It’s been a long while since I posted about books. This has been a strange time. A trip around the world, numerous tasks at hand, and a mysterious virus that has been reluctant to depart my frail little body. At the same time, I’ve had a bit of an epiphany, at least when it comes to my life and health. For some reason, I felt a major change come over me, mentally and physically. A reminder that time is short. The mission, whatever it may be, is at hand and needs to be dealt with now. There is no guarantee. Perhaps I’m seven years late to my midlife crisis? But this doesn’t feel like a crisis.
It feels like a reckoning.
I’ve been waking up at 5 AM. It was 4 AM today, but that is a bit extreme, at least for me. It feels like pieces are moving on the board, some within my control, others not. Two days ago, I woke with a bolt and heard myself say, “I need to do yoga.” A little history is in order. I did yoga daily for years. Yoga is unlike anything else. Yes, I run, hike, ruck, cycle, etc., and I love these things, but if I could only do ONE thing for the rest of my life, it would not even be close. Yoga. Contrary to public opinion, yoga is NOT about being flexible. For over 1,000 years, yoga wasn’t even a physical exercise; it was a way of gaining control of the mind. Yoga is about your breathing and your brain. I find it difficult to explain, like saying, “You had to be there.”
You do it for a while, and suddenly you start to feel different. You feel in control of your body in a way that is unlike anything else. Your hands and feet feel invincible, like they could bend steel. Your heart center and core are suddenly alive at the DNA level. And there is a clarity to your thoughts that transcends what you knew before. And, for many of us, we learn to breathe for the first time in our lives. I came to yoga by accident after injuring my left forearm doing pull-ups. (This was 25-years ago, and I still feel it.) Relegated to a stationary bicycle, I noticed a yoga class taking place in a room next to where I was pedaling. Over a period of weeks, I watched an instructor lead six or seven people through what I would call intermediate yoga. One day I said, “I need to try that.” That moment changed my life.
The instructor was a woman in her mid 30s. She drove a white Jeep. I’d seen her in the parking lot, but had never spoken to her. Turns out, her name was Rian, and she was a well-known yoga instructor from the LA area who taught three classes a week at the gym I was using. On the surface, Rian looked normal, but once inside those glass walls, she was a work of art. Her strength was superhuman. She was noncompetitive, calm, and moved with casual precision. She could look at each one of us and know exactly where we were, coming by to tweak a hand or foot, or saying, “You can try THIS now.”
I felt like I’d found a quiet, underlying purpose. That might sound melodramatic, but again, do it for a while and see what I mean. Toward the end of my time in California, I’d become semi-proficient. The macho guys on our street, who at first made fun of my yoga tendencies, started to come over for informal classes on my patio. These were football, rugby, pro-baseball guys who thought yoga was for wimps, but five minutes into holding a basic pose, they were singing a different tune. This was NOT about competition or doing fast-paced, advanced yoga. (I didn’t know how to do that anyway.) This was about basic movement and basic breathing.
As for the breathing, it was life-changing.
I found myself doing yoga breathing in all kinds of places. I was at the doctor’s office waiting to get a physical and decided to quietly do a few minutes of yoga breathing before seeing the doctor. After they started the physical, the doctor left and came back with his entire team. “Your body is full of oxygen. How did you do that?” he asked. I mentioned I’d done five minutes of yoga breathing in the waiting room.
If I think about the weaknesses of yoga, I see several. In California, the classes were expensive, and filled with ultra-competitive people, which in my mind, defeats the purpose of doing yoga. These people wore all the right clothes, had all the yoga style jewelry and tattoos, and were acting like they were finding a nice center to life, but in reality were unhappy, and treating each other horribly outside the studio. Some were drinking heavily, others were having affairs, and what was apparent was that they were treating yoga like a workout, while claiming they were being grounded by the experience. (As a student of anthropology, it was fascinating.) As a male student, new to the process, I was thrown into classes of women, many of whom were advanced. Sweating like a hog, falling over, not understanding the terminology, it was a bit much at times, but I just kept plugging. I think more than a few people would have quit and never come back.
You don’t need to go to a studio. I’m not saying that going is a bad thing, not at all, and it can be a great way to get started, but you need to find a good fit. Going to a studio can give you the foundation and keep you safe. Because I did yoga for years, I can easily kick-start this again here at home, without needing to drive or pay for classes. Having said this, I’d kill to go to a yoga retreat, something I thought about doing but never did. I’d also like to try a silent meditation retreat, which, for antisocial me, sounds like a dream.
What does this have to do with these books? Nothing. Just thought I’d share. All these books were worth reading. Also, the Kindle you see is new. My old Kindle was thirteen years old, had a cracked screen, and no longer held a decent charge. Days after upgrading, I got a message from Amazon saying my old Kindle was no longer supported, so the timing was great. When I first received my new Kindle, I charged it fully, and have not had to charge it since. I charged it in mid-May and still have 37% battery, even after reading all these books. Get em, read em.
PS: My first two sessions back in the yoga world have been rough. My breathing is horrible, my form and posture are horrible, and I have zero flexibility. Even my down dog is in the dog house. I can’t believe how far I have regressed. Holy shit, I’m old. I have more muscle, and my basic force on force strength is fine, but yoga shows you that gym strength is nothing like yoga strength. But there is JUST enough residue for me to remember what it feels like to be decent. And that, my friends, is pure gold. Also, if you want to know how dusty it is here in New Mexico, well, just look at that Kindle.
