Last night was tough. My daughter awoke only once, and to nurse her in the middle of the night is but a 25-minute experience, but she was so sad that it shook me. Isn't it amazing how gas can be such a beast. I'm almost positive that that is what caused her such pain. Moreover, I cannot go back to sleep until she is asleep. In general. I sleep with the video monitor next to me, and I check it, and I check it, and I check it again...and once she is asleep, I feel my whole body relax. But not a moment before.
Needless to say, I was uncertain about how this morning's practice would go. I even planned to set the alarm a bit later so that I could squeeze in just a few...more...minutes. But I arose as planned at 6:15, and was out the door in the cold and at the studio before 7.
The walk there is quite something...the city is just slowly waking up, those with early jobs stammer out one by one in the cold, and the light is a dull, glowing yellow in the darkness. But the bus runs as if it has been running all night, and I can usually connect either on my way north or on my way west. Either way, the warmth and safety of the bus, even the few blocks, is reassuring.
My practice is now almost 2 hours. So, to stand in Samasthiti at the beginning can feel like standing at the bottom of a mountain, especially on low sleep. After the opening prayer, I had a short conversation with myself in which I sent myself the following directions: go slowly, go gently. Listen to your body. Be present. I have noticed in these last few weeks especially a couple of the students at Mysore whose practice is so admirably slow and steady. I have wondered how they do it...how do they remain so calm and slow when they know how long the practice lasts? How do they not rush or panic? I tend to propel myself forward with exertion, partly to push through, and partly to wrench my body into each asana. I decided today, on a day when I wasn't sure whether I had enough energy to get through it, to take a leap of faith with their approach. And I am so glad I did.
For me, finding peace in a slow and steady practice meant being present in each asana. Not thinking about the asanas to come. I couldn't avoid this entirely, of course (not when I become so exhilarated by handstand these days), but I was able to do it mostly. I listened to the in-breath and the out-breath and lengthened each as long as the other. I found my points of distraction and gently guided myself back to my breath. I worried not at all about how long I was taking, and more about using the muscles necessary to be in the pose while letting all others go.
And in this process, I felt less pain than ever. I found handstand. I found patience and calm. I found a being inside myself that I had seen in others but had not yet met before: a loving guide, like a sherpa. Gentle, serene. My jump-back clicked in; it felt masculine and controlled and steady. My drop-backs are still struggling, but I did not punish myself in my mind (as I am wont to do). And my strength stayed with me from beginning until end in a constant reminder that "it" was okay.
It reminded me of how I take care of my child.
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