Several years ago, I attended yoga classes twice each week. I continued the routine for 2 months, but I just didn't quite get the "hang" of it. My body honestly did not appreciate being twisted into balloon animal shapes, and my mind wandered. Over the years, my yoga practice has consisted of attending classes in a one-off fashion, and nothing more serious or devotional than that.
Let's try meditation, shall we? I did. Last year I attended a 6-week "Introduction to Meditation" course, meeting one night a week at the Shambhala Center. I was into it. I even purchased my own Zafu cushion and Zabuton mat. Like I said, I was into it...for a while. Sadly, both cushion and mat are used more by Kwinn than by me. When I see the mat and cushion, lonely, on the floor, I silently scold myself for not practicing, then I bitch about Kwinn's cat hair. It's a dismal day when you realize your cat meditates more than you do.
So, back to yoga. On Sunday, I went to a yoga class. My first in a few months. I enjoyed the instructor, and my body found its rhythm during our final sun salutation series, and I felt great.
As with most yoga classes, we ended with shavasana. My body always feels relaxed during this pose, but for the life of me (no pun intended...you know, life, and the shavasana--a.k.a. the dead pose), I cannot shut my mind off! During the time I should have been enjoying shavasana, stupid thoughts raced through my head and I felt like there truly was a hamster running in a wheel up there and he was determined to go the full 26.2 distance. These were some of my actual thoughts (the thoughts I will admit to):
"Oh God, I really don't think I will be able to get off this mat without assistance. Do I ask T. for help, or do I wait and ask the instructor after everyone has gone?"
"Flea medicine for cats. Flea medicine for cats. Flea meds for cats. Flea cats." By repeating phrases over and over in my head, I actually believe I will remember them. Notice, my reminders shorten each time? The more repetitions I can pack into my brain, the more likely I will remember. Shorter is better.
This particular instructor likes to use yoga blankets during the corpse pose. She asked us to put them over us like a blanket. This is a public studio, so my prevalent thought during the pose, "How many people have had these blankets over them, and when were they last washed?" I don't skeeve out often about germs, but for some reason, while my head should have been in off-mode, this thought hung around.
"Man, I didn't even shower today. I can't believe Poseidon and I slept on the futon in the sun porch last night. Poseidon, I'm sure he isn't even awake right now. Am I wearing underwear, or did I just throw on my yoga pants? Did I really see a raccoon last night hanging off the bird feeder while his feet wrapped around the side of the house?"
"Did I buy enough Diet Coke to last until Wednesday? I don't want to go to the grocery store today. Shit, what was I supposed to do after class? Oh, oh, cats. Flea medicine. Did I determine which is closer, PetsMart, or PetCo?
While my thoughts raced, and my body tried to relax under the blanket used by many, many yoga practitioners, I'd not really achieved my goal of settling in. Before I knew it, the yoga instructor's soothing voice was transitioning us from deep relaxation to wake. My poor head was screaming, "No, no, it can't be over yet, I didn't relax...wait, wait, I'll focus on breathing, I promise I'll relax this time! Please, I've wasted this precious respite. Do over, do over!!!!"
And, that was that. I opened my eyes, reluctantly, and rolled over on my side (amazingly enough, I was able to get up without assistance...I'm having some neck issues). I got myself up, put away the yoga blanket (back on the shelf for the next victims) and blocks, rolled my mat into the shape of a large straw, big enough for the giant in "Jack and the Beanstalk," and gathered my other belongings.
I said goodbye to Tanya, then headed off to the pet store. I bought the flea medicine. I forgot cat litter because that didn't come up during shavasana, damn it. As I walked toward the check out area, I noticed some fluffy pet cushions on sale. "Kwinn and Kat would love those," I thought, then realized these cushions were not filled with buckwheat, simply polyester fluff, and therefore will not advance Kwinn's meditation practice, so I paid for what I had, drove back home, where Poseidon was napping on the sofa, Kat ran upstairs in anticipation of being given medicine (she would rather be eaten to death by fleas), and Kwinn nodded my direction with what looked to be his version of namaste.
--Fortuitous Observer
