Rainy Sunday

I love days like this in Philly. The rain is coming down in buckets, and it was a trickle into Mysore this morning. My friend Catherine says she loves stormy days because the world just slows down; how right she is. My practice this morning was drama-free. My shoulders were sore, but I took good care of them — such good care, in fact, that Sirsasana at the end of the practice was virtually painless. This meant, of course, taking my attention away from jumping back. I did it a couple of times, but I still cannot get that left shoulder not to bend in a creepy way. The issue is at least two-fold: my feet are big and my elbows bow in. I realize, of course, that we are not meant to spend much time talking about how our bodies don't fit into the practice. But I do know that those are my challenges, and so I focus even more intently on keep hands under elbows under shoulders...right from the jumping to Chaturanga in the Surya Namaskaras. Right from the beginning. It's the best way to lock that focus in.

Setu Bandhasana is here now. It was quite something to experience today. I didn't realize how Matsyasana fit in; and now I see. I rolled all the way to the fontanelle, keeping arms crossed over chest, listening to my teacher's words in my head. The man knows what he's doing.

Made some progress in Garbha Pindasana...rolled halfway round, then fell out. Felt a strange pressure on my right kidney that was a little unexpected; so I think I freaked myself out. Tomorrow.

My daughter is still struggling with her sickness. We saw more smiles today, but she's very uncomfortable. I am in awe of her ability to just experience her sickness and not worry herself with our worries. I gaze at her, looking for signs of improvement, and she is just existing in her own sickness, as if she is managing it responsibly on her own. It is her sickness, not ours, and she knows it is hers. I can see her trying to wipe her own nose; I obey her when she tells me that she is ready to be taken back to bed (in no uncertain terms); I come to her when she has had enough and needs to be reminded that we are here. I watch her eyes grow watery as she tries to take her usual interest in Sunday football, and I can see her managing her own health. She needs us, for sure. But hers is a small, but vastly significant form of independence.