I wanted to write about the past month of self-discovery, but whenever I sat down to write, I found that I was turning the narrative into a novel with multiple, parallel plots and got frustrated because it was taking so long to beat the opus into shape and to an end. So I’ve made a promise to keep the entries short, concise, something that I can finish in 15 minutes.
And if I get inspired, built up momentum and write for an hour, then so be it.
At a Desiree Rumbaugh workshop, Thrive Yoga, 2011
Wow! One of my favorite yoga sites has just undergone a remodeling: The Magazine of Yoga has taken on a cleaner look, a more straight-forward organization and a splendid use of photos. I could never really understand what kind of site it was trying to be (but loved its content) because it shirked the standard chronological order that predominates on most sites and didn’t seem to fit any other mold. MoY also has undergone a reshuffle of its sections: Conversations get top play, for good reason, and a penchant for writerly kind of articles.
I must confess that over the past two months, I have not had time to dig into the MoY articles and interviews, which tend to be longer than most web articles, even running into two parts. I don’t have time at work to steal time for reading a long-ish article, and at home my time is occupied with other tasks. My parents’ deaths have really emptied my life of open, reflective space. I am lucky to squeeze in time for meditation.
My problem is that I’m running into more yoga sites that deserve more than a brief visit: Yoga Modern is enticing; Elephant Journal is just vibrating with life; I just discover YogAnonymous a few days ago; and Carol Horton/Books, actually a Facebook site, just knocks me back with its pace and depth (her longer pieces appear on Think Body Electric blog). I can barely find time to check my RSS feed, much less read everything on these sites. I don’t even think to go over to YogaJournal.
Los Angeles Times Yoga opened doors she had long ago closed – Writer and teacher Colette LaBouff Atkinson describes how she came to her yoga practice when her body seemed to be breaking down:
But in yoga, as anyone and everyone who’s ever benefited from it will say, all kinds of things became possible. I was there only to breathe; nothing to revise or make again. The yoga instructor — more than one, really — would walk by me and say, “Soft face.” Sometimes the teacher would put her fingers into my furrowed brow as she passed.
I can’t believe it. It’s been almost 20 days since I last made an entry in this blog. I’ve just been too busy at work and at home to put together some thoughts on my practice or what I chanced across on the web related to yoga or what’s going on inside my head. It’s not because things aren’t happen to me and inside me. I still find time to read (on the Metro) and expand my knowledge. I keep being surprised and engaged by what takes place in my life, but I can’t seem to find a space for reflection.
Part of this shift in attitude is that my 9-to-5 job keeps me busy. Now a former web client has come back after a two-year hiatus and has given me consulting work that I can do on my “free time.” The extra cash is extremely welcome, indeed needed, and I enjoy accepting the challenge of learning new web development tools and meeting targets. But all the effort does not leave me with a lot of energy. But it has also meant an energy investment in getting up to speed again for doing this kind of work.
But I make a point of not giving up my practice — still getting to the studio four times a week, and doing meditation and pranayama the other days. At this stage of my life, I know that I cannot let down my guard. I need my practice to rebuild my strength, stamina and focus. I need to bleed off the internal pressure that I tend to build up over time, a self-imposed stress that can undermine my balance and push me back into depression. Ever since I left the States in 1974, I’ve put myself in situations in which I worked long hours — as an English as a second language teacher, as a journalist, as a researcher, and as a consultant. When assignments falls into your lap, you have to accept the opportunity because they may not come back again. In the old days, I would push my self to the physical and mental limits — and eventually paid the consequences. Now I have to gauge my endurance and recovery capacity and use my new life skills to manage myself better.
Another milestone that I’ve passed during the last six months is that I now have to define myself as a full-time writer. Ever since I had my mid-life meltdown, I’ve had to think of myself as a professional who has secondary skills as a writer. I was a helpdesk specialist or a web developer or an IT manager who used writing to get the job done. Now my primary job is writing and editing at CICAD. That shift in emphasis may seem small, but it’s significant for me because it’s how I define myself.
As part of my on-going reflection on “How Yoga Has Changed My Life,” I have added a longer piece on how I have gained new energy in my writing through applying yoga. I am not saying that I am a better writer than I was before my yogic rebirth, just a more energetic, challenged writer. The concept of tapas has clarified a lot of the mystery around the writing process.
The following paragraph is an entry for a reader-contributed section in the Sunday Washington Post called “LIFE IS SHORT | Autobiography as Haiku.” The instructions say, “Find a way to give insight into your life in under 100 words.” It’s my favorite part of the paper and I read it religiously every Sunday because the writing is surprisingly good and most people “get it.”
During my senior year at college, my friends provoked each other, half in earnest, half mocking, with the question: “So, what are you going to do for the rest of your life?” The question’s immensity made us laugh uncomfortably at our cloudy career paths. Now 33 years later, I realize that I missed the point completely — it’s a trick question. There is no such thing as “the rest of your life.” There is only now, and if you are going to accomplish anything, it has to be done in small breaths, one after the other.
Well, it’s been four weeks since I submitted it so it must have gotten lost among the hundreds of other entries. The Post just publishes two a week. So I am going to post it here. When I get a seed of wisdom, I have to share it — because it so rare.
A friend recently reminded me about a book that I had purchased more than a decade ago — Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. It is published by Shambhala Publications, a publisher specialized in Zen, Buddhism, spirituality, yoga and other neat things. The book has become a classic, nearly one million copies in print since 1986. Goldberg writes and teaches writing with a Zen punch. She says that “writing is a practice,” just like mediation and yoga.
I was drawn to writing a blog about my yoga life because it is part of a practice for me, just as much as the asanas and pranayama. I learn, share that experience and refine understanding through putting words together. Writing is what sets me apart from most people — I learned that in my graduate studies, at work, on the web and in my life. It is how I manifest generosity and acknowledge the joy and fulfillment of my daily existence.
Golberg explains her 25 years of meditation practice in an article in Yoga Journal. She imparts some wisdom about meditating and writing:
“And my final rule is this: No matter how far your meditation diverts from the cushion or the chair, don’t forget to return again and again, as much as possible, to that immobile sitting position, where everything runs through you. Think of it: If a writer is a writer, she eventually, even 30 years later, must pick up a pen again and write. A Zen student, no matter how much he or she chops wood or carries water, must return to the zafu. Each practice has its one essential activity. For Zen, it is sitting. This is good. Otherwise we might wander off, get lost forever, and never find the beginning.”