the great plains

I went on a coastal roadtrip in 2012. We drove from Los Angeles to the Redwood forest and back. On the way there we crept along the cliffs, winding down roads. Sometimes I would sink low in my seat so I didn't have to see the upcoming twists and turns in the road. When you're in a car, this is easy. When this is your life, there's no sinking out of sight.

Then there was the drive back. Deciding that we had enough of the cliffs and the edge of what seemed to be the world, we took the straight and flat road home. We didn't see any accidents on our way up the coast but on that simple road, the wind whipped like hell against the car. So hard that I remember popping snacks in Matt's mouth for him because he couldn't take either hand off the wheel. There were a ton of accidents. We even saw some mini tornados out of dust and dirt. The cliffs were much more scary. At any point you felt like you were going to just tip off the edge. How funny that when everything was lain out simply before us that we were in much more danger.

I have arrived at the straight and simple. I'm not rising or falling. Much like a photograph that is unsaturated and flat, I keep flipping through the days, work, people, routines without much excitement or interest. I've lost interest in the organization of my things. My work seems to continue without any concern or creative satisfaction. Time moves and I watch it go. I sip water because nothing tastes particularly good or bad, mostly bland. I don't really watch out for cracks in the sidewalk. I haven't felt high or low but mostly medium. So where do I go from here knowing that if I take my hands from the wheel for one minute that I may flip over and end up worse off than where I begun.

I've seen the photos, I've heard the gossip. I knew it before I even discovered it. It dissolves in me and settles to the bottom. Nothing surprises me anymore because I've already imagined and reimagined it a million different ways. I saw you and it took me a full week to recover. I ended up flatter than before. More disinterested in what was around me, more disgusted with the situation.

I have a beautiful view of the city. I wake up around 4 or 5am everyday to the sun coming up over the city. My first thought is a split between how wonderful the colors are and how I don't understand how I got here. I haven't been here writing because I don't even have the real interest in putting it down anymore. After writing for days on ends, filling up notebooks and scribble pads with this and that I've run out. I got a cold and I ended up extremely exhausted. All the twists and turns were tiring and now that I'm on the flat, I'm more worried than ever.

yin

I hesitated with everything I felt and did. I anticipated pain the second I stopped moving. I cautiously sipped my coffee dreaming that it would be too hot and scorch my mouth. I questioned a coworker that he was about to tell me bad news when he was only sharing an invitation with me. I arrived on my mat already full of tears. This was my fifth or sixth yin class - I've never made it through an entire class, let along the first 30 minutes without tears coming. This was the first however that I was anticipating the pain, aches and flood of emotions so much that I was worked up even before I began.

I am today at 63 days straight of yoga. I feel like I'm in a program of sorts announcing something like that but maybe I am. I took Yin Yoga sort of by mistake. I enjoy the teacher in other practices so when I was out of options for that particular day I decided to try it out. It's a practice of clearing energetic blockages and improve the flow of qi. The positions are much like traditional vinyasa practice except you don't move seamlessly from one to another. You move into one and you stay, you stay for 5-10 minutes. Sitting still for that long of time is difficult enough. Dull aches arise and your mind starts pin-ponging from thought to thought, eventually landing on the thought that you've been avoiding all day, all week and here you are - facing it head on.

"When pain arises in the body, look to the mind. Where is that coming from? Where or what is causing the discomfort?"

And then I was there that first class. Laying on my back with my heels together and my hands on my stomach with tears pouring down my face. Physically I've collected enough strength in the past 63 days to push past the ache but emotionally I am not much farther from where I began. The teacher asked us all to not reject any pain that came to us, both physical or emotional but to look to it and allow it to come and then go. The pain was suffering caused by resistance.

There weren't any tears tonight. Once I began I accepted that I wasn't feeling as positive as I had been feeling yesterday but that was fine. I let it go. I didn't deny that my hips felt like they were breaking into pieces. I didn't deny that my heart ached to all ends and that I miss him like crazy. I sat there and saw the thoughts come and go. I saw that every time my pain increased it was because some memory was coming to me. His eyelids sleeping, a favorite pasta recipe.

I think tomorrow I will finally take a break. I attempted a break many times but haven't felt ready to let go of the practice that is physically bringing me back to the place where I feel confident that I can then build back my emotional self. There isn't anymore denial left in me. There's just time and space to move forward.