Getting lost in Central America and Mexico

Excuse the absence… I’ve been galavanting around Central America and Mexico for about the last 4 months. You may find the experience blogged at http://drivecentralamerica.wordpress.com
The focus of the above mentioned blog is on my husband’s and my experiences in the countries we traveled and how our $900 Subaru kept on trekking as we drove from Colorado to Panama and back again.

However, one of my predominant goals of the trip was to locate and experience the local yoga community. Indeed, I found the local yoga community; however, I was disappointed to find that it was not comprised of natives of the country. Before I left for this journey, I contacted yoga studios throughout Central America to ask about the yoga community in their area. The overwhelming response I received was that their studios were populated by ex-patriots and travelers.

The yoga classes I attended were exactly the population that I had been told I would find. My theory is that this is largely related to the predominant catholic influence in Latin America. Through my reading about the issue and talking to others, its seems that as a whole, the idea of yoga as a vessel through which to experience a deep sense of spirituality is not supported in the catholic practice due to its underlying philosophy and theology. The dogmatic ideals that the catholic church holds seems to raise into question the compatibility of catholicism and yoga. The two terms are not usually found together and when they are they seem highly controversial. The more I read about catholic thought on yoga, the more I cringe. It seems so unfortunate that such doctrine can make a intensely rewarding spiritual practice unattainable for so many simply by casting it off as “new age” and “evil.”

Despite my disappointment with the lack of yoga presence in Central America and Mexico, I was able to concentrate time on reading and understanding some of the important philosophic texts behind my yoga practice. Throughout my reading and pondering, my hunger for understanding only got more intense and my obvious need for meditation more clear. I am thankful for the disappointment that gave me more time to do some much needed reading.

My Nemesis

She said it. Damn. My mind races with anxiety. I know what is coming next.

I sit up on my knees, drop my hands at my sides, and start to lean back. I begin reaching my hands back to my ankles, but suddenly come back up, wobbling to the side. My head spins, stomach lurches, I start to sweat; I think I just may vomit and pass out all at once. Ahh, my nemesis, Camel Pose.

A friend and I talked over dinner; the question was posed: “What is your least favorite yoga posture?” Unanimously, we said, Ustrasana, or Camel Pose. This pose, an intense heart opener, makes me cringe every time the yoga instructor says those two words. For many reasons, I should embrace this pose. According to Yoga Journal, this pose is helpful for respiratory ailments, mild backache, fatigue, anxiety, and menstrual discomfort.  Over the last few weeks, I have had more than a few of these issues that Camel Pose would help me tackle.

At the end of dinner, my friend and I decided that since we need this pose, and we despise it, we should do it. It seemed very logical. All anxiety over the pose aside, we came to the decision that we would practice this pose for two breaths each night. Two weeks later, we met up. She had done a great job, practicing it almost every night. On the other hand, I think I had blocked it from my memory. The only night I had practiced it was the night we talked about it.

So, I am reaccepting the challenge. I will begin again. I will conquer this heart opener that makes me cringe. I will fall back, grab my heels and, one day, not feel like I may vomit.

Present Moment

My dog, Sage, and I have been frequent fliers to the vet lately. We have been in to see the veterinarian three times in the last week. The last trip to the vet, amounted in a steroid injection to treat a severe allergic reaction. As Sage lays on the floor next to me, passed out, from lack of sleep due to the previous night’s scare that kept us both up all night, my heart is filled with gratitude.

I sit with my hand on his head, thankful for health that I take for granted so often. I realize that I see health as an expected guarantee, not the blessing that it is. Only when it threatens to be taken away, I find myself truly thankful for what I have.

I long for the day that I can constantly sit with a heart full of thanks, simply because I am conscious of the present moment.

After Yoga…

Today, after yoga,
I am stronger. I feel taller. I drove slower.
I gave a large handful of change to a homeless man selling the paper.
I took my dog for an extra long walk.
I got off the couch to greet my husband.
I cooked dinner with love.
I listened a little longer and with more intention.
I feel healthier.
I let someone go in front of me in the grocery line.
My thoughts complained less.
I went out of my way for my husband.
I am calmer.
I am happy.
I talked to a stranger.
I did more for those I love.

An Act of Meditation

Lately, my mind races with worry and anxiety. In one short month, I will have quit my job, left my puppy with a friend and gotten on an airplane to meet my husband in Mexico where we will commence on a four-month trip, driving through Mexico and Central America. Though I am blown away with excitement to have this opportunity, my thoughts are plagued with anxiety: Is Sage going to be okay while I am away? What if a car hits him? What if he gets lost or the vet finds that he has cancer? Will Nate get killed or held hostage somewhere in the mountains of Mexico? What if I never see him again? Will I sit by the curb at the airport in La puerta, with no husband in sight? Simply, because I do not know the awful travesties that has befallen him?

So, I knit. Being a beginning knitter, I do many redundant patterns. Knit, knit, knit, knit fifty-four times; purl, purl, purl, purl, fifty-four times. It is mindless; it allows my mind to clear and fill with an intention and concentration of another kind. With each stitch, I repeat my own mantra, “Nate and Sage will be safe.” The repetition of this simple mantra calms my fears and assuages my worry. The longer I repeat it, the longer it stays with me throughout the day.

Through the Haze of Cough Medicine

This past week, I have been living in a haze of cough medicine, Nyquil, stress and anxiety. I break down and start crying over small things and back off when things don’t go smoothly; everything seems too chaotic and overwhelming. My mind races with worries of anything negative I can conjure up. I am insecure and self-conscious. I don’t want to talk and nothing can hold my attention.

But tonight I am going to Lululemon for “Vino and Vinyasa.” As much as I want to stay home curled up in the darkness, I am going to a yoga social gathering. Of, course I am going with a friend, of the friend variety that I would not have to talk to if I did not feel like talking.

The DJ began mixing records as the tight space filled up with mats lined across the retail floor of the store. “It’s hard not to shop while you’re sitting on your mat.,” the girl in front of me said, looking at a tank top dangling above my head. The evening’s ambiance is of a church youth group gathering mixed with the memory of me as a child yearning so badly to crawl through and hide in the racks of clothing throughout department stores, topped off with some good wine and friendly people.

“Let’s kick this shit,” the yoga instructor announces as he leads us into our first pose of the evening. As we all lowered into chaturanga, the DJ plays music that sounded more like groans of pleasure than music. I am almost certain there is someone on the other side of the room having sex as the instructor walks through our mats speaking words of spiritual wisdom. Throughout the night, my arms and legs repeatedly ended up in the rack of clothes I am practicing next to. My body feels light and strong. Despite the unique nature of the night, my heart is lighter and lighter, so much so that I no longer yearn for the darkness of a corner.

I think I have found the perfect cocktail for anxiety, stress and illness.

Yoga Community

The atmosphere surrounding anything I do always plays a major role in whether I continue to come back. As I immerse myself in different sports and groups of people, I always subconsciously, whether I like it or not, evaluate my experience based on the ambiance of the community of people it involves. For the last couple months, I have been mulling over in my head, exactly how I feel about the yoga community. As I have been searching out a new yoga studio, my thoughts on this subject have been more negative than positive.

Upon much reflection of my feelings, it seems to this yogini that the social construct of the yoga community is complex, simply because it is not as easy to get to know people with whom you put your mat down beside. Yoga’s mat practice is a self-centered practice.  Though it makes it harder to get to know those around you, this characteristic is not necessarily negative-your mat practice is meant to be yours; it is meant to be personal. My mat practice is where I refuel and recharge in order to give back to the rest of the world. But, unless I decide to linger where I take my shoes off before I enter the studio, I tend not talk to anyone I practice beside.

I have to believe, however, that beyond the silence and perceived stoicism of a mat practice, the yoga community is kind, welcoming and friendly, simply based on why I come to my mat. I come to my mat to connect with the universe. I practice yoga to hear the hum of something higher than myself, to calm and center myself-in order that I will drive slower, be kinder, give more, and perhaps have a better understanding of this life and our world. I tend to think that this is why the majority of others practice too. Maybe I should hang out by the shoes more often-perhaps I should get to know the guy who always practices in his boxer briefs, or meet the one other girl with dreadlocks at the studio, or talk to the woman who always places her mat at the back of the room, against the wall.

Anger

Anger.

With fifteen minutes left until the start my yoga class, I ran out to my car. I turned the key in the ignition and the engine just turned. As the car filled with the stench of gasoline, I cursed my husband for taking the other car and leaving me with this pile of shit of which he had filled with all of his work papers and gym clothes. After five minutes of flooding the car with gas and turning the engine over and over, I ran in the house to find my phone in order to ream him for leaving me without a way to get to my class. I scurried all over the house looking for my cell phone. Hmm. No cell phone. No car. No yoga class. I flung my keys on the counter, sat at the table and pondered whether I should cry.

Reflect.

My whole life I have been drawn to the idea of Ahimsa; throughout the last year this word has continually been brought to the forefront of my mind. Ahimsa: do no harm; do no harm to yourself, this world, and others. Yet, here, I nurture anger toward my husband, who intends me no harm and who loves me without exception for something he could not control or predict. Perhaps, my loss of a cell phone was beneficial, forcing me into contemplation of my actions and emotions, leaving my beloved husband unscathed.

Calm.

I pick up my mat, roll it out onto the wood floor of our living room and raise my arms up into Tadasana.

What meditation practice?

I sat, writing on my computer, thinking about how much I wish I had grabbed my water bottle before I had sat down. My mouth was parched; my throat itchy-I was so thirsty. But I was lazy enough that I was going to let myself sit there and be uncomfortable. After agonizing over wanting my water for an hour straight, I looked to my left and saw it sitting right next to me.

At times, my laziness gets the best of me. My meditation practice, or lack there of, is a shining example. Every time I think about meditating, the little voice inside me says, “Maybe the house is too cold… maybe someone will call or knock on the door… perhaps I’m just too tired and I would just fall asleep if I tried it.” Sure, I make excuses-who doesn’t. I’d like to believe them-who wouldn’t?

Unfortunately, I remember the first time I truly decided to start meditating. My freshman year of college, I went to an early morning meditation/prayer group and we sat in silence. At least I think we sat in silence, I don’t remember because I fell asleep at the beginning. As the group came to a close, I jerked suddenly awake. The day was Sept 11, 2001. I walked back to my dorm room; as I entered my room, I learned that the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center had been hit with two hijacked airliners while I was asleep when I should have been meditating.

One would think that this particular experience would make me leap into a regular meditation practice almost immediately, seeing as what happened when I slept through it. However, it had the opposite effect. This experience has shied me into thinking that a regular meditation practice is out of my reach. Or maybe it gave me an excuse to continue being lazy. But I think I’ve got hope for 2010. Yes, 2010 is a promising year.

Awkward Moments

I plopped my mat beside a woman-black capris, black tank top, purple mat. We start our vinyasa practice and slide into twisted crescent lunge. The woman wobbles, grunts, and makes uncomfortable rumblings to herself. We ascend back to crescent lunge and then flow into Warrior III. Again, she stumbles, grunts around, and then look at me, her eyes pleading, “Help! I feel like an idiot.” Her eyes had the same expression that my traumatic brain injury patient looked at me with as my patient laid in bed, projectile vomiting, unable to communicate her problem. I simply smiled at the woman who was flailing around on her mat. The class, in unison, turned to face the sidewall and we bowed down into wide-legged forward bend. As gravity pulled this same woman down toward her mat, her feet teetered and slid back closer to the back edge of her mat-with each stumble her spandexed ass crept closer to my face. I looked between my legs, closed my eyes and thought of a happy place. At the close of our practice, we laid back in a reclining twist. The class was full, mats were tight, and her arms hovered directly over my body. Her arms shook as she held them suspended above my torso, oblivious to the rest of the class positioning their arms above their heads on the ground, in order to avoid hitting the person next to them. I am wondering now, should I have said something to this woman so she would not violate the person beside her in her next yoga class? I am glad to have had the opportunity to practice yoga next to this woman, but displeased with myself for not having found some way to make her feel more welcomed and understand the practice.