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Your astral gift is unflappable, naive confidence.

Yup, I’m sure The Cop and My Gift would say that’s true about me. And all the people on my team at work would agree. Yes, I know it’s irritating at times, my belief that we can do anything we want.

But it’s true. Really [said with naive confidence].

In yoga terms, I think of it as trusting my teacher and absorbing my own anxiety and disbelief. If VBG thinks I can do something, I do it. Whether I “can” or “can’t.” All I have to throw into the mix is my sincere attempt. Sure, I hear myself telling myself I can’t do things, but that means I have to turn off my mind.

I think climbing helped my yoga immensely. Terrified? In danger? Okay, then, first thing that has to happen is that you have to turn off the chattering mind. It is so astonishingly unhelpful in situations where you have to be precise and clear. What I believed at any of those moments (“I can’t do this,” “I shouldn’t be here,” “I’m going to fall and die”) was 100% unhelpful and potentially dangerous. The Mind: such a big fat chatterbox.

We go around cultivating our beliefs and attaching to them day in and day out, moment by moment. What’s the big freaking deal about having so many beliefs? Why are people so eager to have and defend them? Aren’t they just mostly tiresome and hard to keep track of? Bleh. Enough with all the beliefs!

What would happen if you jettisoned all beliefs? I’d start with all my beliefs about my self. Those are clearly a waste of time and totally unnecessary. Beliefs about others? Probably totally biased by my perspective, and likely to cause more problems than they’re worth. Beliefs about what’s important? Shifting — sometimes even on a moment by moment basis. Ditch ‘em.

What beliefs do I have to keep? I guess the yamas would be my first thought. In the end, though, they’re not really beliefs, so much as practices. If I kept the yamas, would I need to have any beliefs?

Maybe that’ll be my experiment for the week: just pay attention to my beliefs as they arise and then a quick experimental ditching of the belief to see if it’s at all necessary. I suspect none will be.

This morning, I did not do asana; I did dread.

The Cop has an affinity for cars, trucks, motorcycles — basically anything that you can put in the garage and tinker with and swear at. This morning, he mentioned that he was going to pick up a new motorcycle on the other side of the valley. When I asked about whether he’d transport it in his truck, he indicated that he would, though it was going to be quite a project getting a 750 (i.e., a big ass bike) out of the back of his truck once he got it home.

Upon further questioning, it became apparent to me that he was NOT going to ask anyone for help, but was going to be stubborn and self-sufficient, and probably injured, getting the big ass bike out of the back of the big ass truck.

The other alternative was for me to go with him in the truck to get the bike, and then for him to ride it home. He was reluctant to suggest that option, because he didn’t want me to miss led class.

When I first knew The Cop, he had a bike. It is immensely sexy — the helmet, the jacket, the gloves, the whole thing. It is also dangerous. *Sigh*

I skipped led class and we drove across the valley to get the bike. On the way back, I drove behind him. It is worth noting that I avoid driving behind motorcyclists as a matter of course, because I don’t want to see if anything awful happens.

But there I was, driving behind The Cop on his new FAST! BIG! bike. Suddenly I started flashing on when I would take My Gift to jumping lessons. Yes, as in jumping on a horse. She loved the biggest, crankiest horse at the stable, and she was one of the few people he would allow to ride him. Of course, he still had his moments. I remember him trying to dislodge her from the saddle by sideswiping the fence, and by brushing up against trees at a gallop. Sometimes he’d just stop suddenly and put his head down. As I’d watch My Gift fly through the air and then crash in the ring, I would hold my breath and look to see if she was breathing, then I’d wait to see if she could move. Luckily, she was always okay. Well, except for sprains and cuts and bruises and such.

My mom was appalled that I allowed My Gift to ride. Actually, I didn’t just allow it: I paid for it (ouch!) and arranged my schedule to take her to lessons and to shows. I enabled it. Why? Because she needs to explore the world. Even if it might be dangerous.

The Cop’s mom was appalled when I cheerfully greeted his decision to go to the Police Academy. I mean, he’s an adult, so I couldn’t have prevented it, even if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. He is so cut out to be a cop. Even if it might be dangerous.

Me? Well, I like to think of myself as the rock, the reasonable person who keeps everything stable and who enables the explorations of others. But I did recall this morning, as I drove behind The Cop, many days of standing on top of high cliffs. Which I’d climbed. What was I thinking? I guess that I needed to explore the world.

Today’s exploration brought me to a spa where a technician colored in my eyebrows. Yeah, I plucked ‘em so much for so many years that now I need to have them colored back in. I like this particular technician, because she calls it a “tattoo.” Other people I’ve gone to have been horrified when I called it that, and reprimanded me and told me it was “permanent make-up.” Uh, okay.

I was looking through her book before the appointment and saw pictures of permanent eyeliner. Hmmm. That’s kind of cool, I thought, I wonder what that’s like? Well, I’m here to tell you, it is freaking WEIRD. The technician kind of turns your eyelids inside out (you know how kids — or perhaps people’s husbands — do) and then draws on the edge of your eye with the tattoo needle.

“It’s okay to breathe,” she said to me, when she stopped for a moment.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I replied.

It was over pretty quickly, but damn, it felt weird. Not pain so much as… I don’t know. I guess it’s just something you’ve probably never felt the likes of in your life.

Why do I feel a sense of dread when the people I love do something new/dangerous, but don’t feel it for myself? Maybe it’s just more internalized. If I have eyelid tattoo nightmares tonight, I’ll figure I’m on to something…

Practice was brought to you today by K Kel and Susie Crossfire.

Yup, just me and Sanskrit Scholar. I was the first person in. VBG met me at the door and said, “I was thinking I was gonna get skunked.”

Sanskrit Scholar showed up and VBG left us to our own devices.

There is something really interesting about subtracting the teacher energy, but leaving the other-yogi-in-the-room energy. As we were walking out, Sanskrit Scholar said, “That was a very companionable practice.” And it was. I suddenly understood why some shalas have a self-practice day. It’s a good intermediate step between having a teacher in the room and practicing all by yourself.

At the end, when I was in savasana (gosh, I’ve had super savasanas lately…), Sanskrit Scholar sat and did one chant. It was like when someone gives you a single flower or a bite of cake: small — ineffable, almost. A gesture that you can accept without getting attached, without wondering if it’s too much and requires some kind of gesture in return. A perfect gift.

***

Remember my crazy notion about flying off to Australia for a class with Matthew Sweeney? Turns out he’s going to be at Yoga House in Edina, Minnesota for a week in July. Woohoo! Yesterday I played phone tag with one of the teachers over there. I’m aiming to make contact and register today. Don’t want to miss the opportunity. I’m hearing from folks that Minnesota in July is humid and mosquito-y. Won’t matter. I’ll be going to practice exclusively. There’s Mysore in the mornining and adjustment class in the afternoon. I’ll be sleeping any time that I’m not practicing. Well, except for any time that I happen to be eating. But that’s it: eat, sleep, yoga. Because THAT’S how to have a good vacation.

Yogamum tagged me for a book meme:

Total number of books?

Oh, God. Let’s just say my family and friends have suggested the need for an intervention MANY times. And The Cop rolls his eyes when he references my “book problem.” I have too many here in the house, and have ditched, sold, shared and given away hundreds and hundreds.

Last book read?

Pleasure: Baba: Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Yogi
Business: Navigating the Badlands

Last book bought?

Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide

Five meaningful books?

The Portrait of a Lady
The Awakening
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Ulysses
Kafka on the Shore

Zen addendum:

The Zen Teaching of Huang Po: On the Transmission of Mind
Two Arrows Meeting in Mid-Air: The Zen Koan
Cultivating the Empty Field: The Silent Illumination of Zen Master Hongzhi
Dropping Ashes on the Buddha: The Teachings of Zen Master Seung Sahn
The Compass of Zen

I’d like to tag (0v0), Cody, and Tova. Whatcha been reading, you guys?

***

Vague dream of practice

Webconference with Brussels from midnight ’til 5:45. Then I drove over to the shala. The British Director, Sanskrit Scholar and The Gymnast had already begun. I get going, feeling kind of disoriented. Hey, what’s this? The new yoga studio head has hung paper lanterns off the ceiling and they are swaying in the breeze of the fan. Nice. Drishti-distractors. How interesting that a moving object in my field of vision can almost make me fall over.

Muscle Man comes in to practice. Haven’t seen him for a while. VBG hits me with a new Prasarita C assist; it involves a very light hand on the sacrum and a crank o’ the arms. Alrighty. Then a second-side adjustment on Janu B. I always wonder what’s up when he does a one-sider: I imagine it’s a sign of emotional distress, for some reason — like he’s got something on his mind that’s bothering him. No idea why I think that. Big crank on Marichy D, which is now a perfectly comfy pose. No idea when that happened, but nice.

Whoa, look at me, I am at the intermediate poses. How did that happen? Everything is a blur. Okay, then. Laghu Vajrasana. Wait a minute, did I do everything else beforehand? Yup. Okay. Backbends and dropbacks. Dropbacks are now a game where VBG stands there and says, “Do what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

“Fall?” I always ask in my mind. That may not be positive thinking.

I am unable to focus enough concentration to pull off a slow curl toward the floor. The fourth dropback is mostly a hurtling toward my mat. VBG grabs me at the bottom of the ride. Whew! I have no concentration. Sorry. Fifth one is okay, but only ’cause I know it’s the last.

Savasana. Mmmmmmmmmm. Am I snoring? No. Okay, then. Comfy… Mmmmmmmmm. Am I snoring? No… This is nice… Mmmmmmmm. Am I snoring? Oh brother, you’d better get up and get out of here.

***

As I started practice, I noticed a pain in my right forearm. And remembered hurting it. I mean, I remember the pain and looking at my arm and thinking, “Ow,” but that’s about it. I can’t remember where I was or what the circumstances were. I don’t think it had anything to do with practice. I treat all physical stuff like this: if it hurts, I look at it, and if it isn’t bleeding profusely or if the limb isn’t trapped and impeding my ability to go about my business, I just forget the whole thing and proceed.

Which is fine 99% of the time. But every so often I end wondering what happened.

Maybe it’ll come back to me.

Why am I posting at 1:50 AM? Funny you should ask. I’m on a global conference call. The organization is putting on a conference in Brussels, and then one in Singapore. I’ll be in-person at the Singapore conference, but I am virtual for the Brussels conference. Which means I am currently hooked up to the phone/visual feed. We are on a break. I can hear all the side conferences like a cocktail party in the background. Very cheery.

I’ll be on until 4:30 AM, which is lunch time in Brussels. I’ll head over to the shala a little early, so I can start in at 5:15, and be back here in time for the last session and the wrap-up.

And in the meantime, I’m doing the little meme that Jenna has on her blog. Very amusing.

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Tia Wrangler

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Sweet Cream with Junior Mints Mix-In Chocolate Chip (??)

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
K Kel

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Red Tiger

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Marie Lawrence

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Kelka

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
The Green Margarita

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Nick Cosimo

9. STRIPPER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
Joy Kit Kat

10. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names)
Rita John

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Kellan Kahului

12. SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Winter Orchid

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + “ie” or “y”)
Mango Robey

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Chai Aspen

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Writing Cloud Tour

Jenna just posted an entry about what I think of as “restless sacrum syndrome.” I get it mostly on the left side, and it makes me kind of crazy. Usually happens at night, when I’m trying to wind down. What is it from? I’m sure I could dream up something about my energy being stuck or a glitchy chakra issue or something. And then sometimes I imagine it’s purely mechanical — a stuck sacroiliac joint, for example. But the truth is, I have no idea what it’s all about. And it’s starting to bother me more, now that I’m doing the deeper backbends.

I keep reading, with great interest, blogs by people who say this SI stuff is a normal rite of passage. I need the encouragement. I woke up from the pain this morning, but by the time I got to the coffeemaker, it was gone. Am I dreaming this? Is it all just illusion and fear, a result of reading so much about people with back pain at the beginning of intermediate? Perhaps my research is fueling the fire.

Who knows.

No matter what, practice always makes it feel better. I was tired this morning, and it was a home practice day. I definitely needed to crack my back and get the restless energy out of my sacrum. I love all the little cracks: the traditional Trikonasana hip crack, a very delicate midback pop that happens on the first side of Utthita Parsvakonasana, a neck crack on the very last breath of the first side of Parsvottanasana, a hip joint pop on the second side of Janusirsasana A, and the very best one of all: the huge sacrum crack of Baddha Konasana. A particularly amusing set of cracks happens when VBG assists on Bhekasana — sometimes he’ll grab my feet at the very end and crack all of my toes at once.

How funny, that we can grow attached to these daily pops and cracks. A way of settling in to the body, on the one hand, and a way of not being too settled, on the other. Last night before bed, I stretched my leg out and flexed the muscles and thought, “I’m so lucky I get to live like this.” I mean seriously, what greater luxury can one imagine?

Practice felt great this morning. Free of all of my post-traumatic presentation stress disorder. VBG gave me a serious crank in Marichyasana D, and the feeling in my shoulders and upper back made me flash on those experiments kids do in science class. Where you soak a chicken bone in vinegar and it gets all rubbery. Can’t quite remember what the point of that was, but do remember the smell, and also the beautiful curve of the bone.

Anyhow, I had rubbery chicken bones galore in my upper back and shoulders. Like everything that I go around keeping tight and samskara-ish came loose and mooshed up all together. A kind of chaos of how I usually perceive my physical self. I knew about this tendency to restrict the perception of my body to specific habituated modes. My shoulder girdle goes through the world in a way I think of as “me,” and it involves certain motion and certain lack of motion. Tendencies.

Lately been very conscious during practice of mula bandha, or more specifically, the “O” that the sit bones and pubis describe, as a kind of gyroscope. Thinking about the O’s relationship to the ground and then to the rest of the pose has been endlessly fascinating. I have no idea if I am learning anything. I guess it is a kind of nimitta, a vision. Of inside, but it isn’t really me.

Yeah, okay, this narrative is devolving. Stuff I can’t describe in words, and yet here I am, still trying.

Aside from the vision of a moon-white gyroscopic internal O, practice also included great comfort in Ustrasana. The British Director and Sanskrit Scholar noted that the more horizontal backbend that I was looking to cultivate, a la Arjuna (and yes, this is in preparation for a smoother kapotasana), is coming along. Thanks to intense adjustment from VBG. The British Director asked if it hurt. Not really, I can honestly say. It is intense, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels frightening, I think, because it challenges my belief about how I can move. Hence my pleasure with the chicken bone feeling this morning: my beliefs are getting rubbery.