"Mountain Pose... Tadasana..."
Those three beautiful words have been echoing in my brain since I last heard them around 4 o'clock this afternoon.
I was, yes, in theory, practicing yoga this afternoon... but, the entire "Hatha Yoga" movement might more aptly be termed "Mommoga" around this place. Downward Dog rather ceases to rejuvenate the body and calm the mind. Instead, it becomes an instant bridge for toddlers to try and (more often that not) successfully knock over. Proud Warrior perhaps ceases to elongate the spine or to strengthen the knees as gracefully as the original Hindu practitioners might have intended, but the pose does do a great service as a blissfully soft jungle gym.
One might assume the circumstances of my at-home yoga practice could be mildly anxiety provoking or simply frustrating, but in fact, it's quite the opposite for this loyal student of "Mommoga." This particular genre of practice seems to offer more of a challenge in developing one's balance & concentration, which, I'm sure, makes up for that whole "peaceful centeredness" thing.
Actually, can we just pretend for a second that that's overrated? No?
Truly, as if all the giggles surrounding Mommoga isn't enough to keep us at it, what I particularly love is when we arrive at "Mountain Pose... Tadasana..." This happens multiple times in a session. The girls suddenly stop their horsing around, stand still, and are centered. Their keen focus & utter intent on what they're doing is beautiful. Legs straight, feet even, hands in prayer position at their hearts. They are grounded for a moment. Rooted and peaceful.
And in a blink, the instructor on the DVD guides us into the next pose, and they're off again. Or, "on" again, as the case may be.
Namaste.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Maiden Voyage
Hello, World! If someone were to ask me why I'm suddenly starting this blog, I wouldn't much know how to answer. I have no real concrete make-the-world-a-better-place motive behind it.
Just seems like time.
Journaling was always something I found surprisingly healing and emotionally liberating, especially in my tween & teen years... and oh yeah, in my twenties, too... something about slowing my brain down enough to write, to actually hear, and to be able to process, what the heck was going on in my sometimes-overactive brain.
God forbid I should ever let my guard down, but the "inner me" was just never something I thought I'd intentionally share with the world.
On occasion, however, when I was about 12, I'd fantasize about all these journals being discovered by my Great-Grandchildren some 150 years in the future, in some dusty old dingy cardboard box, tucked away in some dusty old dingy attic, and how they'd discuss for hours about how they wished they'd known me, and simply marvel at all the insight contained within (i.e., which classmate had a secret crush on me & how I was too shy to ever admit I knew, or more importantly, just how serious a crush I had on Ricky Schroeder, & how surely I'd be able to tell him someday), and how these amazing, fire-underneath-them Great-Grandchildren of mine would rush to a publisher to have my prized journals put out to the masses. Surely the world would become a better place for having read them. Like something out of a movie.
But, I guess that was the whole point. It seemed too completely far-fetched, and in that sense, it made my journaling, even at the age of 12, feel very safe, because no one would ever read them, or could ever get inside my head, much less, my heart.
So, why am I here now, knocking down this shield, this wall, this invisible protective layer surrounding my heart and emotions and my intensely personal life, writing to anyone and everyone out there? The answer remains...
Just feels like time.
I have no urgent need to work through any major event, nor to have any sort of emotional breakthrough right now. My life is good. My simple intention here, is that this be fun to write, and fun to read. That it become therapeutic and cathartic and helpful... and healthful. To me. And maybe even to others. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm doing here yet.
And, I am choosing to love that!
Just seems like time.
Journaling was always something I found surprisingly healing and emotionally liberating, especially in my tween & teen years... and oh yeah, in my twenties, too... something about slowing my brain down enough to write, to actually hear, and to be able to process, what the heck was going on in my sometimes-overactive brain.
God forbid I should ever let my guard down, but the "inner me" was just never something I thought I'd intentionally share with the world.
On occasion, however, when I was about 12, I'd fantasize about all these journals being discovered by my Great-Grandchildren some 150 years in the future, in some dusty old dingy cardboard box, tucked away in some dusty old dingy attic, and how they'd discuss for hours about how they wished they'd known me, and simply marvel at all the insight contained within (i.e., which classmate had a secret crush on me & how I was too shy to ever admit I knew, or more importantly, just how serious a crush I had on Ricky Schroeder, & how surely I'd be able to tell him someday), and how these amazing, fire-underneath-them Great-Grandchildren of mine would rush to a publisher to have my prized journals put out to the masses. Surely the world would become a better place for having read them. Like something out of a movie.
But, I guess that was the whole point. It seemed too completely far-fetched, and in that sense, it made my journaling, even at the age of 12, feel very safe, because no one would ever read them, or could ever get inside my head, much less, my heart.
So, why am I here now, knocking down this shield, this wall, this invisible protective layer surrounding my heart and emotions and my intensely personal life, writing to anyone and everyone out there? The answer remains...
Just feels like time.
I have no urgent need to work through any major event, nor to have any sort of emotional breakthrough right now. My life is good. My simple intention here, is that this be fun to write, and fun to read. That it become therapeutic and cathartic and helpful... and healthful. To me. And maybe even to others. Other than that, I have no idea what I'm doing here yet.
And, I am choosing to love that!
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