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Chronicle Summer 2002: week 4 (&3)
by Dunya Dianne McPherson Monday, July 22, 2002
Chatham, NY PRACTICES from the previous week were various. Mostly rehearsal & teaching on Cape Cod and at the Spiritual Bellydance Conference. PRACTICE:
Fluid Yoga. 30 minutes
Repetition & Evolution: 30 minutes Journal In Judy's cool, quiet living room in Chatham, NY in an old country house - very reminiscent of time in England. The floor is covered with a silky Persian carpet in unusual pale colors. A grand piano, books and a leather sofa. There is the smell of the burnt logs in the fireplace as I stretch out on my mat to begin. My body is open but deeply weary from the continuous push of the past four days. I manage to get through most of my beloved asanas, but I drag in many spots. I want to be in them and I also feel that I walk the thin line of efforts that may no longer be helpful to me. When I stand to move, my mind kicks in. 'Why do I have lovers now who don't know how fabulous I am?' 'Why do I sleep with them if they don't inspire me?' I don’t know the answer and worry the questions doggedly as I continue to perambulate. It is surprising that an exercise like Repetition and Evolution that takes focus sparks off my monkey mind. The exercise would seem to leave less space to be distracted. Eventually I end back on my mat and am able to get through a few more vigorous poses. Back bends. Fuller lunges requiring strength. Then as I lay down I cry. There it is. The plug that is holding down my energy. I am weary but also sad and lonely. My practice finally connected me back to myself. All weekend long I have needed someone to be there for me and there is no one. I must at least have time to comfort myself. I must remember to do things that are easy on me when I am exhausted. I must remember to continue crying. It is not finished. Tuesday, July 23, 2002
Chatham, NY PRACTICE: Morning Walk 40 minutes Journal
Today I took a morning walk before the oppressive lethargic heat sets in. The damage of eating heavily for nearly a month must be gradually and patiently corrected. It may only take a month to put on five pounds but it will take two or three to get if off again. And I must be patient. I remember when I did this before. I took every opportunity to get up and walk. I made sure I did vigorous ambulatory stuff (whether country dance or hiking) three times a week. I also lived in NYC which means walking everywhere carrying heavy backpack, and up and down my four-story walk-up as well as subway stairs. I whittled my diet to protein, fruits and vegetables with almost no carbs. It took weeks. Months. And I was very patient. I forgot after a while that I was heading towards a goal. I actually didn't know how much I would be transforming myself. This time it is a matter of returning. I know where I am most comfortable within my body. Discussion: Body Image
In conversation at the conference this weekend with Ester, a lovely, willowy dark-haired woman from NY, we got to chewing over this loaded subject. One can whip oneself into shape, be skinny and very fashionable so that others will envy you. So that you have that cultural edge. That attitude is a very New York state-of-mind, a sort of hip S-&-M religion - mortify the body at the gym thereby asserting dominance over it while simultaneously avoiding the great gift of having a body and all its exciting attributes. Then there is the feminist politically-correct position of loving yourself no matter how you look. Every wrinkle and bubble of cellulite is fine because it is you and you must be kind to yourself. I view this as delusionally compassionate self-chatter - a matter of the body being given free reign and being ignored like a wild animal, like an unloved child. Both these unreal dogmas express an inability to embrace a discipline as a Path of correct relationship to Self and One-ness. Neither of those messages inspire me. When I am a particular weight (five pounds less than I am now) and my alignment strong and elongated I love how I feel. I feel lithe and active. I feel free and liberated. I get up in the morning and love to see my reflection in the mirror. It pleases me. And it pleases me because in that condition my body is most awake. It feeds back to me its sense of well-being. Its beauty. My body is happy within itself. All the systems work well together and it is under no duress. It is as it's supposed to be. When I gain weight it is a rubber tire of protection against provoking situations. It is a sign that I have become frustrated and suffocated. I am not where I need to be within myself or with others. Perhaps it is the first red alert that things are not comfortable - a better indicator that emotional jawboning. Weight gain is a flag of toxicity. I hold fluid in my tissues. The tissues are trying to cleanse. This density hampers me, making me sluggish. I am no longer a clear stream of Being-ness but, instead, a Being going against her Path. So now I must consider what I am doing that pollutes me. The shape of my body is an indicator superceding the notion of vanity. Someone outside of me may look at me and say, Louise-Hay-like, that loose globules of cellulite around my thighs mean I am angry at my father. Perhaps that is a helpful idea. Perhaps it utterly correct. Or not. I am very uninterested in attaching meaning to it. What I recognize is that something in me is amiss. I must turn my attention towards myself and watch a change back towards my essential self. Thus the morning walk was a new layer of patience initiating. A place of pleasure as I head towards fleshy freedom. Love, whether towards oneself or another, requires closeness, attentiveness and the setting of flexible, appropriate limitations and boundaries - a matter of fashioning containments which forward understanding, bring order out of chaos without burying life under a stone. Sunday, July 29, 2002
Chebeague Island, ME PRACTICE:
Fluid Yoga: 45 minutes
Walk: 40 minutes Before noon. Fluid Yoga with Gertie balls. Fabulous! I could work with the successional motion in deep torso layers. Subtle adjustments and massage and the pleasure of feeling the tissues, which have been holding to stiffly, release. I have missed my ball work! The Gerties travel well - I can easily inflate and deflate them. Midnight. Deep fog. Across Casco Bay, instead of light pointing needles into the glossy black water's edge, there is nothing. A wall of darkness. I shine my flashlight up into a ceiling of endless chalky pale and walk along the road to a chaotic drumming of moisture dripping in the forest. Shapes loom and dissolve. The animals are quiet. The faint southeast wind smells especially salty and fishy. My feet strike the eroded country road pavement in a regular thwack. I do not want company on these walks - I feel too full. My inner life is loud and fractious. Thought courses through me the whole way. I would love to walk alone, unaccompanied even by myself. I would love to walk unified, peaceful and released. Clarifications:
Out in America, walking is how I attempt to stay in condition. I tuck it into every nook and cranny. Park far away in the supermarket parking lot and walk. Waiting for the bus or ferry, pace. Try to forget things so I will have to go back into the room again and fetch it. I'll have to get up from the table again, etc…. When loading or unloading items, pack inconveniently making extra walking trips necessary. I must be ever vigilant on this. I am waiting for my body to begin craving it. It is beginning to. Monday, July 30, 2002
Chebeague Island, Me PRACTICE:
Fluid Yoga. 90 minutes
A vigorous session. Finally got all the way there on my own. Journal
I found the umph to do a full out session. The weather was cool which gives more energy. I was able to sweat and get into my most extreme range of motion so the practice focused on strengthening. Wednesday, August 1 2002
Chebeague Island, Me PRACTICE:
Releasing Movement & Fluid Yoga: 90 minutes
Was too tight to stretch without locking up. Went into rocking and exploratory stretches and ended up doing release work. Journal
Yesterday did only a 40 minute walk as practice so today I am tight. Forward Lunge. Lifted up off my back hip some in order to put the effort of lengthening into the bulge of the muscle rather than stressing the tendons and ligaments. My tissues are retaining water and lactic acid from pushing my strength factor the past couple of days without an accompanying release. Lengthening into the body of the muscle produces relief - like having a massage therapist knead the confinements out. Between that and rocking motions while gradually evolving through a circular path from one full extension to another, I felt everything let go by the end my practice. Days like this require patience and acceptance. I could bang through a routine but it would just bring up my sense of punishing anger. Thursday, August 1, 2002 PRACTICE;
Fluid Yoga: 60 minutes
Foot Patterns: 10 minutes Today's practice sensational! Lots of sensation - of the sort I like! I was completely released - All my joints open and tissues soft - from yesterday's practice. I almost didn't recognize myself, the contrast was so stunning. After days of feeling tight and pent up here I was the Gumby Swan, all elasticity and freedom once again. I sit on the porch now overlooking Crow Island. The morning fresh and perfect after a very hot yesterday. The fragrance of thyme comes up from the lawn, warmed by sun and fed by a few days of humidity. Mom's lilies and coneflower glow in the light. Also the rosy glow of magenta flox, pale pink sweet peas tangling themselves in the chicken wire fencing. Lavender teams low along the front borders and the lyric butterfly bush stands sentinel at the garden's edge. It is fragrant vista. Chebeague is this feast of scents and soft air. Every day is sensuous. When I see the news on TV it seems so unreal, like a historical drama that is not really happening in 2002. Like watching something out of WW II. Tanks and uniforms and bluster and olive green and khaki. I am sure it smells of chemicals and fire and acrid things burning. Far from this sweetness.
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