A small segment of a dream lingers in my thoughts for days afterwards. I was in an elevator, ascending to the top level of a building, and as I ascended the walls of the elevator began closing in on me--like they do in movies whereby the Indiana Jones character must find a quick means of escape or face death. An elevator is perhaps a contemporary of the wheel of fortune symbol, as it turns, one is ascending, descending, and at one point or another at the top or the bottom, but mostly in between. The emotional and physical ups and downs of life will apparently, at least for me, never end so long as I'm On the Ride. Just when we think the walls are closing in on us we find the strength to hold them open. My fortunes decline and then I find the coffers full; my spiritual strength waxes and wanes; my body forces me to a near state of stasis. I remember the meaninglessness of time, or better yet my skewed perspective, and allow the anger and frustation enough expression to diffuse and soften. I read mystery novels to pass the time. They often adhere to a strict formula which affords a sense of security, of predictability, the forces of evil doing battle with the forces of good where the detective ultimately outwits the villain and despite the damages already done, manages to set things right, more or less. I've become a huge fan of The Closer with Kyra Sedgwick as Chief Inspector Brenda Lee, a southern lady transferred to the mean streets of Los Angeles as head of a special branch whose purpose is to solve high profile murders (on DVD).
I miss group asana practice very much. I miss the community of people and the healing and nurturing that is always present. Doing physical therapy exercises with various colored thera-bands, at home, alone, is so boring that I feel I am being again tested to see if I can remember to stop and evaluate, to slow down even more and look at life from a different perspective. Personally, I don't care if my postural integrity is far from perfect, nor do I particularly care that my right lung is smaller than my left, that I have forgotten how to breathe into my upper lungs using my diaphram--I'm labeled an 'over inhaler'--nor that there's imbalance nearly everywhere from the hips up. But when it hurts and pain becomes a constant companion, I do indeed care and am called into a different kind of action. I've been very surprised to learn that quite a few people who practice yoga end up with injuries requiring physical therapy--so my physical therapist tells me. "We have many students of yoga coming through our doors seeking healing" he tells me. I've given up wondering what I might have done wrong. IF anything, it was pushing too hard doing what I love, not paying careful enough attention to pain, and forgetting the age and condition of this body I inhabit. It's not fruitful to think in terms of right and wrong, clearly I did a whole lot of right because it felt delicious and was so enriching. But now I need to compensate for whatever reasons that led to this imbalance that causes, at times, intense pain. Maybe I was over zealous in my pursuit of goodness, and ego got too involved. Doesn't matter anymore, not now.
A beautiful Siamese tom cat has decided he likes us, and we like him very much. He's not quite feral, but petting him is presently out of the question, much less placing him in a carrier and taking him to the vet for shots and evaluation. But it's been quite enjoyable making his acquaintance and doing our best to provide food and water. We call him blue eyes. How original.
I drive Dale to physical therapy this morning, his knee is healing very nicely and he walks far better post operation than before. We are already talking travel and planning our next adventure, perhaps Alaska, perhaps Ireland, who knows. I have a meeting with my physical therapist this week for the usual evaluation and the fine tuning and tweaking of my exercise program. I also see my newest Orthopedic Surgeon for the second time and hope to learn that surgery is not necessarily on the horizon, although I'm no longer resistant to it. One must be very careful in dealing with these surgeons, they often have god complexes and require that one be especially tolerant of their attitudes, as well as proactive in one's own care, but that should always be the case.
Back to The Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte, check on Blue Eyes, have breakfast and begin chaffeur duties.
