Not Doing Yoga These Days

I've had a yoga practice for 27 years. Learned the sun salute in my high school library when I was 17. I drove myself home in my 1972 Baja Champion VW Beetle after Sivasana--I don't remember the road, only arriving at my house. I was sold.

Since that first lesson, I've learned with books, teachers, videos. I've practiced Iyengar, Hatha, Ashtanga, Bikram, Kundalini, and Kat Yoga, mostly the latter. Loving teachers include Anne Douglas of Anahata Yoga in Banff and Mugs McConnell of the South Okanagan Yoga Association. Among others. I've also met misguided people who may be doing more harm than good. But, hey, I've been misguided more than once myself.

Which is why I like to take a break every now and then. Preferably before walking into the studio makes me want to vomit, which is what happened to me at Bikram's two months ago.

I practiced Bikram's special sequence two or three times a week for nine months, while I was adjusting to being separated from my kids, being separated from their dad was not so tough. Every time I did the camel--a full on back bend--I began to cry. You might feel weird after this posture, the teachers would say. Whatever feelings come up for you are normal, just let them go. So I allowed the grief to come up and out. There seemed to be so much of it. I went through this emotional detox a few times a week until I became sick of feeling so sick. That's when I decided to take one of my famous breaks.

It's been two months since doing yoga. In that time I've been being yoga. Not practicing poses or even taking many conscious breaths. Just being with whatever is going on in my life. For me, this is a significant piece.

When my mother was 44 she left the Mennonite church, a huge event since it meant standing all alone for what she believed--most of her 9 siblings didn't understand, my father certainly didn't. But all her six children followed her out.

When I was 15, my mom and I decided we no longer believed in God, at least not the white-bearded, all-seeing patriarchal deity who watched and judged and punished. But despite renouncing my belief in him, I lived many of the following years imposing self-discipline that would purify me (in his eyes), and doing practices that would absolve me of the mistakes I made (so that he wouldn't have to). It has not been entirely possible to unbrainwash myself of the belief that I was born bad, and would live and die that way, thus requiring the help of that God to save me from myself.

Not doing yoga is actually so big. I means that I now live my belief that I am OK, as I am. Actually, instead of OK, substitute perfect. Period. What a concept. I don't need a practice or religious ritual to help me get through the day, or through my life.

That's all there is, there is no more, unless I meet that bear once more ... bring it on.