be happy

There's something off about rushing to get to meditation class. What's the point of pressing and stressing in order to enter a state of oneness? So I arrive to class 20minutes late this morning, only to sit on my mat for 3 minutes, feeling the disappointment of entering in the middle deepen when I realize that meditation is actually over. And get this -- I actually start to cry. My pendulum swings between self pity and blame until I let it go when the yoga teacher reminds me that always needing to be right makes it hard to be happy.

happy birthday to me

I was raised on fig newtons and fruit cocktail, confusing sugar for a basic food group. Being vegetarian doesn't translate as being healthy. Take this morning, for example. I ate birthday cake for breakfast. Two pieces. Skipped the candles and wish and dug right into buttercream frosting. So despite my 2 mile dog walk and mid day yoga class, I still feel like crap -- not a good thing on your birthday. And yes, it is my birthday.

I'm in my mid-40's, somewhere near what I imagine to be the midpoint of my life, if I'm lucky. And let me be clear; I'm not embracing this image of a hill and at a certain age (is it 30?) being 'over the hill.'

Life's not a straight line either. I mean, there I am in yoga class today, stretching my hamstrings in downward facing dog and then suddenly sitting on a bench at the university art museum, surrounded by Renaissance paintings and immersed in the vibrations of a quartet playing Mozart. I'm both there and can see myself from a distance, 21 years old, dressed in my favorite purple pants, a soft matching sweater, a magenta beret. True story. (and hey, stop judging and accept that style is a personal thing) The bolt of memory was immediate and in such sharp relief that I could fully feel myself there, so much so that I didn't want to return to my achy hips and stiff hamstrings and fear of economic collapse.

Anyway, that proves it's definitely not a straight line. So what shape is it? What is the shape of life? Which begs the question, what shape is my life in? And if I don't like the shape, can I shift it as fluidly as I shift from downward facing dog to child's pose? Does the attitude shift and the life follow? Does the gaze shift and the body follow? Do I even know what it is I'm following?

We can blog and debate the life I'm creating, but this I know -- I'm generating enough hot air to blow out all of my birthday candles.

savansana

Starting in savasana, arms lengthened to the sides, there is this place of in-between where I resist the letting go. Where I resist the absolute stillness. Even the background 'om' is an irritant.

If I wait it out, the sounds of trucks and outside noise move from distractions to actual pathways -- portals to someplace deeper. The truck is not a truck, but the pulse of the universe, celestial.

My body is weighted to the floor, anchored solid, heavy, unmoving. Unmovable.

Then comes a line of warmth, radiating across the top edge of my ribs, and I can will the me that's within my body to peel away from the physical as pure energy. I remember the movie 'Ghost,' how when the people die, their souls move out. And this is what it's like. A ball of energy hovering above somersaults forward through space. It flattens, then spins like a frisbee across distance. And then slows and lifts like Tinkerbell.

My body below is dead weight. Shoulders pressed into the floor. Still. Unmovable.

Breathing is slow and easy. And the heat near my heart remains.

Upon suggestion of thought, the energy returns to my body, sliding into that crease of warmth. It spreads across my chest, my arms, down into my legs. Not until it pushes into my hands and fingers and into my feet do I wiggle my extremities, reunited as one. The limitless contained for now within a body, my body.