My relationship with yoga had been very on again, off again. I would go through intense periods of intense practice, followed by lulls which could last for months. In September 2009 I suffered a deablitating accident, from which I am still recovering. Throughout my rehab, complementary therapies have played a significant role in aiding my recovery. I have dabbled in giving treatments in the past – I completed my level one Reiki certification a few years back – but mostly I have received many reiki treatments throughout my adult life. It only stood to reason that reiki would eventually come back into my life – I have always found the warm and trance like state reiki can induce to be so healing and spiritually beneficial. The stronger my body got, the more I wanted to begin yoga again, for even just the sensation of stretch, of elongation throughout the muscles and supportive tissue, became a real craving. Before the accident I dreaded the intensity of downward dog and pigeon poses. However, there were many nights where I lay in bed dreaming of pigeon and sun salutations and movement. The accident caused me to be bedridden for 12 weeks, although I could get around by wheelchair which aided in strengthening my arms. I had depleted most of my seat and leg muscles, and my body was so cramped and shrunken feeling when I began learning to walk again. I regained some flexibilty through careful stretching and began hoping that I could soon return to yoga. I am hoping to incorporate a regular, varied yoga practice into my rehab once the initial recovery from my upcoming surgery has passed, and pilates will begin to dominate my exercises once I am strong enough. The 215800 challenges have been a great spring board for testing my body with the yoga and so far it has responded extremely well.
I had a delicious Yoga class today. A monthly treat that E and I look forward to with anticipation. My luminous, forever positive, Reiki practitioner Catherine, has developed healing yoga, or Prana yoga as it is called, which is the most luxurious 1.5hr nap one could ever have. C’s website (www.theholisticway.ca) describes Prana yoga as: “a life force or energy based yoga which combines restorative yoga and Reiki to yield a deeply healing and therapeutic experience. During a Prana Yoga treatment the healing touch of Reiki is applied while the recipient is positioned in deeply therapeutic Restorative Yoga postures. This bodywork treatment brings about an immediate sense of calm, relaxation, and ease, which leads to a feeling of deep openness, clarity and vitality, allowing the body to heal its physical, mental, emotional and spiritual tensions.”. This is my fourth Prana yoga class and E’s third. E isn’t generally interested in yoga as he says “all the sitting makes me angry,” but he is slowly evolving to seeing the benefits of yoga (and I’m sure the promise of a nap for 1.5hrs doesn’t hurt either.) He was so relaxed and so comfortable that several times through out the session I heard the gentlest snores coming from beside me.
I hadn’t had a session with Catherine for almost a year but after the accident she contacted my mum, who was good friends with Catherine’s mother in law. She offered some sessions to help with my recovery, and came to the hospital a few times to practice Reiki on my battered body. I responded well to the treatments and since then she’s been coming to my home biweekly. Mid winter she started regular monthly Prana yoga classes and I began to attend, finding the gentle yoga combined with reiki to be very beneficial and relaxing.
Yoga always zones me out, as I tend to get lost in the meditative breathing and float along happily with the class. Reiki does the same but on a much more deeper, more relaxed level. I describe it as a sort of waking coma – you can still hear what is going on around you but when you come out of it, you feel as if you have just awoken from a very deep sleep. Other times I’ve awoken thinking ten minutes have passed when in reality an hour had slipped by. Combine the meditative rhythm and gentle movements of yoga with the trance like state of Reiki and you have the best physical and mental nap ever. Plus the warm hands and gentle touch make you feel so safe and secure. I sometimes wish it were a weekly class as regular participation would no doubt yield very positive results but the once a month sessions feel like the best present at the end of a hard week. The last two sessions E and I have been paired with a very gentle, comforting practitioner, who has been schooled in Reiki, therapeutic touch, craniosacral therapy and restorative yoga. This woman has the most serene presence – her smile would calm a mad dog and her hands are so incredibly warm you could use them as a heat pad. Her entire demeanor is to serve you and your body, which quickly relaxes and comforts me, while also building a great sense of trust.
I’ve been incorporating yoga into my daily exercises more and more. I’ve found my body seems to crave the stretch and strengthening that yoga brings. This challenge has been lush – the savasana quiets my mind while the yoga series both strengthens and brings focus to my overwhelmed body. The challenge’s in-house yoga teacher zenpeacekeeper (a fascinating Kiwi lady, whose upcoming novel about her experiences as a peacekeeper in Afghanistan screams to be read) put together a 40 minute yoga video called “Yoga for Writers” which is perfect for my stiff aching body. Although some of the poses are difficult, I have managed to fumble my way through, via variations and time outs when I fatigue. Savasana was wonderful the first 3 days of the challenge. As the days passed the more yoga I seem to do the more my body remembers other poses and series that I had done before. The cellular memory of the body is so impressive. It blows my mind that body memories can be triggered by simply repeating a particular movement. And past psychological traumas or experiences can be triggered by simply touching or massaging various parts of the body (issues in the tissues). The body is a tapestry of imprints, cellular and cognitive, all stored in the magnificent vault that is our being. The saying "my body isn't a temple, it is more of an amusement park" is thought provoking on so many different levels. However you interpret this saying, the message is clear, treat it well and your body will continue to amaze, challenge and further become you.
I’ve enjoyed getting up early and practicing the Writer’s yoga, with add-ons and variations from my body memories. My pets eventually come in the living room and sit with me – my cat elegantly balanced on the arm of the chesterfield and my dog sprawled on the floor beside me. My cat loves being in my bedroom whenever Catherine gives me a reiki treatment. She usually starts with lying on the floor beside the bed and eventually will jump up on the bed, snuggling up to my head or lying on her back and rolling on the bed, at my side. Given that animals are so sensitive to begin with I have no doubt the energy that is being channeled is experienced by my cat as well.
This opportunity that Bindu Wiles has provided, by concocting the 215800 challenges of writing and yoga, has opened so many doors and channels for me. I was excited to read that she is thinking of extending the challenge, which would be such an excellent practice to turn into a regular habit. I finally have a new outlet to work out my frustrations and issues with, an outlet that is calming, brings peace to my agitated mind and body, and will hopefully be part of my recovery for a long time to come. And the Prana, well, the Prana is a lovely treat, and something I can share with E, to make his exhausting month bearable with the most delicious yogic nap ever!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Day 10 Commencement
Day 10. Almost halfway into the 21/5/800 challenge. The last couple of days I've been plagued with writer's constipation - all the thoughts are there but they are stuck somewhere and won't come out. I have all these topics in my head at all times but every time I go to write, nothing. I gave up on writing to focus on the physical. Had a very physical day on Tuesday - yoga, exercises. My PTA brought a gel pad for the seat of the recumbent bicycle we are renting and now the discomfort in my tailbone area from sitting is so much lessened and I can cycle much more effectively.
Wednesday E graduated from the EMS program. It was a fight to get him to go but he eventually agreed. So bloody stubborn. His mum came with us and we had champagne at his parent's after the ceremony. They thanked me for E's success. Little did they realize that it is me that should be thinking him.
Considering the accident came 1 week before he started his final, demanding, soul sucking year of school, E will forever be my hero for finishing the program intact, if not exhausted. When I came home from hospital, he looked after me, did his school work, did ride outs, applied for jobs and positions. He did this with such grace and dignity, showing true compassion and love. Not many would have been able to deal with such an uprooting, life changing accident, but he was there for me throughout it all. E has such focus when it counts, he is able to prioritize and tackle change, which will make him an amazing medic.
The creator of this written yoga challenge, Bindu Wiles, has been an inspiration to all, writing super happy updates about yoga and very thoughtful posts regarding many issues in life. Today's topic is on changing one's life. Glancing over Twitter and the blogs of other participants I can't help but think that this challenge has inspired most to peel away some outer layers and really focus on the core strength that holds us up, both physical and personal. It takes so much push and drive to simply exist in this day and age. The old ways are rapidly vanishing in the wake of the new religion: technology and progress. As the world changes so must we, in order to be able to keep up with the changes.
Change. Such a controversial word. Renew. Uproot. Rearrange. Reshuffle. Strip bare. All sides of change. Change is the only constant in life. We are told to cherish and enjoy the wonderful moments as they will not last long before change is upon us. And to smile, because soon whatever ails you will be gone as change will push us along. Nothing is permanent. Nothing stays the same.
When I was in severe pain in the hospital, burning up my left side, tight pressure on my back, I would focus on my breath and will myself to think of something positive, that soon this moment will pass. Look at the pain, recognize it, accept it so that the sting will seem less upsetting. It is in the face of pain that we show our most human selves, for this is how we learn to cope and overcome. The feeling of breaking through pain is indescribable. Such relief. I remember battling all morning with my neuropathic pain in my foot. It burned white hot, so concentrated and jarring that even the slightest external movement would have me crying. I couldn't move because of the pressure in my back around the surgical site. All I could do was stare at the wall and will myself to forget, even for a moment, how much pain I was in. That any reprieve, how ever brief was a gift. Eventually the sting subsided and when the meds began to work, and opiate relief was washing over me, I cried. At last, change.
Through out the last few months since I came home, I have been desperate for change. New clothes, new decorations, new food. New experiences, new friends. Anything that reminded me of myself pre-accident was painful. I live with a ghost, the ghost of who I was going to become. All my dreams lined up in a row. I am who I once was but never who I wanted to be. The disappointment has been the worst. Any mention of MSF makes me sad and remorseful. The disaster in Haiti was horrible to watch unfold and frustrating to know I couldn't go and help. I worked 7 long years, gave up my traveling self to become a healer so I could go where assistance was needed. Train others to help their communities, establish a new identity.
This grieving of my former life, of my lost identity has been surreal. I sit and cry but sometimes I have no idea why. Crying can be so cathartic as it cleanses out soul, allows healing to begin. It is this after glow that is so important as this is when the fortification of self occurs. It is in the shadow of despair that true everlasting change can occur. This pain, be it spiritual or physical, allows us to know what matters, who matters. It helps identify the true essence of self, the core of a person. Priorities become instinctual as opposed to rehearsed. It is this change which can shape your life for the good if you listen to it.
Change is organic by nature, it spreads at the pace it is meant to, influenced by competing factors. Like a tidal wave or the flux of the seasons, change comes at varying speeds, when we least expect it. The last nine months have been all change, some big, small, successive, crippling, rescuing. I have learned so much and still have so far to go. This time I have learned to go with what occurs and not fight it. In this situation, I think it is the best way to live, as I really cannot predict the changes that come. I try to keep faith that the full impact of this accident will result in positive change, a chance for me to fully become who I am. That in all this grief, a stronger, more resilient person will emerge, able to help change the grievances of the world with what this experience has shown them.
In a month I will be back on the surgeon's table, exposed, opened, to extract the hardware keeping my spine and pelvis together. It is my job now to create the internal hardware to keep my soul together for the pain and difficulty to come. I will do this by remembering to change.
Wednesday E graduated from the EMS program. It was a fight to get him to go but he eventually agreed. So bloody stubborn. His mum came with us and we had champagne at his parent's after the ceremony. They thanked me for E's success. Little did they realize that it is me that should be thinking him.
Considering the accident came 1 week before he started his final, demanding, soul sucking year of school, E will forever be my hero for finishing the program intact, if not exhausted. When I came home from hospital, he looked after me, did his school work, did ride outs, applied for jobs and positions. He did this with such grace and dignity, showing true compassion and love. Not many would have been able to deal with such an uprooting, life changing accident, but he was there for me throughout it all. E has such focus when it counts, he is able to prioritize and tackle change, which will make him an amazing medic.
The creator of this written yoga challenge, Bindu Wiles, has been an inspiration to all, writing super happy updates about yoga and very thoughtful posts regarding many issues in life. Today's topic is on changing one's life. Glancing over Twitter and the blogs of other participants I can't help but think that this challenge has inspired most to peel away some outer layers and really focus on the core strength that holds us up, both physical and personal. It takes so much push and drive to simply exist in this day and age. The old ways are rapidly vanishing in the wake of the new religion: technology and progress. As the world changes so must we, in order to be able to keep up with the changes.
Change. Such a controversial word. Renew. Uproot. Rearrange. Reshuffle. Strip bare. All sides of change. Change is the only constant in life. We are told to cherish and enjoy the wonderful moments as they will not last long before change is upon us. And to smile, because soon whatever ails you will be gone as change will push us along. Nothing is permanent. Nothing stays the same.
When I was in severe pain in the hospital, burning up my left side, tight pressure on my back, I would focus on my breath and will myself to think of something positive, that soon this moment will pass. Look at the pain, recognize it, accept it so that the sting will seem less upsetting. It is in the face of pain that we show our most human selves, for this is how we learn to cope and overcome. The feeling of breaking through pain is indescribable. Such relief. I remember battling all morning with my neuropathic pain in my foot. It burned white hot, so concentrated and jarring that even the slightest external movement would have me crying. I couldn't move because of the pressure in my back around the surgical site. All I could do was stare at the wall and will myself to forget, even for a moment, how much pain I was in. That any reprieve, how ever brief was a gift. Eventually the sting subsided and when the meds began to work, and opiate relief was washing over me, I cried. At last, change.
Through out the last few months since I came home, I have been desperate for change. New clothes, new decorations, new food. New experiences, new friends. Anything that reminded me of myself pre-accident was painful. I live with a ghost, the ghost of who I was going to become. All my dreams lined up in a row. I am who I once was but never who I wanted to be. The disappointment has been the worst. Any mention of MSF makes me sad and remorseful. The disaster in Haiti was horrible to watch unfold and frustrating to know I couldn't go and help. I worked 7 long years, gave up my traveling self to become a healer so I could go where assistance was needed. Train others to help their communities, establish a new identity.
This grieving of my former life, of my lost identity has been surreal. I sit and cry but sometimes I have no idea why. Crying can be so cathartic as it cleanses out soul, allows healing to begin. It is this after glow that is so important as this is when the fortification of self occurs. It is in the shadow of despair that true everlasting change can occur. This pain, be it spiritual or physical, allows us to know what matters, who matters. It helps identify the true essence of self, the core of a person. Priorities become instinctual as opposed to rehearsed. It is this change which can shape your life for the good if you listen to it.
Change is organic by nature, it spreads at the pace it is meant to, influenced by competing factors. Like a tidal wave or the flux of the seasons, change comes at varying speeds, when we least expect it. The last nine months have been all change, some big, small, successive, crippling, rescuing. I have learned so much and still have so far to go. This time I have learned to go with what occurs and not fight it. In this situation, I think it is the best way to live, as I really cannot predict the changes that come. I try to keep faith that the full impact of this accident will result in positive change, a chance for me to fully become who I am. That in all this grief, a stronger, more resilient person will emerge, able to help change the grievances of the world with what this experience has shown them.
In a month I will be back on the surgeon's table, exposed, opened, to extract the hardware keeping my spine and pelvis together. It is my job now to create the internal hardware to keep my soul together for the pain and difficulty to come. I will do this by remembering to change.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Day 6 - Taking stock world cup style
On this gloomy Sunday, nothing seems more natural than relaxing on the couch and watching the football matches from the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. Although I do not follow football religiously or even watch much during the regular season, I always seem to really get into the World Cup tournament. I love the excitement, and high stakes that drives the tourney, not to mention the in depth coverage of the hosting country
More often than not the flow of my life is often at a crossroads whenever the world cup comes about. Change in pace, in circumstance, the sudden goal from an unexpected position. Which asks the question: is four years an adequate measure of progress in one’s life?
Four years earlier, during the summer of 2006, E and I had just moved in together , into a cute little apartment at which we threw parties, had dinner parties and lived a social life. Four years back to 2002 I was roaming the streets of Bangkok after another upheaval, injury and a very thin spirit. I was three months away from finding the love of my life but of course didn’t know it. All my precisely crafted plans had gone up in smoke and I had no idea where I was headed except that I was going home, back to Toronto, to start over.
Now, in 2010, after more upheaval, injury and my plans going up in smoke I sit before the television watching the game play out, the sudden headers, the impassioned saves, the cursing and cheering. I don’t know whether to love the world cup tourney or fear it, given the connection that seems to have unfolded on in this writing. This upheaval, maybe it is simply a yellow card, a warning of more serious things to come if I continued living my life that way I have. Or maybe it is simply too many cases of wrong place, wrong time.
More often than not the flow of my life is often at a crossroads whenever the world cup comes about. Change in pace, in circumstance, the sudden goal from an unexpected position. Which asks the question: is four years an adequate measure of progress in one’s life?
Four years earlier, during the summer of 2006, E and I had just moved in together , into a cute little apartment at which we threw parties, had dinner parties and lived a social life. Four years back to 2002 I was roaming the streets of Bangkok after another upheaval, injury and a very thin spirit. I was three months away from finding the love of my life but of course didn’t know it. All my precisely crafted plans had gone up in smoke and I had no idea where I was headed except that I was going home, back to Toronto, to start over.
Now, in 2010, after more upheaval, injury and my plans going up in smoke I sit before the television watching the game play out, the sudden headers, the impassioned saves, the cursing and cheering. I don’t know whether to love the world cup tourney or fear it, given the connection that seems to have unfolded on in this writing. This upheaval, maybe it is simply a yellow card, a warning of more serious things to come if I continued living my life that way I have. Or maybe it is simply too many cases of wrong place, wrong time.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Day 3 - Sleep and other issues related to not sleeping
Today the cleaners are here for the first time. It feels weird to be
sitting at my desk, with my animals around me, while a team of people
clean our apartment. I feel deliciously guilty, but I’m sure when I
see our apartment looking cleaner then we could have ever done, I’ll
feel fantastic.
Big day today! The first session of the World Changing Writing Workshop
(WCWW). The final round of the neuropsychological testing. Puppy training. Because of the testing, I managed to miss the WCWW session I was most
excited to see due to scheduling conflicts and the puppy training
because I was too drained and tired to attend. And now, because of my
level of alertness and wakeful feeling, I will most likely be up for a
bit, which will no doubt throw the rest of my day off tomorrow. Ah
sleep, you are luxury that forever eludes me.
If I could list the top sleeps I’ve ever had they would be:
- sleeping in a hammock by the beach, the wind gently rocking me to and from, the sound of the ocean and the soft cries of the jungle my sleep time music.
- Napping with my dog or cat, snuggled under a blanket.
- Napping with my husband while listening to jazz
- Sleeping after a invigorating work out
- Sleeping in my mum’s bed when I was little
I wish I could harness the essence, the true sedative of the sleeps I’ve listed - the essence of true contentment and security. I would not sell it, or try to profit from such an essence, as it is priceless and scarce in these uncertain times. Rather I would protect it, learn from it and try and teach it to others so they too could exist and sleep with true contentment and security. If anyone has figured out this formula or technique, please pass it on. Me, and my fellow insomniacs, are waiting!
Ever since I can remember, sleep has always been an issue. I was a
colicky baby, impossible to put down and too interested in my
surroundings to pay attention to what was required of me. When I was
little, I had frequent nightmares, which had me hiding under the
covers trembling till the wee hours or running to my mother’s bed as a
safe port of call. Later on as an adolescent I would stay up late, listening to the radio, chatting on the phone, reading or writing. Sometimes I would roam the neighbourhood with the dog or cycle down town to check out what was going on. I would welcome the dawn with dreams of my future life, omitting nighttime dreams for the wishes of an existence yet to come.
Throughout my early adulthood the restless activity at night never left but I had discovered the nightlife of the world to keep me occupied. Be it dancing in a club, wandering a secluded beach or jungle, swimming in pockets of phosphorescence or watching lunar eclipses against the backdrop of a rumbling ocean the nocturnal world was always fascinated me. The problem however, was that I enjoyed the clarity of day just as much and would say awake or go without sleep so that I didn’t miss anything. I am surprised I do not look older than I do!
I’ve tried listening to music, writing, reading , knitting before bed, hot milk, valerian root and tea, energy channeling, counting sheep, sleepy imagery, yoga, grueling workouts, anything to get to sleep. Recently I’ve started accepting my natural rhythms and just going with my flow, sleeping when tired, staying up when awake and napping in the afternoon. Listening to one’s body. What a concept!
Gravol working it’s anti emetic magic. Our apartment is spotless and clean and I feel elated, relaxed and olfactorily satisfied Tomorrow, yoga, 800 words, hopefully the WCWW I missed today, various appointments and commitments. Another busy day.
sitting at my desk, with my animals around me, while a team of people
clean our apartment. I feel deliciously guilty, but I’m sure when I
see our apartment looking cleaner then we could have ever done, I’ll
feel fantastic.
Big day today! The first session of the World Changing Writing Workshop
(WCWW). The final round of the neuropsychological testing. Puppy training. Because of the testing, I managed to miss the WCWW session I was most
excited to see due to scheduling conflicts and the puppy training
because I was too drained and tired to attend. And now, because of my
level of alertness and wakeful feeling, I will most likely be up for a
bit, which will no doubt throw the rest of my day off tomorrow. Ah
sleep, you are luxury that forever eludes me.
If I could list the top sleeps I’ve ever had they would be:
- sleeping in a hammock by the beach, the wind gently rocking me to and from, the sound of the ocean and the soft cries of the jungle my sleep time music.
- Napping with my dog or cat, snuggled under a blanket.
- Napping with my husband while listening to jazz
- Sleeping after a invigorating work out
- Sleeping in my mum’s bed when I was little
I wish I could harness the essence, the true sedative of the sleeps I’ve listed - the essence of true contentment and security. I would not sell it, or try to profit from such an essence, as it is priceless and scarce in these uncertain times. Rather I would protect it, learn from it and try and teach it to others so they too could exist and sleep with true contentment and security. If anyone has figured out this formula or technique, please pass it on. Me, and my fellow insomniacs, are waiting!
Ever since I can remember, sleep has always been an issue. I was a
colicky baby, impossible to put down and too interested in my
surroundings to pay attention to what was required of me. When I was
little, I had frequent nightmares, which had me hiding under the
covers trembling till the wee hours or running to my mother’s bed as a
safe port of call. Later on as an adolescent I would stay up late, listening to the radio, chatting on the phone, reading or writing. Sometimes I would roam the neighbourhood with the dog or cycle down town to check out what was going on. I would welcome the dawn with dreams of my future life, omitting nighttime dreams for the wishes of an existence yet to come.
Throughout my early adulthood the restless activity at night never left but I had discovered the nightlife of the world to keep me occupied. Be it dancing in a club, wandering a secluded beach or jungle, swimming in pockets of phosphorescence or watching lunar eclipses against the backdrop of a rumbling ocean the nocturnal world was always fascinated me. The problem however, was that I enjoyed the clarity of day just as much and would say awake or go without sleep so that I didn’t miss anything. I am surprised I do not look older than I do!
I’ve tried listening to music, writing, reading , knitting before bed, hot milk, valerian root and tea, energy channeling, counting sheep, sleepy imagery, yoga, grueling workouts, anything to get to sleep. Recently I’ve started accepting my natural rhythms and just going with my flow, sleeping when tired, staying up when awake and napping in the afternoon. Listening to one’s body. What a concept!
Gravol working it’s anti emetic magic. Our apartment is spotless and clean and I feel elated, relaxed and olfactorily satisfied Tomorrow, yoga, 800 words, hopefully the WCWW I missed today, various appointments and commitments. Another busy day.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Day 2 - On Imprinting via Writing
Although curling up with a good book and delving into the written words of others, be it on my sofa or in a hammock beside a beautiful sea, is one of my ideas of heaven, I would have never have said I was prone to writing. As I sit here now reflecting on how writing has been present in my life, I am surprised to discover that writing has figured so prominently into my life, yet remained a hidden medium of expression.
As a child in primary school I loved concocting brilliant adventures and mysterious capers on long pieces of full scrap paper, often going over the maximum of pages or words. My imagination was very active and I found great satisfaction in channeling some of my day dreams on to paper, be it as an assignment for school, or to add to my writing folder for my grown up career in something. In high school I took all the English courses available: Literature to learn how to dissect and enjoy great literary works, and maybe try my hand at creating my own masterpiece. In summer school I took writer’s craft, a six-week full day course on the art of writing. It was one of my favorite high school classes to date – I wrote many short stories and a few longer stories, and gave a presentation on fairy tales and their importance as a cultural link to early and modern literature.
I had an on again off again relationship with journalling. During the rocky road of adolescence I would begin a new journal with vivour and a promise to write every thing, every day. Quickly my declaration of faith would wan, and soon I was lucky if I wrote every week. As I grew into my ever changing body, I realized journalling shouldn't be a chore, but rather an escape, a means of expression. Checking in with myself from time to time.
When I traveled across India and South East Asia I would periodically write my adventures, impressions and experiences into journals whose covers were made of saris and batik, or featured pictures of a royal family, animals and canonized local leaders. I love to look through these journals as often I have forgotten the events and experiences depicted, and seeing the cover fabric and/or image makes me happy, like seeing an old friend. Sometimes the sent of the paper takes me back to a particular country, small village, a moment in time. The act of writing, of putting pen to paper is so cathartic and is so indicative sometimes of my mood at the time of writing. Hurried spidery scribbles describing an incredible experience, dark angry words screaming of a wronging or slight against my person, the world or society in general. Sometimes the writing would appear blotchy and rambling across the page, making me feel empathy for the side of me that had written these sad words sometime ago. At a cross road in my life while traveling I rented a room at a guest house by the river in Bangkok and sat in my room day after day, writing everything that had just happened to me in a sari bound journal. I would take breaks, wander the back streets, eating from stalls, practicing my fledgling Thai with fruit shake vendors, smiling grandmothers and shop vendors. My journal was my lifeline to understanding events that have unfolded at a pace with which I could barely keep up.
Writing in a journal for me is like an imprint of self in time, a chronicling of my existence in this big, scary world we all call home. What used to blow my mind was the thought that somewhere in the world are other journals that hold the same stories as mine, describing the same moment and same place in time but from entirely different perspectives. I wondered if all those personal records of a moment in time were put together would somehow we all manage to describe exactly and completely what occurred, despite any bias or barriers that existed at the time. That despite any difference in personality, language, reasoning we all exist together in little suspended moments in time, our experiences and interpretations of said experiences spiraling out wards like a stone falling into a pond, causing and holding up the all the events and happenings that happened up until now. Perhaps we are all connected by these personal imprints. Ultimately these catalogues, these words on paper, this imprint of self onto a tangible medium, is the glue that holds us together. The same could be said for art, for clothing, for literature, for manufacturing, be it primitive flints and arrowheads, or the finger that pushes the switch on a large machine, or types a code onto a screen on a computer. That this initial mark, action of intent made on a cave wall, a papyrus or a piece of paper paved the way for our existence as we know it, the way for everything to come. That we, the environment, human race, the existence of being, Earth are simple footprints in bedrock waiting to be discovered?
No matter what the experience, my mind, perhaps when it needs to purge, chooses to write, to imprint my experiences in life on paper. Recently I discovered blogging and am now typing my stories in a blog format. Although I miss the almost artful expression of sliding and looping a pen across paper, I appreciate the speed at which I am starting to type. My ideas, thoughts etc., seems to take flight as I type them out.
During my time in hospital this past fall, my unit manager asked me if I was journalling. I replied I wasn't, that I didn't know what to say. You have to journal, she replied. Write it all down, it will make sense when it needs to. Professionally and personally you owe it to yourself to sort through everything that has happened. Two days later a colleague from work stopped by to visit. As I looked up at her from my wheelchair, she pulled out a gift bag. It was from my manager and inside was a beautiful red journal. Two days later, still not knowing what to write I started writing what I was feeling at that moment in time. Pages later, I looked up, noted the time and went to bed. I slept better than I had in ages. Over the next few weeks my mind and heart spewed pages of experiences, feelings, wishes, wrong doings, fear, despair and resolve. I catalogued my hospital experience like I did in Bangkok, like it meant something or will mean something at some time. When I was discharged I wrote ever so often but eventually my pen grew quiet.
For this challenge I am hoping to find my voice as a writer. Although I am not sure what I want to say, I know that I want to. The compulsion to write is back, like an old friend.
As a child in primary school I loved concocting brilliant adventures and mysterious capers on long pieces of full scrap paper, often going over the maximum of pages or words. My imagination was very active and I found great satisfaction in channeling some of my day dreams on to paper, be it as an assignment for school, or to add to my writing folder for my grown up career in something. In high school I took all the English courses available: Literature to learn how to dissect and enjoy great literary works, and maybe try my hand at creating my own masterpiece. In summer school I took writer’s craft, a six-week full day course on the art of writing. It was one of my favorite high school classes to date – I wrote many short stories and a few longer stories, and gave a presentation on fairy tales and their importance as a cultural link to early and modern literature.
I had an on again off again relationship with journalling. During the rocky road of adolescence I would begin a new journal with vivour and a promise to write every thing, every day. Quickly my declaration of faith would wan, and soon I was lucky if I wrote every week. As I grew into my ever changing body, I realized journalling shouldn't be a chore, but rather an escape, a means of expression. Checking in with myself from time to time.
When I traveled across India and South East Asia I would periodically write my adventures, impressions and experiences into journals whose covers were made of saris and batik, or featured pictures of a royal family, animals and canonized local leaders. I love to look through these journals as often I have forgotten the events and experiences depicted, and seeing the cover fabric and/or image makes me happy, like seeing an old friend. Sometimes the sent of the paper takes me back to a particular country, small village, a moment in time. The act of writing, of putting pen to paper is so cathartic and is so indicative sometimes of my mood at the time of writing. Hurried spidery scribbles describing an incredible experience, dark angry words screaming of a wronging or slight against my person, the world or society in general. Sometimes the writing would appear blotchy and rambling across the page, making me feel empathy for the side of me that had written these sad words sometime ago. At a cross road in my life while traveling I rented a room at a guest house by the river in Bangkok and sat in my room day after day, writing everything that had just happened to me in a sari bound journal. I would take breaks, wander the back streets, eating from stalls, practicing my fledgling Thai with fruit shake vendors, smiling grandmothers and shop vendors. My journal was my lifeline to understanding events that have unfolded at a pace with which I could barely keep up.
Writing in a journal for me is like an imprint of self in time, a chronicling of my existence in this big, scary world we all call home. What used to blow my mind was the thought that somewhere in the world are other journals that hold the same stories as mine, describing the same moment and same place in time but from entirely different perspectives. I wondered if all those personal records of a moment in time were put together would somehow we all manage to describe exactly and completely what occurred, despite any bias or barriers that existed at the time. That despite any difference in personality, language, reasoning we all exist together in little suspended moments in time, our experiences and interpretations of said experiences spiraling out wards like a stone falling into a pond, causing and holding up the all the events and happenings that happened up until now. Perhaps we are all connected by these personal imprints. Ultimately these catalogues, these words on paper, this imprint of self onto a tangible medium, is the glue that holds us together. The same could be said for art, for clothing, for literature, for manufacturing, be it primitive flints and arrowheads, or the finger that pushes the switch on a large machine, or types a code onto a screen on a computer. That this initial mark, action of intent made on a cave wall, a papyrus or a piece of paper paved the way for our existence as we know it, the way for everything to come. That we, the environment, human race, the existence of being, Earth are simple footprints in bedrock waiting to be discovered?
No matter what the experience, my mind, perhaps when it needs to purge, chooses to write, to imprint my experiences in life on paper. Recently I discovered blogging and am now typing my stories in a blog format. Although I miss the almost artful expression of sliding and looping a pen across paper, I appreciate the speed at which I am starting to type. My ideas, thoughts etc., seems to take flight as I type them out.
During my time in hospital this past fall, my unit manager asked me if I was journalling. I replied I wasn't, that I didn't know what to say. You have to journal, she replied. Write it all down, it will make sense when it needs to. Professionally and personally you owe it to yourself to sort through everything that has happened. Two days later a colleague from work stopped by to visit. As I looked up at her from my wheelchair, she pulled out a gift bag. It was from my manager and inside was a beautiful red journal. Two days later, still not knowing what to write I started writing what I was feeling at that moment in time. Pages later, I looked up, noted the time and went to bed. I slept better than I had in ages. Over the next few weeks my mind and heart spewed pages of experiences, feelings, wishes, wrong doings, fear, despair and resolve. I catalogued my hospital experience like I did in Bangkok, like it meant something or will mean something at some time. When I was discharged I wrote ever so often but eventually my pen grew quiet.
For this challenge I am hoping to find my voice as a writer. Although I am not sure what I want to say, I know that I want to. The compulsion to write is back, like an old friend.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
insomia part infinity
Can't sleep. Feet hurting. On the left, tingling and numbness. On the right heavy pressure where my ankles touch the mattress. I think my yoga for today will be savasana followed by a nap.
Higgins is filling the apartment with a flatulent bouquet of acidic gas. Somewhere sometime he picked up roundworm egg, which nestled into his digestive tract nicely and turned into long spaghetti like worms. They made their presence known by keeping Higgins up all last night, pacing about the floor and whining to be let outside. He finally couldn't hold it and had a runny bout of diarrhea all over the carpet to the bathroom, in which lay a few wriggling worms. For an encore he barfed up a heap of worms so long they made my stomach lurch in sympathy for my poor little furry friend. He whimpered all morning, curled up beside the screen door. We got an appointment with the vet and away we went, Higgins curled in my lap for the ride. We brought in the lump of worms along with a stool sample for both Higgins and Lucy. Higgins was examined, consoled and eventually de-wormed. Te vet said being a puppy he should bounce back by tonight but if no improvement within 24hrs to bring him back in. He slept most of the afternoon and by dinner was happily jumping on the couch, pestering my friends from work who had stopped by, and eating like a fiend. Oh to have the constitution of a puppy! He periodically reminded us of his issue. with the most putrid of flatus'. Ew.
So great to see my work colleagues again. Odd as it seems I really miss work and being a nurse. When I was in hospital it was very hard for me to be a patient as I was so used to being on the other side. Clash of identities. When the accident occured I was spending most of my social time with my work friends. Health care can be a very isolating field as my non-nursing friends can't relate at all. My bad days were very different to their bad work days. Or, rather, same same but different.
Higgins is filling the apartment with a flatulent bouquet of acidic gas. Somewhere sometime he picked up roundworm egg, which nestled into his digestive tract nicely and turned into long spaghetti like worms. They made their presence known by keeping Higgins up all last night, pacing about the floor and whining to be let outside. He finally couldn't hold it and had a runny bout of diarrhea all over the carpet to the bathroom, in which lay a few wriggling worms. For an encore he barfed up a heap of worms so long they made my stomach lurch in sympathy for my poor little furry friend. He whimpered all morning, curled up beside the screen door. We got an appointment with the vet and away we went, Higgins curled in my lap for the ride. We brought in the lump of worms along with a stool sample for both Higgins and Lucy. Higgins was examined, consoled and eventually de-wormed. Te vet said being a puppy he should bounce back by tonight but if no improvement within 24hrs to bring him back in. He slept most of the afternoon and by dinner was happily jumping on the couch, pestering my friends from work who had stopped by, and eating like a fiend. Oh to have the constitution of a puppy! He periodically reminded us of his issue. with the most putrid of flatus'. Ew.
So great to see my work colleagues again. Odd as it seems I really miss work and being a nurse. When I was in hospital it was very hard for me to be a patient as I was so used to being on the other side. Clash of identities. When the accident occured I was spending most of my social time with my work friends. Health care can be a very isolating field as my non-nursing friends can't relate at all. My bad days were very different to their bad work days. Or, rather, same same but different.
Monday, June 7, 2010
The prelude
Last I wrote I spoke of this challenge I am undertaking. To practice Yoga every day and write 800 words/day for 3 weeks. Starting tomorrow. I'm not quite sure how this will go nor if I can keep it up but I like to think I can. At the very least the regular yoga should serve to loosen me up, keep me more mobile. The writing, well, we'll see. It will be tough. Instead of a structured piece of writing I think I'll play it on an as it comes approach. Some days a blog entry, others a mini essay. I was thinking of making it a handwritten piece in my red journal from the hospital but I seem to have dropped that habit entirely. Hand writing is a different sort of cathartsism as the physical act of writing, of imprinting my self and my thoughts on a tangible media, is so personal. Blogging is a different act entirely - a sequence of button pressing into a non physical space that many can see, read and comment on all around the world. Mind bloggling to think about if one so chooses. But I digress.
I am hoping this challenge will bring a sense of order to my life. A clearer mind, a clearer body. An improved sense of being. I am also going to improve my diet as well. We bought a juicer and a vitamix this weekend so I am hoping I will dive into the realm of cooking as I once did.
Instead of shopping to make me feel better, I will learn to exercise, eat right and blog to eleviate any depression, pain or suffering my situation has caused. Day 1 starts tomorrow. Some light early morning yoga I think. And juice. And blogging. Not sure what about. We'll see.
I am hoping this challenge will bring a sense of order to my life. A clearer mind, a clearer body. An improved sense of being. I am also going to improve my diet as well. We bought a juicer and a vitamix this weekend so I am hoping I will dive into the realm of cooking as I once did.
Instead of shopping to make me feel better, I will learn to exercise, eat right and blog to eleviate any depression, pain or suffering my situation has caused. Day 1 starts tomorrow. Some light early morning yoga I think. And juice. And blogging. Not sure what about. We'll see.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
21.05.800
So I've decided to enter a yoga/creative writing challenge. 21 days in total, practicing yoga 5 times a week as well as practicing a writing exercise of 800 words a day, any medium you like. I find writing my thoughts and telling stories very therapeutic. I had a journal in hospital but it didn't catch on for long once I came home. So seeing as journaling doesn't seem to have the flow it once did, and I seem to be tied to the computer these days......bring on the challenge!
Obviously, given my physical status I can't practice vigorously as I once did but a regular gentle restorative practice would limber me up, work out some stress and encourage light meditation from which inspiration to write will hopefully flow.
E and I attended a tantric workshop last week. Really interesting lady who was a sexual pioneer during the initial AIDS crisis in NYC in the early 80s. She was exploring her sexual self when her friends began dying of AIDS around her. She and a friend began attending and hosting workshops on safer sex. Their purpose was to educate the masses, particularly the gay community, on how to have sex safely without sacrificing pleasure. Any one who advocates safe sex to lessen the effects of a pandemic is a hero in my book. We learned how to breathe fully and deeply - how to maximize our intake in order to make expiration a fulfilling sensation. We purchased her urban tantric book and her tantra book. Both are very well written with very artful pictures and interesting anecdotes, both historical and personal, and are such compelling and thoughtful books it is hard to put them down.
I had tantra on the brain when news of this 21.5.800 challenge floated my way. My life is becoming monotonous and I am hoping this challenge will clean out the cobwebs in my mind, body and spirit, and allow creativity and health to flourish. My goal - a more supple body and mind without compromising what mental and physical energy I have currently to work with.
Obviously, given my physical status I can't practice vigorously as I once did but a regular gentle restorative practice would limber me up, work out some stress and encourage light meditation from which inspiration to write will hopefully flow.
E and I attended a tantric workshop last week. Really interesting lady who was a sexual pioneer during the initial AIDS crisis in NYC in the early 80s. She was exploring her sexual self when her friends began dying of AIDS around her. She and a friend began attending and hosting workshops on safer sex. Their purpose was to educate the masses, particularly the gay community, on how to have sex safely without sacrificing pleasure. Any one who advocates safe sex to lessen the effects of a pandemic is a hero in my book. We learned how to breathe fully and deeply - how to maximize our intake in order to make expiration a fulfilling sensation. We purchased her urban tantric book and her tantra book. Both are very well written with very artful pictures and interesting anecdotes, both historical and personal, and are such compelling and thoughtful books it is hard to put them down.
I had tantra on the brain when news of this 21.5.800 challenge floated my way. My life is becoming monotonous and I am hoping this challenge will clean out the cobwebs in my mind, body and spirit, and allow creativity and health to flourish. My goal - a more supple body and mind without compromising what mental and physical energy I have currently to work with.
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