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Yay! No clam shack smell in the yoga room today. I did, after Cody identified the shack in MA to which I was referring, think about how it used to be crowded on the weekends. And figured that perhaps the crowds are why he prefers a different place. And then it dawned on me that the last time I was there was 30 years ago… I’ll bet it is considerably more crowded now. And I imagine the place looks exactly the same. No more and no less funky.

***

My traps. Damn my traps.

This morning, in my carefully-selected-so-as-not-to-get-me-all-wound-up pre-practice reading, Owl was talking about stress in the jaw, and Vanessa said something about thinking of her body as soft. I was quite struck by this, because while I sometimes think of my body as bendy or flexy (on good days), I am VERY reluctant to think of it as soft. Why? ‘Cause of the association with fat/weak.

But there is the softness of yielding and flexibility and openness.

Duh.

So today I thought of my body as kind of taffy-like. Versus how I usually think of it, which is more like steel cables. An association which leads to my current traps issue. As is the case with most of my “openings,” there is a penultimate stage where the muscles are horribly tense and sore. And then, finally, they knock it off entirely and there is a new way of being.

Perhaps there is an easier way? This morning, between the relaxation of the jaw and the meditating on my body as soft, I had a lovely practice. I was actually surprised to find that I could physically do things, even while leaving my body to be “soft.” Such an option had never occurred to me.

Duh, again.

***

The Cop got marichy B on one side this morning. Triumph! I’m really proud of him.

Tonight, at our Tuesday night dinner at the favorite sports bar, I am going to review Raja Yoga with him. I’ll feel negligent if I don’t at least outline the system for him.

“Sea shanty,” I thought during practice this morning. “What’s a sea shanty?”

According to wikipedia:

Sea shanties were shipboard working songs. Shanties flourished from at least the 15th century through the days of steam ships in the first half of the 20th century. Most surviving shanties date from the 19th and, less commonly, 18th centuries.

In the days when human muscles were the only power source available aboard ship, sea shanties served a practical purpose: the rhythm of the song served to synchronize the movements of the sailors as they toiled at repetitive tasks. They also served a social purpose: singing, and listening to song, is pleasant; it alleviates boredom, and lightens the burden of hard work, of which there was no shortage on long voyages.

Hey, repetitive muscular tasks! Just like practice! No wonder I thought of it.

Oh, but there was more to it than that. I was welcomed into the livingroom this morning by a big blob of cat barf. Not a 300-pound-man-sized barf, it’s true — but it was a super fragrant barf. Poor cat. We ran out of his usual food, and I had to give him this fancy pants organic stuff that smells reeks of seafood. And which, despite its organic goodness, seems to have made him incredibly sick.

I washed the floor twice. It dried. Practice began.

Aw, crap, it still smelled like one of the clam shacks we used to go to on the east coast. The plank floors in those places are usually thick, creaky, splintery grey wood, swollen with sea air, and fragrant with spilled clam and lobster broth.

It’s actually a lovely smell, except when it’s in my yoga room and I know it came from the cat.

***

I put up a sign in my office today. It says, “One thing at a time.” My experiment for this week. I am SICK, SICK, SICK of the tyranny of multi-tasking. I am super good at it, but it is really starting to make me miserable.

Ayurvedic theorists ought to take a look at multi-tasking. I am convinced it causes a vata imbalance.

***

“I’m not getting any better at this,” said The Cop this morning, in reference to his jump throughs.

“You will,” I said. “You probably have to go through a despair stage.”

“How many times?”

We are getting rid of our pool. We don’t use it, but it sucks up water and electricity. It doesn’t fit into The Cop’s plans for our environmentally-responsible lifestyle.

A guy is going to come over with heavy machinery and dig it all up, then fill the hole back in with dirt.

So I just said to the Cop, “When we have the dirt in the backyard, I want to make a dirt ramp. To practice chakrasana and dropbacks.”

He rolled his eyes. “So you’re going to go out in the backyard and lie in the dirt?”

“No,” I replied. “I am going to put something over the dirt before I lie on it.” Probably his yoga mat, if he keeps the bad attitude.

“Do you want to just bring the dirt in here? Maybe in the yoga room?”

I went into the kitchen to do other things. He came in and said, “I’m going to sell my motorcycle. And then I’m going to buy two motorcycles.”

I didn’t get the low down on why he wants two, because I was busy pointing out that I get grief for wanting to make a ramp of dirt with dirt that will already be in the backyard, and here he is, asking about having two motorcycles.

“Did it sound like I was asking?” He started laughing. “Oh, I’m not asking.”

So I guess the new thing around here is going to be a dirt ramp in the backyard and two motorcycles. You know the whole thing about keeping up with The Joneses? Yeah, I think we’re off that grid.

***

I got to talk to Tova today. On the phone.

Went over to the new shala in town. Not really a shala, per se. A Thai massage place that offers a few Mysore practices per week, and this morning was a led class. Well, kind of led. They put on the SKPJ video of primary and we practiced to that.

It was great to see The British Director and Muscle Man. Also there were a few people I don’t know — a total of 6 of us.

So the verdict is in: practicing with other people pulls me outside of myself and inside of myself at the same time. Distractions and self-consciousness. Not in any significant or disturbing way — I just noticed it. The heat in the room was nice, too.

Having other people around makes you more conscious of what your poses look like, how deep you go into the pose, blah, blah, blah.

Not good or bad. Just different.

After practice we went over to a vegan tea room across the way. Scottsdale is getting so trendy.

Nice to practice with some people, but I have a kind of emotional disconnectedness. No idea why. I guess I like the camaraderie of a shala, but have some… what? Are they emotional battle scars? A weird attachment to independence? Was the dissolution of Mysore practice with Volleyball Guy traumatic? Is it just time for me to practice alone for a while?

Who knows.

I may go back next Sunday. We’ll see.