donutszenmom.com

I really have to learn more about this.

Okay, so a day late, but still. This morning, I made a little prop — very simple, but (I think) kind of ingenious. It totally gets at my psoas muscles, and I can use the wall to force gently open my chest and shoulders.

A bar stool, a bolster and a strap.

Put it close to a wall and add a stiff person.

Best evah. Seriously.

So, anyone else see the parallels here with traditional Ashtanga practice?

Practice has been super delightful lately ’cause of the breath. My flotation experiences (and yes, I wish they’d just go back to calling it what it is: sensory deprivation) reminded me how much I enjoy breathing when I’m wearing earplugs. So practice these days includes props: the two sticky orange earplugs I bring home from the flotation spa sensory deprivation tank.

Lately I experience my breath as a sphere. Each inhale/exhale is one sphere and a single moment. I don’t think of anything that happens outside the sphere: nothing from the past, nothing from the present. If it isn’t part of the sphere, which is just the inhalation and the exhalation and the sensations of the particular posture or vinyasa, then I put it down. Sweet. It gets progressively harder to do as the week wears on; I find myself thinking about work stuff and playing scenarios in my head. No! No! No! Get out of my breath sphere! I’m entitled to at least 90 minutes per day of being beyond thought constructions, right?

***

Speaking of 90 minutes: at this point I am trekking through primary to yoga nidrasana five days a week. At almost every practice there is an interruption, usually towards the end, where my mind yells, “THIS IS A LONG HAUL!” Then I start the next breath sphere and go on.

***

Waylon, after spending close to two months going around with cuts all over his jowls from Daisy’s violent affections, finally corrected her this weekend. Apparently he nipped her. Neither The Cop nor I saw it; we just heard her yelp, then saw him immediately comfort her. Talk about not holding a grudge. He did it three times over the course of the weekend, and she is now approaching him a little more gently.

Interestingly, The Cop and I had recently started reprimanding her when she was trying to rip his face off, because it didn’t seem like he ever would and it was getting too crazy. I wonder if he finally felt like it was okay, once he saw that The Cop and I didn’t like what was going on.

Still, no matter how rough and tumble she is, how can you not love a face like this?

She warned me

When I was in Tucson, Lisa told me to get past the fear in Bakasana B, then go on to the foot behind the head poses. ““This is the treacherous part,” she said. “From here you keep adding poses to karandavasana, and it can turn into a very long practice.”

Word.

Something else she said, that I just reread in my journal

At the end of Friday led primary she said something as people were lying down for savasana: “Don’t start thinking about how you did, or whether you did well or not well. Just be grateful for the circumstances that brought you to your practice and keep bringing you to your practice every day. You are very lucky to be among the few people who do this. Be grateful to your teachers.”

This morning’s possible misinterpretation while listening to Yoga Matrix

The expansive nature of the prana (inhale) invites flights of imagination, potential for ungroundedness — which can be tethered through a grounding through the navel.

The nature of apana (exhale) invites anxiety about death (abinivesha), which can be *released* through the navel.

[Physical interpretation: It makes a kind of figure eight.]

A Year of Cats and Dogs

Yes, I suspect I would be appalled to find myself liking this book if I were actually reading it. But I had a credit to use up at Audible, and I wanted something amusing to listen to as I did housecleaning yesterday. And the narrator of the story can communicate with animals! My favorite thing!

Anyhow, her communications with dogs in a shelter range from delightful to utterly heartbreaking. Likewise her relationship with her elderly, failing Dad. I give the book a thumbs up, even though I can also be snotty about its literary value. And I give my self a thumbs down for that.

Primates!

About 75% of my FaceBooking involves commentless sharing of this blog. Yeah, I’m a FaceBook slacker, but come on! Look at the subject: Primates! (Well, the subject is stress, actually, but I’m in it for the PRIMATES.) Yup, I not only look like a chimp, I love to read about chimps. (Shout out to Jane Goodall!) As soon as I started reading this entry, I got all excited to read about baboons! Then I read his hilarious observation:

“One of the first things I discovered was that I didn’t like baboons very much,” he says. “They’re quite awful to one another, constantly scheming and backstabbing. They’re like chimps but without the self-control.”

I think I’ll probably stick with the chimps. They’re pretty unruly as it is. Baboons sound like a non-human version of “Lord of the Flies,” and I’m depressed enough from the cats and dogs book.

Quinoa salad

Quinoa, raw corn, sunflower seeds, chopped carrots, black olives, tamari, olive oil, lemon juice.

Protein bars

Mashed banana, chopped dates, oats, peanut butter, hemp protein powder, sesame seeds, maple syrup.

Dog food

Ground raw chicken legs and thighs — bones, fat and all.

Hemp protein powder

Yes, there is one that is super-powdery and melts easily in liquid. Now I don’t have to worry about wearing hemp grit in my teeth to afternoon meetings.

Snake(s)

The one I found: it’s either a lyre or a night snake, according to Russ at the Phoenix Herpetological Society. He responded to my email and pictures within 10 minutes. It was kinda getting to me, watching the dogs play out in the yard and not knowing whether there was a rattlesnake living in the grass.

Saturday night, The Cop and I were in the back yard. I saw a movement, the thrashy sidewinding way snakes move when they’re in a hurry.

“Look! A snake!” I said.

It was a tiny one, much smaller than the one I saw on Thursday.

Not sure what’s going on out there, reptile-wise. Lots of ‘em, and they all seem especially bold. On the other hand, I haven’t seen or heard a coyote in ages.

Fly

Yesterday’s delightful holiday nap was marred by an enormous divebombing fly in the bedroom. His mission, apparently, was to cavort on human skin and buzz more loudly than any fly has ever buzzed before. I fell asleep with the sheet pulled up over my head.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, The Cop announced, “I may have to terminate this.” I fell asleep, so I’m not sure how it turned out.

Daisy

You’d think since she went to bed late, after spending the afternoon and evening patrolling the perimeter, barking at neighbors who dared celebrate the holiday outdoors, tormenting Waylon, jumping up trying to bite The Cop’s wrapped hand, attacking the lawnmower, the weed whacker, me, my shoes, the curtains, and the fence that keeps her out of the yoga room, she’d sleep in a little. Not so. 4 AM is wake-up time. If I carefully ignore the progressively more frantic scratching, whining and crate-biting for 10 minutes, it’s like hitting the snooze button: she crashes for another 10-20 minutes. Three rounds of ignoring bought me 40 extra minutes of sleep this morning, in three micro-bursts.

Love

this picture of a beautiful kapotasana, along with a post
by someone who clearly thinks about more
than what it looks like.

“I have puppy exhaustion,” I announced to The Cop this morning. Indeed, Daisy is an utter joy — she is the happiest, bounciest, most irrepressible creature I’ve ever met. But man, is she a handful. For one thing, she rolls around in her crate all night. Every hour on the hour, she snorts and flips herself over in her crate — it sounds like someone repeatedly throwing a huge pot roast onto a counter top. At 4:15, she snuffles and scratches and flips some more, then whines to get out. Bleery, I open the crate, and she falls out, rolling over herself to get to me and Waylon, wiggling and snorting and biting at us as best she can.

Adorable.

Holy crap, though, I’m tired.

***

New book. Essentials of Hinduism. Another great read. I am always thrilled when I find a new interest — every book about it is a joy, a whole new world opens up. (Go ahead, ask me a question about old school alpine climbing or about whaling in the American Northeast. Or shipwrecks! God, I love reading about shipwrecks.)

It’s always curious to me how we have/develop affinities. If you’d given me this book 10 years ago, I would have glanced through, said, “Yeah, that seems interesting,” and put it down. Now I can’t wait to get home and have at it. Curious.

***

This morning was the first morning Daisy got into her crate in the yoga room by herself. I love the routine of dogs; I love that they like sleeping or watching as humans do yoga. During supta vajrasana, my head was right up against the crate. There I was, upside down, and I looked up and straight into Daisy’s green eyes as she calmly watched me do the posture.

Maybe it’s crazy, but I feel like dogs who watch yoga are preparing for a next lifetime, or remembering past ones. Creating (or sustaining) an important affinity.

So in Buddhism, there is reincarnation, but not of an individual soul. Basically, you “return to the one.” Hinduism posits an individual soul. I guess my intuitions about dogs and yoga are more aligned with the Hindu belief system, which is as it should be.

Okay, enough from this exhausted mind. I chatted with Owl this morning, and now I have a little tune playing in my head (always appropriate, as the Beatles tend to be): And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Don’t forget, you guys. We’re here to make energy to share with the others. (Yogi Manifesto)

Cave of the sacrum. We’re all familiar with that (thanks, RF!).

In the flotation therapy pod on Saturday (of course I went back!), I was struck by how empty my head was. Nice. The darkened pod as container a strong metaphor for the inside of my skull — as if I were a tiny figure floating in there. Except in the dream, the pod/skull is thick black rubber. I have no idea why.

Nevertheless, it is a womby container for the empty that is inside the figure inside the skull that isn’t me.

How do I know? By the breath.

The breath gets cave-y and resonant in the empty. Indication of and access to.

During Ashtanga practice, that same cave-y breath. I can hear the empty in my head (which I love and am accustomed to). There is a new cave, though, which I can intuit, if not actually feel. Cave of the heart. This frightens me. I am accustomed to the heart being full.

Full or empty, same or different?

Long weekend. Yay! I didn’t remember it until speaking with a vendor on Tuesday.

He said, “Are you doing anything special for the weekend? My wife and I are going to Lake Powell.”

Me (internal monolog: “Wow, that’s random.”): “Uhhh…”

Him: “We go every Memorial Day.”

Me: “Oh, that sounds great.” (Internal monolog: “Long weekend! Woohoo! What month is this?!”)

Anyhow, to celebrate, I made pancakes for breakfast. This is the best and easiest pancake recipe ever. Cakey, vanilla-y, and like I said, super easy.

1 c all purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3 T sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 egg
1 c soymilk
2 T vegetable oil

Mix dry ingredients. Mix wet ingredients. Add wet into dry and stir until lumps are pea-size.

Yum!

I have two favorite kitchen objects right now: a new cast iron skillet and a new cookbook. The skillet rocks — really, there’s nothing like cooking in cast iron. I’m eager to try out some naan on it.

The other new favorite is this book: Good to the Grain. Not only does it offer me an opportunity to treasure hunt local stores for more exotic flours like amaranth, spelt and teff, it also has the most astonishingly beautiful pictures and (yes, I worked in bookstores for a decade) a top-notch binding.

***

Speaking of books. I just downloaded the Kindle version of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Hinduism. I’ve been having such a good time listening to podcasts by Swami Jyotirmayananda every day, but it occurs to me that my understanding of Hinduism is kind of catch as catch can — bits and pieces picked up in yoga classes, online, through my own random reading list, etc.

Must take a moment to shout out to Volleyball Guy, who insists all of his students learn to recite the limbs of Ashtanga, recite the yamas and niyamas, and chant a good number of mantras. He always put the asana practice in perspective re: the larger picture of raja yoga.

So yeah, an “Idiot’s Guide” is pretty unsophisticated. But whatever, right? I need an overview. I’ve learned to go easy when I suggest that people should pick up an “Idiot’s Guide” or “For Dummies” book. It never occurred to me that someone might take it personally, until someone did. But I’m pretty shameless about starting from scratch when I’m learning something new.

***

And now some pics of Waylon doing what he does best on this long holiday weekend.