Well, like I said, it’s been a looooooong week, and it is still going. Spent four hours in Mt Kisco today, the nearest town that can boast a Stapes, a Target and a Dunkin Donuts, trying out a martial arts dojo with Addy, sorting through school supplies, while the husband and Brian stayed home entertaining yet another horde of service providers, including the outgoing gardener who showed up today and started reseeding patches of my lawn and then, inexpocably, at least insofar as I am concerned, covering them up with thatch, a potential incoming gardener who specializes (as do all gardeners I am interviewing now) in organic and habitat-driven landscaping (meaning planting only what grows indigenously, only what the deer won’t eat and only what is highly drought resistant), our floors guy (since we decided, suddenly, without advance planning, to re-redo our floors because they weren’t shiny enough….
Blah blah blah.
And I wonder why I can’t stand blogging anymore. I bore myself to tears. I know why I like that show Mad Men: I AM a 1950’s housewife. I get excited by the discovery of distilled white vinegar as an all-purpose cleaner. I get agitated if my plans make it impossible for me to do my whites on Thursday, which is the day I designated for that.
But here is the dirty little secret that I can’t even stand admitting to myself: I am finding yoga to be incredibly annoying.
Not the physical aspect of it. No. That part is fine, although a bit boring because there is literally nothing that challenges me in Primary Series anymore, yet my backbends are so sucky that even if I ever succeed in properly standing up from a backbend, it seems almost ridiculous to imagine ever getting past Kapotasana. Feet to hands! Hahaha! I just can’t see it.
Pasasana is easy. Much easier than mari c was when I was learning it. That is not to say that I can do it myself without the help of a wall or a strap or another human, as it were. But I am just way more in the vicinity of it than I was when I was learning the Primary Series twists.
A little ennui aside, like I said, it is not the physical aspect of the yoga that is annoying me. Rather, I feel alienated from just about every other aspect. So many blogs have popped up on ashtangi.net, so many discussions of chakras and inner light and feeling overflowing love for strangers because we’re all in search of the same thing, blah blah blah, no offense….seriously, no offense…it is just that I am not feeling it.
I have zero desire to squat over a hole in india and call it a toilet. Nor do I have any intention of taking a nice warm bucket shower. All for the privilege of practicing the exact same yoga that I practice here, where I can soak in my jacuzzi beforehand and pee in a toilet that features running water?
More blasphemy: When it comes to the First Family of Ashtanga, I can’t say that I feel the love. It’s not that I feel anything negative; rather, blasphemous yoga chickie that I am, I feel…nothing. Like the girl in A Chorus Line who couldn’t “be an ice cream cone”, I’m digging right down to the bottom of my soul and feeling, well, nothing.
Maybe this is just temporary. I hope so, because I don’t want to feel nothing. I want to feel the love. I want to think of a backbend as a heart opener, and not just as gymnastics. I want to feel my blocked chakras, and not just my blocked nasal passages. As it is, I feel adrift, rootless. Maybe it’s because I have no shala at the moment. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I need some new meds. Or some more plastic surgery. Kidding about that last one.
Maybe I just need a swift kick in the asana.