Pretty smart guy, that Carl

Given that I've never actually been asked any such questions, I've given my response to queries such as "If you could invite any 5 people to dinner, who would they be?" or "If you had the opportunity to meet anyone, alive or dead, who would you choose?" a shocking amount of thought.

I think it's because I've heard others answer and, no matter what their response, it always seemed better than what I come up with: a big, vacuous, cowed by the infinite possibilities response of "I don't know". Either they pick someone touching, like a family member, and I feel like a heel for not having thought of that myself or they go for some iconic figure and I feel like an imbecile for not having the foggiest idea of who they're referring to.

A few days ago I came across this quote that I'd written down a lifetime ago:

"One can be filled with that spirit of divine discontent which forces all free people to face some new discovery or to live their lives in a new way"

I copied it from Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung and faint recollections from lectures attended and books read about Jung have been bubbling to the surface ever since.

That he advised ignoring science texts and 'wandering the world with a human heart' to truly gain knowledge of the human soul. His belief in synchronicity and the collective unconscious. The way he discussed his views on the human psyche interchangeably with references to mythology, philosophy, and religion. That he looked to dreams and creativity for insight into our 'inner space'. His absolute belief in the importance of symbolism. The very fact that rediscovering the quote above helped soothe my absolute impatience at waiting until April to be free...I finally have an answer: I'd like to have dinner with Carl Jung, please.

Divine discontent. What a beautiful way of putting it. Now, if only I can get the cantankerous, frustrated, impatient child screaming "now, now NOW" that seems to have taken over my 'inner space' to listen - that would be something.

hearts

Vday completely slipped past me today until I received this poem from my sister, Ekah, who writes better than I think even she knows

Hearts have retractable compartments
Depending on what is said
Drawers pull back
Depending on what is asked
A vice wraps round

Tones change
And with conversation;

He holds her hand for the first time
She makes him cry for the last time.

Up down
Open closed

Hearts are fearful
And complex
Sometimes overflowing

But in between there is laughing

He loosens
She undoes

And something beautiful spills out

In strangely related news, I went to the heart doctor today (yes, that's the official name) for tests. After they had finished hooking me up to the echocardiographthingy there was great concern because the machine wouldn't work. It died, went on strike, refused to light up, wouldn't work.

I've been feeling a bit stressed lately so I'm trying not to read too much into the fact that the heart machine broke when trying to test my heart. Instead, I'm going to assume that it's because my heart is just too big, too full and too fantastic for the damn machine to withstand. How appropriate on this, of all days :)

Happy VDay everyone

april 25, 1995

As I've been working to make sense of this strange paradox I'm in where I know life is good but itch for something more, I've been thinking about something I wrote when I graduated from university. Back when I thought graduation meant the end: that I was just a short skip and a jump from a house in the suburbs, mindless job and minivan full of screaming children. Terrified that that was my destiny, I wrote a note to myself, a promise of sorts, the day after my last exam.

It's been on my mind these last few weeks so I spent an evening browsing through 10 years of journals looking for the entry. I did find it, it's copied below, but I also found so much more. Like a reminder of what a dramatic child I was (my family is collectively rolling their eyes at this revelation, I know) but I was kind of funny too, and vulnerable and tentative, and lost but insightful at times. I wanted to go back and give that girl a great big hug, tell her it would all work out even though I know I wouldn't have listened anyway. It's a strange thing this life - we all need to learn in our own way at our own time. At any rate, the entry I'm speaking of follows:

April 25, 1995

Yesterday I wrote my last exam. A blitz of 3 all nighters in one week with too much stress, too few meals, too many cigarettes and I’m done.

I wanted to sit down and write about how I feel about graduating, but I don’t know what to say. I’ve been scared about it all term but now that’s its here, I’m not even scared. I’m sort of numb. I’m sure it will sink in sooner or later. Probably sooner.

I feel mute by the virtue of decision. I can do anything I want and I don’t think I want the choice. My life is spread out in front of me and I want merely to choose complacency and stability. There’s nothing wrong with that, if that's what I really want, but if I choose it out of fear, I can’t live with that and I’m afraid that’s what will happen to me.

I’ve been told that I expect too much. What does that mean exactly? I don't think you can ever expect 'too much'. If I expect it, it is what it is. It can’t be too much, can it?

I love school and there are things that I've learned here that I want to keep with me forever, but I can't think of them all right now. I do know two things I must remember:

1. never accept complacency – live
2. don't stop learning

I don’t ever want to just accept life the way it is. I want to love my life and, if I don’t, have the courage to change it. I see the easiness of getting a job, a car, bills to pay and being stuck in a rut. I never want that. I want to remember that, when life becomes mundane, I can always change it. I want to remember that I have so much to offer and I don't want to shortchange myself. I want to live, not just exist.

I guess that's what it's all about. It's time to stretch a little, to make some changes, to take a small step away from 'complacency' and one step towards 'live'.

missing: my imaginary friend

I've imagined someone into being my friend. We've never met, in fact, we've never been in the same room at the same time, but I see him every day and he's become a comforting constant in the fabric of this strange urban community I've created for myself.

Driving across the city in the early morning hours, I see the still-dark city in an entirely different light than I do during the day when the streets are alive with activity. I notice houses I've never seen before, street names that usually escape me, and my friend - the only other conscious person I encounter on my 5:30am trek across the city.

He sits in the only open coffee house on Bloor, always in the same spot in the front window, laptop open, staring intently at the screen. I wonder about him: Why so early? Is he a morning person or is he squeezing in a few hours before work? If so, what is he working on that inspires such dedication?

I know it's possible that he's programming or designing web pages or some such techy mumbo jumbo but I've imagined that he's a writer and that he's awake, writing so early, because he has to be. Because he absolutely can't imagine his day beginning any other way. Because the words won't wait 9 hours until work is finished to be spilled to paper. Each morning as I pass I look in and smile to see him there, embraced by the warm glow of the coffee shop, and send a silent good morning his way.

For two days now his spot in the window has been empty and I've missed him. I'm sure he's on vacation or having long, late, luxurious mornings but I've worried about him all the same.

shake, shake, shake

My lower right back has been growling at me lately and I've been so puzzled by it, what have I done? During today's practice I remembered that this happens every time I change things. New jobs, ending a relationship, returning home from a long trip, each is accompanied, without fail, by pain in my lower right back. Usually I expect it which is why I can't believe it took me so long to clue in this week. Of course it's hurting, today's the day I talk to work.

A friend recently compared my life to a snowglobe: even though it looks pretty when settled and calm, I can't seem to resist picking up the damn globe and shaking for all I'm worth. Accordingly, I've had plenty of opportunity to think about this strange thing that happens to my back when I'm caught up in my own personal storm.

The first time this happened a friend commented that the sacrum, where I experience pain, is referred to as the seat of life. I absolutely loved this - still do. It makes such intuitive sense to me that the physical impact of tossing my very cozy life into a state of upheaval would be experienced in my physical seat of life.

Along those lines, I recently learned that kundalini yoga refers to this area as Swadhisthana, or One's own abode, and understands life changes as a result of energy moving up through the chakras accompanied by the desire to move, reach out, grow and change. Check, check, check, and check to each of the above.

Remembering all of these things as I practiced this morning helped me respond with compassion, to be gentle and not force movement where all that's really needed is a bit of TLC instead of being frustrated over yet another 'injury'. It also made me smile - one's own abode - how lovely is that?

pain update

Work is still playing hardball with my jacuzzi proposal. Aren't we facing a shortage of skilled workers? Maybe I should start dropping hints about our employee retention efforts. Surely that includes something about providing a comfortable work environment. Sitting is painful, I've taken to kneeling on the floor in between appointments to complete my notes.

But, no matter. The pain is going, practice is a joy, life is fun and it's spring in January - my perpetually cold self couldn't ask for anything more. Except, of course, a jacuzzi.

When it comes to the people that enter my life, for however long a period, I don't believe in coincidences. Some carry lessons, others perhaps unresolved business, and there are some where I think it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what I can offer them. Other times, though, it's completely different. These are the times where, when meeting someone for the first time, I've had a flash of instant recognition and I think that these people are in my life because they're absolutely supposed to be - I already know them.

I. is one of the latter. He and I were friends before we even met and I knew him before I actually knew him. I remember the mornings in the coffee shop, before our first conversation, wondering about this elderly, gentle looking man with his shock of white hair and friendly blue eyes. I knew he was someone.

Now that we've become friends, its strange just how alike we are. Separated by several decades, generational influences, gender, and where we are in our lives it's amazing what a kindred spirit I've found in him. This is why, despite the occasional comment that makes me uncomfortable, I'm glad to have him in my life.

We missed each other last Saturday for our usual coffee catch up. I was early and he was late. On Thursday I received a letter attached to a page from Saturday's newspaper. The newspaper was complete save for a ragged hole where the Capricorn horoscope had once been. It was my paper, left behind on the coffee shop table. I. must have arrived after me, nabbed the paper and, when he got to the horoscope page realized who the original owner of the paper was. Me.

My first reaction was discomfort that someone was able to reconstruct my Saturday morning with such accuracy, that someone would know me so well. It felt intrusive. Then I read the story I. had written about the experience and attached to the newspaper and I had to laugh. Here's his story:

On Saturday morning he picks up the Weekend Review section of the Globe and Mail laying on one of the tables. Later, casually leafing through it to the Horoscope page he comes up on a hole in the paper and smiles, he can picture what has happened and why that hole is there...

She came up the stairs wearing her black coat, carrying her soy latte with the Globe and Mail clutched to her chest. She picks out a sunny table with a soft chair that she can comfortably fold herself into, legs crossed beneath her. She sets down her latte, takes off her coat and is wearing a light blue turtle neck sweater; she pauses - thinks the place is a bit cold but can't read in her coat - and sits down, sliding off her heavy boots and folding herself into the chair. Sitting very upright, head held high, feet crossed under her, she lays out the paper on her lap to read. With a deep, silent intensity she turns the pages, pausing occasionally to read something that catches her attention. Something on one page catches her attention; the horoscope for that day seems to awaken in her mind some way of bringing order to the clutter in her days. Some way of creating a path through: yoga, India, work day clutter, what about the job?, the masters essay due very soon, should I do the PhD?, family to see in Burlington...

She reaches over with her left hand and rips the newspaper page across the grain, leaving an uneven hole where her horoscope for January 22, 2006 had been. She reaches over and tucks it into her writing book before shrugging on her black coat and preparing to go, leaving the paper behind on the table.

Later in the day, an old guy picks up the newspaper but doesn't get a chance to read it for a couple of days. When he does, he sees the hole in the horoscope. With a warm smile, he thinks about a young woman he knows, about how she looks curled up in her chair, and how she ripped that hole in the newspaper. How nice, how very, very nice. Thanks from I.


I laughed first, because it reminded me of something I would have written in the same circumstances and, second, because he was absolutely right - blue turtleneck and all.

laughing all the way

I don't often post about my practice so here's an update: it kills, I kill, everything kills.

That area where the hamstring joins the gluteous is gone on both sides making things like walking, climbing stairs, and sitting very painful. The only activity that doesn't cause pain is taking a bath and, so far, work has been very unreasonable regarding my request for a jacuzzi. Something about crossing client/counsellor boundries.

Although yoga has become a perverse exercise to explore just how much pain I can stand, the great thing is that it's brought about a release that all of my conscious efforts and intentions never could. Practice has become such fun, joyful at times because I've completely let go. I had to - it hurts to damn much. Can't touch the toes today? Ah, they'll be there tomorrow. Crawl back instead of jump back? Sure, that works too.

So much fun. Lots of laughing.

Today as my teacher was assisting me in dropbacks I noticed her shirt for the first time: a picture of Pattabhi Jois with the words 'BAD LADY' emblazed across the top and I completely lost it. Like I needed the help getting the giggles...

hmph...

The bad guys won the election.

Quiet, liberal minded, professional female free to a good country (at least for the next 4 years)

all in the perspective

You know those people who refer to household tasks as 'relaxing' or 'meditative'? I've always figured them to be liars. Maybe not liars in a deliberate sense but if you identify ironing as a way to relax then, never mind the rest of us, you're lying to yourself.

I can think of a million different ways to relax, none of them involve cleaning. Ironing, in particular, holds high honours on my list of 'things not to do' and over the years I've avoided buying clothes that require ironing - who needs demanding clothes? I kind of forgot about this while I was in India and bought a ton of wall hangings, scarves, and kurtas that have been calling out to me all week for a good wash and iron.

I finally answered their call today and, as I ironed, I thought about the 'iron guy' in India. He trolls the street with his wooden cart and, when summoned, does the ironing on the street outside the gates of the house using an iron heated by hot coals, wife and child keeping time beside the cart. Yeah. Kind of made my ironing experience this morning with my coffee at hand, head bopping in time to my music, and a view outside where big, fluffy snowflakes created a winter wonderland seem pretty bearable.

today...

... a symphony.

wherever i go, there i am

At the end of my practice today I mentioned to my teacher how different the experience of practicing here is from practicing in Mysore by commenting that here, everything hurts. As soon as I said it I realized that I really did mean everything and I wanted to cry. Home has habits, responsibilities, expectations and challenges - not bad things just very, very present. It's at home that my monkey mind comes out to play. Two ridiculously painful injuries appeared the day after my first home practice, my driste is off, focus gone, energy low; I feel like I've taken a beautiful symphony and turned it into angry thrash.

Still, that's all part of the beauty of the practice. Today's savasana was a gorgeous death, a chance to let go of the morning's frustrations and I did. I know that tomorrow will very likely be a completely different practice but, boy, was today ever one of those days.

i'm the bear

First day back at work today. That's a good thing, I really like what I do.

I was excited to see so many familiar names in my appointment calendar. When I changed organizations a year ago one of the things that I missed most was the loss of continuity that comes from working with students from first year right through to graduate school. After a year in my current position I've had the opportunity to form relationships with the students I see: formerly scared first year students are returning as 'seen it all before' second years, I received Christmas cards from the most unexpected students, and alumni are coming back to let me know how they've fared. It's an honour to be let into their lives whether I see them once a month or once a year.

Which may make the rest of this post seem pretty confusing because as much as I love my job, my friends, my home - life in general - it's started to feel a bit small. This isn't new, this feeling has been following me for well over a year, what is new is the strength behind it. I feel like my elbows are bumping up against the walls of my life and that it's time to blow the doors wide open and see what enters. Scary because whatever changes I make will be based on intuition alone, at a purely rational level there's no reason at all to change anything, if it ain't broke, don't fix it and all that. What began as a vague inkling has developed into an all-encompassing drumbeat that won't be ignored. So, I've accepted that I'll be making some changes and moved from being scared by the idea to really exited. I'm giving myself a bit of time to let the ideas settle and become more comfortable with my plans.

Today, work offered some help with this: there's one part of my job that I find mind-numbingly boring, that provides minimal challenge, that I think is a poor use of my time and that I'm surprised is even in my job description. I returned from holidays to find that it's been put into my calendar for 10 hours a week through to the end of January. Talk about poking the bear in the zoo.....

pictures

My photographic ability is limited to point-and-click (see links to Mikko's site in earlier posts for some gorgeous pictures) but for those who've asked, here's a link to some of mine...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/bekasanahh/sets/

home

This morning I brushed my teeth with tap water and, when I realized what I was doing, winced and cursed inwardly, now I was going to get sick. That was before I remembered that I was home. I think that's the way it's going to go, this reintegration to life in Toronto, small, inane reminders catching me by surprise.

It's good to be home and surprisingly hard to admit it to others because, as I've noticed, the impression taken is that it wasn't good to be away. Not the case. My trip was perfect and it was wonderful to be in India but it's also wonderful to be here.

Last night I had fun rediscovering my apartment. It's big and cluttered. What do I do with so much stuff? I'd forgotten about how much I love my hardwood floors and the way I've placed my favourite picture so that it's the first thing I see when I wake up. I'd forgotten that my closet door swings open to block the entrance to my bedroom and walked smack into it a few times last night. I'd forgotten that my pillow and quilt are the closest thing I can imagine to sleeping on a cloud, this my 1year old neighbour gave me ample time to remember by waking me up with his shrieking many, many times last night. I'd hoped he'd outgrow that habit while I was away, not so.

On my way to yoga this morning I passed by the Inglis sign which, to me, is one of Toronto's best kept secrets. Placed along the highway, it tends to get lost in the visual assault of the other advertisements but the Inglis sign is different in that every day it sports a different quote. Today's quote was "Happiness is where you find it, not always where you seek it". I loved that this set the tone for my first day home. This was an important trip on many levels but impossible to discuss just yet. I expect that I'll process the experience slowly and I'm looking forward to being quiet and watching.

stats

from the last 24 hours:

total hours spent in travel - 28
hours spent in a plane - 20
hours spent waiting in airports - 8
countries visited - 3
inflight movies watched - 6 and a bit
airplane meals ingested - 5
coffees nursed - 5
hours slept - 4
fantastic family members that surprised me at the airport - 1 :)

am i really home?

feeling human again

I celebrated my first day of non-sickness by returning to yoga for the first time in a couple of days. Sunday's are led classes and I had been hoping that Sharath would be leading the class since he was away through December and this would be my last chance to experience one of his classes but it was Guruji who is known for his warp speed practices. Today was no exception but it was no matter, it felt great to be back on my mat and there will be many more chances to practice with Sharath but not nearly as many with Guruji.

Afterwards I continued my non-sick celebration by going to the Metropole Hotel where we've discovered one of Mysore's best kept secrets: an all you can eat, swanky hotel buffet for only 100rs. French toast, chocopuff cereal, hash browns...all of the things that don't even cross my plate at home but were really, really great here after a month of idlly and samba.

Furthering my 'woo hoo, I'm not sick' celebration I walked. I wandered down Deveraj Road, the 'shopping road', through the market with its rows of flowers, brightly coloured powders, bangles, bindis, fruits, and calls from vendors "hello madam, what country?" I had hoped to walk home but succumbed to the pollution which makes it quite literally impossible to walk and called a rickshaw to take me home where I sat on my roof and listened to my new Bollywood CD's and ignored the fact that half of the Finnish contingent here in Mysore (and there are a LOT of them) were also spread out on my roof.

Tonight, off to see Mysore palace. Tomorrow, pack.

quick update...

"There will be no extending of tickets madam" - so - I'll be home soon.

It's been busy here in Mysore doing all those things I didn't get a chance to do yet: an afternoon at the Southern Star pool, visits to the tailor, shopping for cheap yoga supplies, one last box of sweets...you can see how the days fill ;)

I've been sick these last 3 days, possibly my body's attempts to purge itself of the excesses of dairy, flour, ghee and sugar I've been overindulging in since arriving. For that reason, I'm keeping this short. I'm weak and sucky and it's been several hours since my last nap, I'm about done for the day.

Queasy stomach aside, much fun is being had (indiaspeak) and I'm disappointed not to be able to extend my stay longer. Still, I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, having a huge Juice for Life salad as my homecoming meal and I suspect I'll be back in Mysore in the very near future.

new pictures

Mikko has posted new beach pictures at:

http://mikkos.1g.fi/mysore/index.html



In other related news, I'm in the process of telephone negotiations to extend my plane ticket by a few days. I'll keep you posted...

new and improved routine...

6am yoga on the roof where the sun shines through the orange plastic cover making the room glow warmly. Back to my hotel where the shy, softspoken manager always makes sure there's a cup of chai waiting for me on my veranda when I emerge from the shower. Drip drying on my veranda enjoying my tea while I watch the birds and slowly move myself from from my yoga trance to that state that lets me actually navigate the world.

Breakfast at Suprablahblahblah (short for unpronounceable name), always a fruit salad with curd and always eaten outside. As in Mysore, breakfast seems to last for hours. Probably because it does. Then to the beach. The water is warm and shallow, the waves perfect for bodysurfing, and the pull of the tide just strong enough to remind me who actually has control - it's not me. At some point in time, I leave the beach, sit for a few more hours on my veranda daydreaming, eat lunch and do other things but I can't actually think of what any of them are.

It's been an unbelievably relaxing week. The shopowners are friendly and have long memories, there are many other yogi's wandering about, and the town is small so walks are usually puncuated by several pauses for conversation. The ocean commands my attention, when I'm on the beach I can do nothing other than sit, mesmerized by the crashing waves. The warm sea breeze provides relief to the power of the sun. The conversations of those I'm with are often carried on in languages other than English freeing me to lazily daydream without fear of being rude.

It's going to be hard to leave but I've already extended my trip by 3 days longer than expected and head back to Mysore tonight.