t get in from New York ’til close to 3 AM. Sunday is my day off, and Monday was the Moon Day. Which I totally needed. I was feeling pretty burnt from practice. But I’m still not at all used to this taking days off business. It messes with my happy obsessive compulsive world.

Home practice this morning. No Mysore, as Volleyball Guy is on vacation. Of course this, combined with a new shoji screen in the yoga room, gave my mind lots of things to attach to. The environment’s different! Volleyball Guy is far away! I’m doing home practice on a Tuesday! I’ve had three days off! Why is the Mysore practice schedule changing?! The interdepartmental jockeying at work is driving me mad! Why do I get involved?! Would I be remiss, not to?!

Oh, Lordy.

Practice was fine. Turbulent mind, but whatever. It really got going toward the end of primary. You have a meeting at the office at 8! Practice is really long now! Maybe you should stop at pasasana! Maybe just do primary!

Sigh.

Did the whole thing. Felt kind of sluggish (too much dinner last night, three days off, etc.). My new project may simply be to learn to be a little more accepting of ups and downs in my practice. To kind of expect and even enjoy them. Every single practice can’t be bandharific and light and energetic. Well, actually, it kind of can, but then I end up losing too much weight and feeling crispy and driven.

No matter what, practice is endlessly instructive. Moments of bliss, of detachment, of peace, of torment, of greed, of restlessness. All just to coordinate the body and the mind. Sometimes it’s just a big ass wrestling match, and other times it’s a comfy blanket. I need to just let it keep being all those things.