I woke up at 4 this morning with remnants of a vivid dream swirling into the groggy transition of mind from dream state to consciousness, compelling me to reach for pen and paper, capturing with words those vivid and strange images that are the composition of a dream, all the while noticing the unfolding connections of the dream to the events of the day before. Yesterday was seemingly unique, perhaps because I was more awake and aware. In some ways the first half of the day turned out to be a parallel of the afternoon that was to come. On the way to Mark's 10 a.m. class at Castle, a light at Lamar turned red with my car first in the queue, which gave me the opportunity to have a conversation with a homeless guy and his dog. The story is vague, but went something like this: he jumped through a large pane of glass after being awakened by a dog, maybe the building was on fire, and after flying through the glass the dog followed him and landed in his arms. He spent 2 months in Brackenridge Hospital, near death, and kept the adopted dog with him the whole time, despite protests. The dog had saved his life by getting them both out of the building, and the doctors took over, suturing the deep, life threatening lacerations to his chest and face.
I arrived at class to learn that Gioconda was subbing for Mark. It was a good class and I'm always enriched by my beautiful "little sister's" presence, wisdom, and inspired teaching. The class was a challenge, my body temperature rising and sweat pouring off me. I needed to take several rests, nothing unusual in this. Sometimes these windowless studios that have just experienced a previous class seem stifling and devoid of fresh air to me. After doing a series of handstands and pinchas, followed by several urdhva dhanurasanas, my heart was beating furiously in my chest, yet my breath remained slow and calm. There was a sweet deliciousness in these moments of feeling my heart pounding so hard and fast, yet no feeling whatsoever of needing to breathe deeper, fuller, or faster. No sense of approaching panic. I remember thinking that because the asana is such a powerful heart opener, maybe a divine dose of prana had entered my body. I slowed my breath even more and it was even more delicious and unfamiliar.
I stopped at the car wash and the wait was long and they told me Jeff, my massage therapist, would be there in 45 minutes, long after I'd be gone. I left him the card Changing the World One Om at a Time with a note saying I hoped to see him there, got home around 1:30, just in time for lunch, a few household chores, a brief rest, then I headed out to another class. In this class I was aware of the breathing of others, which is always such a nice experience--the deep connected feeling of community in practice so often sensed and felt by the sharing of breath. I'm drawn to a new guy who struggles mightily with the asanas, and makes all sorts of moans and grunts with his voice and breath. He is a beginner and I relish watching his growth. The instructor announced "no grunting in class". I noticed that when he left class he appeared crestfallen. The theme of the earlier class was mudita, and I wanted to stay with that practice, so I emailed him and told him I admired how regularly he had been in showing up to practice, showing up on the mat, and how he was doing exactly what he needed to do, that he was exactly where he needed to be, and that with consistent practice he would notice shifts and transformations. In some ways I think beginners benefit the most from positive experience in class so as to keep them on the yogic path, if that's the journey for them.
As I was filling the car up with gas I was approached by a young man with his dog, reminding me of my experience earlier in the day with the other homeless guy and his dog. This guy was down on his luck, and yet this dog that he had rescued from an abusive life revealed to me, as earlier, that his owner was treating him well, feeding him well, and the bond between them was tight and bright. The calm and sweet nature of these faithful dogs reminded me of when animals come to our rescue and provide us with a much needed dose of empathy, a breath of freshness and companionship when we might otherwise feel alone in the world. This young man was living in a seedy hotel for which he was paying $190 a week. At such times I want to shake my fist at the unjust world, but must find refuge in knowing this is simply the way it is in the world, and far, far worse at any given moment with countless living creatures all over this mysterious planet. These encounters stir up a desire to save and rescue, which I cannot do. But listening, hearing their stories, caring, seeing their light, giving a few dollars here and there is good for me, and hopefully good for them. A few moments to stand and breathe with another may not be saving the world, but who's to know the outcome of sharing one breath, one om at a time with others?
When we sincerely rejoice and share in the joyous success of others, without expectation, we open ourselves up to receiving the same in return; likewise, when we are experiencing joy and success in our own lives, and when we listen and care and feel compassion for others, when we share our hopes for the betterment of the world, one moment at a time, perhaps we can make some positive difference.
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The dream centered around my younger biological sister. Although her journey through life is radically different from my *adopted sister/teacher/mentor*, they share similar characteristics unique to those from the "red hair" gene pool--intensely passionate, fiercely independent. In the dream I was travelling in a very crowded bus where everyone was sitting on the floor on yoga mats in rows of four, and one woman wouldn't allow me to get off at my destination. Other women intervened and prevailed. Indicative of the powerful ebb and flow of feminine energy I've experienced of late. My task was to deliver the name of the color of paint being used to paint her (my sister's) house and the nearby ceiling of an open aired lobby. It was an extraordinarily rich and beautiful red, earthy red, adobe red, vibrant and alive, again representing the power of raw energy, aggression, profoundly deep spiritual and emotional characteristics. But this red had a softness to it, toned down, calm, soothing. The painter was conveying the name of the paint to me in foreign coinage and bills, which were spilling out on to the ground when a homeless man grabbed a handful and ran away with the money. I chased him and got it back, then chose to give him some of my own will, clearly representative of our free will, our freedom of choice, and how the decisions we make in our life can have profound consequences. When I arrived, in the dream, at my sister's house, she wasn't there, but I was instead greeted by a pleasant woman who was supposed to be her mother-in-law. Resolution of conflicts with good outcomes. The mythical symbol of conflict and interference transformed into harmony. The guilt and alienated (foreign) feeling I often have when I witness others with so little currency, but learning to come to terms with that seemingly unfair state of affairs.
