Day 54 Listening to the Mountain
It’s warm and sunny today, which means I get to spend a few hours digging in the dirt, before I do my yoga for the day! Give me a wheelbarrow and a couple yards of bark mulch and I’m happy. Give me a vacuum cleaner and a floor mop and I’ll tell you exactly what you can do with them.
Our backyard is a rocky slope, made up of fill that has, over the past nine years, naturalized with mostly native grasses, thistle and blackberry.
Pastoral from a distance, but close up, it’s an eyesore. So I’ve been working on turning it into something beautiful, but still natural and low-maintenance.
My plan is to cover the wild and weedy area on the northside of our house with landscape fabric and bark mulch, continuing what I started around the west side. I call it my 20-year project. But hopefully this season I will make it across to the east side, nearest our neighbour, who has been patiently and kindly ignoring the overgrown mess adjacent to their manicured outdoor entertainment area.
Mine is no namby-pamby white-cotton glove affair. It’s a put-your-back-into-it job that usually leaves me with pleasantly aching muscles, cuts and scrapes from brambles, sweat and today at least, mud.
When I began this project, I should say, way back when we first looked at this lot, my mind began whirling with the possibilities and potential. We could have Butchart Gardens, right in our own backyard, I thought!
Then I realized I was being ridiculous.
Minter Gardens. Maybe.
“I’m strong and creative,” I told my husband. “I’ll make this into a showcase.”
“As long as you can do it all yourself,” he answered, “because we’re house-broke.”
So, that’s how it started. I’m strong, creative and Mennonite, babe. You won’t believe what I can do with nothing. Tillers of the earth, ya’ know.
“What’s your plan?” hubby asked, dubiously, when the biggest change was an enormous, and unsightly, pile of dirt.
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “A path through here, I think. Unless I hit a rock. Or a big stump.”
“Then what?” he persisted, the line between his eyebrows deepening. “Terraces? Steps? Retaining walls? How are you going to keep the weeds out? Won’t the deer eat everything you plant? How long will it take? This is going to cost $70,000, isn’t it?”
Unless he costs out a project himself, he believes all endeavours will run either $700, $7000 or $70,000. It’s just where his brain goes. Either that or “and we’ll all die.”
“I have to buy bark mulch and fabric,” I admitted. “But it won’t cost much.”
“Maybe you can draw out a schematic for me,” he said. “With estimated completion dates. So I know what to expect.”
I took a deep, cleansing breath, straightened my shoulders and looked at my mountain. It’s not going anywhere. If I put the right plants in the right spots, work with what I have, I can bring out the natural beauty of this slope. If something doesn’t work the first time around, I’ll try something else, until it feels right. Maybe not Minter or Butchart. But right.
I looked him in the eye. “Honey,” I said. “I’m listening to the mountain. I’ll do what works, and I’ll be done when I’m finished. Don’t worry. It’s going to be beautiful.”
I was remembering this conversation while I was doing my standing postures in class today. Despite a morning of hard, physical, dirty work, my practice was strong and smooth. Even Standing-Head-to-Knee! Not perfect, far from it, but… better.
It seems that, as with my landscaping project, there’s a limit to the control I can exert over my muscles, my body – my 80-year project, hopefully. And I have to focus on the potential, instead of the potential problems, to find the right way. My right way.
The name of my favourite standing meditation pose?
Tadasana. Mountain Pose.
Day 42 Whose Idea Was This, Anyway?
42 days of Bikram yoga. Forty-two. In a row. Day after day. 90 minutes each time. That’s 63 HOURS of yoga. SIXTY-THREE HOURS. (Unless my math is wrong. I calculated it first in my head at 21 hours and then 84 hours, before getting out the calculator. But now we’re just quibbling about details. No matter how you slice the numbers, it’s a freakin’ long time in the hot room.)
And I’m tired again. Is it worth it? Is there any reason not to take a day off, besides the mental challenge? I don’t know. But I’m going to keep going. My stick-to-it-iveness needs a shot in the arm, and if anyone out there in the blogosphere wants to hit that tiny “like” button at the bottom of this post, or drop me a comment, I’d appreciate it.
My goal now is 60. It’s a nice, round number. May it not kill me.
Day 41 Baby Got Back(bone)
From the start, one of the most difficult parts of the Bikram yoga workout for me was the spine-strengthening series. Four exercises done in a prone (stomach-down) position: Cobra, Locust arms-down, Full-Locust and Bow. All involve backward bending, lifting the body up using back strength, lifting the legs up using back strength or (yes it gets better) lifting both body and legs up, using back strength.
These are rough for me. I’m a slumper, a huncher, a natural slouch. Back strength? I have plenty, for lifting and general grunt work. But for standing up straight? Holding my head up and looking people in the eye? Not so much.
“Lift your arms and legs together, like a 747 taking off,” urges the instructor. “Only your hip bones on the ground. Higher! Higher! Eyes on the ceiling!”
I look into the mirror, happy to meet my own eyes. Forget about the ceiling.
“Squeeze your hips, thighs and buttocks! Keep your feet, knees and heels together! Arms up, chest up, chin up.”
Seriously? I’d love to bring my feet, knees and heels together, but my hips, thighs and buttocks are in the way. My arms shake, my chest sinks, my chin quivers.
My 747 is crashing.
Because this one is really hard for me, I know it’s addressing an area of weakness. My spine needs strengthening, literally and metaphorically.
I’ll do it. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.