India -- Round Two

My original intention (while I was scheming in the middle of some airport somewhere in India) was to publish my sleep deprived ramblings that covered 20 hours (or 2 days) -- same same only different -- but have since thought better of it. Not sure that I'm much more coherent 5 hours since I stopped keeping count, but at least I'm writing.

All that said, we (my two travel companions and I) were greeted on the tarmac with the simultaneous wave of humidity and unreasonable acts of kindness. We smiled the whole way. I dropped the pair off at the Green Hotel and have now planted myself in front of a friend's (with whom I plan to stay for a couple of days) computer . Some sandy-eyed reflection time, Chinese laxative tea, a shower, and a coconut are sure to set me right.

But the point? I've landed. I'm here. It feels like I have never left.

Don't you see I love you? And tips for karandavasana

Picture me shaking a rag doll viciously while screaming "I LOVE YOU!" while its head bobs back and forth and the stitch securing its button eye loosens and the eye is dangling down. And now imagine that the rag doll and I take turns shaking each other but we can't seem to figure out how to both be rag dolls or people at the same time. It goes like this: Hug the doll, love the doll, freak out and shake the doll, hug the doll again.

I wanted to practice, I wanted to swim, instead I'll run around this fantastic city and hopefully remember to remember that it won't be surrounding me tomorrow.

Kirsten's Tips for Karandavasana
1. Be sure to make the lotus as tight as possible
2. Stretch your knees up to the sky first as if someone were pulling you up. This helps you to find the bandhas
3. Steady your breath
4. Simultaneously lean your shoulders forward as you wrap your pelvis around an imaginary monkey bar. Aim your knees for your kidneys.
5. As you move, think of being inside a cylinder. You are compacting yourself and dropping straight down.
6. You have to lean your chin forward more than you think (like in bhujapidasana) to counterbalance perching your knees on your arms.
7. And then you come up and jump back. The end.

My tips for karandavasana?
1. Picture yourself on the main lawn of central park having yoga playtime/picnic with friends.
2. Be calm, relaxed, almost lazy--the grass smells fresh
3. Look forward as much as possible--you can see your thumbs and past that thousands of blades of grass
4. Stay soft yet in control--the grass is cool under your forearms
5. Nick your upper arms and then bounce to the floor butt first. Then laugh and try again.

Full Circle

About one year later I am again sitting with Kate in front of a computer listening to php fetch css go in one ear and out the other with one foot here and the other in India. Bless her patience. My flight to India is almost a day away and I want to give New York a big squeeze. I feel unprepared every time I say goodbye and one part empty one part giddy as I stand on street corners alone.

I'm all packed up and ready to go and worrying about the silly little things instead of the big ones. Maybe they seem easier to fix or maybe those are the things that make something special. I'm stepping cautiously and feel like Bambi learning to stand and the rug gets pulled out from under me and I stand and then a rip current pulls everything away but I'm still there in shallow waters watching my belongings dragged out to sea. A little sadness tugging at the bottom left corner of my heart, a little happiness and excitement pulling up the top.

I was hoping to post a picture of me happily perched in pasasana or karandavasana as a "final project" or something to punctuate my time in New York, but instead we'll all have to settle for the intangible glory of tears and toil and little glimpses of liberation.

As I savor the last few moments with my closest friends (and a few tears) I can smell the masala in the distance and can't hardly wait to shed this skin.

me, myself, and all the stuff I own (apparently)

"Hello?"
"What's up?"
"You called me."
"And I called to say 'what's up!'" I'm not getting out of this one.
"Well--" I'm standing in the doorway of my closet with one hand on the phone and one hand on the shelf, my face is buried in folds of clothing, and suddenly I can't breathe. "I don't think I can do this." Tears are welling up. They are just clothes. What's wrong with me?
"Come on, you're the most non-hoarding person I know!"
"But..." I begin to ramble between swallowed sobs.
She interrupts, "Well, anyway, guess what? The baby is kicking now." And "Did you know a milk shake is just empty calories?" And "Guess what? I'm getting married!" And "Remember that time when--" As my brain travels across the country to rest on my best friend's lap, my hands are throwing things into the toss-out-pile, the maybe-think-about-storing-it pile (because you can't handle the thought of not possessing it at the moment), the recycle-please pile, and sadly-the-garbage-bin.

Two people in one space surrounded by the years in New York, the years in love, the years cohabiting, the many avatars of ourselves and our imaginations. We can't walk without falling.

This is me as executioner. This lives. This dies.

I am supposed to kill artist me.
I am supposed to kill knitter me.
I am supposed to kill sentimental me.
I am supposed to kill living in New York me.
I am supposed to kill yoga teacher me.
I am supposed to kill academic me.
I am supposed to kill chef me.
etc.

Maybe if I only had to bury them it would be easier. But I know inside that I'd sneak some things out of the country. But they look at me with these sad eyes filled with hope and dreams of what could be and it's hard. I'm thinking this as I dust off the cover of the "Guatemala 2005" hanging wall calendar. Can I really live without this?

Purging on a full moon isn't a good idea emotionally as it gets quite intense. Or maybe that's the only day you should really do it.

Today I'm casually thumbing through the paperwork-to-be-sorted pile feeling good about last night's meltdown and subsequent breakthrough when a small piece of paper torn from a notebook falls to the ground.

I wish I knew
I was dying
50 years ago
because I would
have paid more
attention to what
I pushed aside

Past me watching present me and leaving her a note. Future me watching present me tells past me that leaving a note would be a good idea. Future me is past me and writes the note for present me. Present me is future me and past me too.