I’ve been spewing words on my phone, on the laptop and in my notebook. They’re leaking like rooftops being battered by our tropical monsoons. Somedays, it’s overwhelming, this urge to pour out all that’s flashing by and somehow they slow down enough to pick out a few pictures. It usually happens after a period of drought, the little blackhole called writer’s block. Eventually I come out on the other side, changed and yet the same, like time and space moved and I remained.
It’s beyond late and the words still spill out as I write different pieces concurrently. These have no deadlines to meet, no audience to expose themselves to, they just demand to see themselves on paper or a screen. And, I wonder how terribly unyogic this uncontrolled urge is but then as a recent reading of the Divine Song rhetorically said, even Brahma was bound by the urge to create. I find a blurring of the different compartments of my life and somehow everything becomes inextricably linked. I have multiple blogs that kept everything in it’s own little island and now I find myself wondering what goes where. Everything seems to have coalesced into this stream of my life.
I had a long spell of illness soon after my travels which meant no practice and then finally, made it to class. It was bad with my back giving way too. Just the aftermath of the illness and a general breakdown of the system. I started practice at home slowly as the body found a little energy and that’s when I saw a spark of magic. My knees have started to change shape and the gap between the ankles is beginning to reduce. Of course, I did get a little enthusiastic about a regular practice and did a little I shouldn’t have but got right back to where I am at now. Sticks and belts. The cartilage will need lots of time. In the meanwhile, there is enough to work with, like making the sirsasana with sticks a little less laborious or finding a tall navasana.
In class, I find myself waiting for the last pose, a supported ardha halasana where I could stay forever. That’s my savasana where I disappear even in the midst of all the bustle of a remedial class.
2 thoughts on “Blurring lines”
Sorry to hear about the illness… such a part of every embodied journey – and yet it always feels like it shouldn’t be happening to ME. (For me, anyway!) My teacher calls the little tweaks of mortality “letters from Yama! I would rather not have an extensive correspondence with Lord Yama!!
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I call it my annual detox 😀 although it feels miserable when it’s happening
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