Still an Asshole

I’m afraid I’m still an asshole.

Last night I had a fight with my husband– just a cyclical, once a month explosion over nothing. But for f–k’s sake, really, I can’t even tell you what it was about (something to do with a morning alarm?) because it was so stupid; and for that, for that, a slam of the door reverberates through my system. I couldn’t sleep– the burgeoning full moon zeroed in on my tell-tale heart like a spotlight.

You teach yoga? You freakin fraud.

I wake up late, too late. We are late for school. I cannot find my keys. I cannot find her lunchbox, and where are those shoes? I’m stuck behind a garage truck. As I head back home, the mountains mock me.

The last thing I want to do is practice. I wrestle with the system inside my head– you have a commitment to yourself! You can’t run just because it’s hard today! But look at the sun outside, those mountains. I can feel the magnetic pull of my bike. And really, what is the point of this stupid self-practice, if I am still an asshole, albeit a self-aware one?  Who the f–k cares if I can do a handstand if I’m still capable of such destruction?

Usually there’s about a three-month love affair with yoga. “I feel so good.” After about two months of practice, people think they are practically enlightened. Then usually around the third month, something happens and the yoga actually starts to work. And the first thing the ego structure does is to look for an escape route. People start heading for the door just at the moment when they should stay.  ~Richard Freeman

A friend of mine, a young teacher, told me once about an ex-boyfriend who leveled this one at her: “YOU teach yoga?” As if everyone churned out of a 200-hour TT came out the other side like Snow White, trailed by birds, squirrels and a chirpy sweet Disney song.

“Well, that’s not the state I live in–or practice in, either.”

I suppose what makes Ashtanga both unattractive and seductive is this– the way it asks me to be with all that I am–and let’s face it, sometimes that means hanging out with an asshole, and almost all the time it means hanging with the antithesis of Snow White. Ashtanga asks me to look at myself squarely and f–ing change if I bother me that much. For Pete’s sake, practicing has taught me nothing if not this– everything changes; everything is changeable … that perhaps the impossible is within my grasp, that I can create a new habit– be it a leg behind my head, balance on my forearms or the ability to catch that moment before I start a stupid fight over nothing. With practice, really, what can’t I do?

“[The practice] reflected a clear image of how I lived my life and I could see it slowly getting better over time.”
~Taylor Hunt

I say bring on the fire, let’s burn this stale, safe, known, fearful place to the ground. Give me spiritual danger, give me the edge, give me something that makes me sweat, makes me breathe, makes me open inside, and feel truly alive. Give me enough fire to face my apathy every day. Give me enough fire to burn my petty mind that continuously spins out just the right type of nonsense to hook me into fear, judgement, and insecurity. Give me enough fire to care more about what’s inside me than any other thing.
~David Garrigues

So with no further ado I get on my mat because I want to, in regular clothes, with no prep time for adding heat or humidity. Just me, good ol’ Surya A & B, a standing pose or two, a stand on my head and finish. I scrounge up some meditation.

Then I act.

how I felt this morning

I get on my bike. I email my meditation teacher. I’m going to the mysore room for group practice at least twice a week. I buy a new alarm clock so we won’t have stupid fights about it. I contemplate how to practice catching that moment before it all goes to hell. In my mind, maybe it’s not so different from the moment when I fall attempting karandavasana. A new teacher I met and loved guesstimated it would take me three months to land that pose. In three months, might I also learn how to land on the precipice of that moment?

I’m still an asshole. But if practicing ashtanga has taught me anything, I know that maybe I won’t be one forever.