Don’t let it be forgotten that a little goes a long way. Mini-practice today. Admittedly dragging the fat-slug carcass of my body around the mat was not a pleasant sight. But still, after the desert of 6 weeks (? – I’ve lost count), the practice is there.
Somewhere in this summer sadness it all started to fray. At some point I will finally wake up and I will look back on this time as a mere messy interlude.
And then the other night the worst feeling; the feeling that I could do anything and I didn’t care. Reaching out for limits, but I grasped nothing. No parental guidelines, no need to prove, no obligations, no repercussions.
Is this the landscape of freedom?
“So what do you do?”
“What made you do that?”
I don’t know, I don’t know.
In Mysore I was traumatised with the realisation that I had no idea who I was. In abandoning the objects that created meaning to my life I suddenly felt weightless. I kept looking inside for a core but there was nothing tangible to hold. Where did I begin and end? All there was, was the moment. And a brief embrace of something like home.
Always too busy getting attached to people, to the objects that replace the people that we lose, to promises of love, to easy ideals. Stepping to the front of the mat, a fear is present. In the silence of a solitary practice I become overwhelmed with thoughts of death.
How to replace something when you don’t know what you have lost. I feel it but I cannot be conscious of it. It’s too large, incomprehensible. Staring at the sun; it burns.
I pretend there is nothing to mourn. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone.
(Come back, come back.)
I would return, I would go home again, but there’s nothing there.
And then during my practice I am struck by a memory. In the shala. Led practice. Utthita hasta padangusthasana. A guy starts to wobble, losing his balance. In an attempt to stop falling over he starts hopping around on his standing leg in a frantic manner. Sharath looks on bemused. “No dancing!” he calls. I laughed so much remembering this.