The waves crash against the craggy, jagged shoreline, at times savagely. Dark clouds roll in and the clap of thunder is frighteningly loud. Amidst the cacophony of background noises I can hear a faint, steady whistling sound. Ever so slowly it gets louder, and more shrill. Just as gradually as it began, the whistling fades. It is the peanut man pushing his cart along the narrow, winding road just outside the gates of the hotel. There is no break in the sound, unlike the waves. A pipe releases the steam from his old fashioned contraption as he rolls along the road, passing vendors selling fresh fruit, colorful tie dyed clothing, wooden carvings, homemade soup. Until we die, there is no break in our breathing, it is steady.
I am naked on the beach in Mona Lisa's massage parlor, a small wood frame structure with walls of fluttering sheets offering some little degree of privacy from those walking the shoreline. "It is not a problem, mon." She is a hefty woman with strong hands, her massage is deep and feels good. I go into deep relaxation. She caresses my genitals in several long strokes that take me by surprise but it seems so natural. There is an earthy quality to this woman that puts me at complete ease. I sit up slowly to dress, and she tells me "your shorts are lost, mon". A joke. It is raining. My shoes have been left on the beach and are wet.
My bed sheets are spotted with blood this morning as are my pillows. My elbows are raw and have bled throughout the night. The yoga room floor is hard tile. I am still feeling some anger at the taxi driver who yesterday hassled me and tried to frighten me into paying an outrageous fare. He partially succeeded but the amount was not significant; however, the hassle was. The anger will pass just like the clouds, it will fade away like the whistle fades from the peanut man. It is worth it, lunch at Jackie's with Sharon is sweet. One of the best smoothies ever.
We went snorkeling again today with Vincent, an exceptionally nice man who watches and guides us with great care. The water is warm and calming, the stingrays graceful as they swim in front of us. The reef is alive and vibrant today, perhaps because of the intense downpour late yesterday. I hold a live blow fish, a sea cucumber, a starfish...
John asks me to remain still as he tells the entire class to come and observe. "His sitting posture is better than anyone else here," he tells the class. My ego wants to grow big but I am humbled by the experience. I am dripping in sweat as we've just come down from head stand then shoulder stand. (John tells us the only rule in Iyengar Yoga is that head stand comes before shoulder stand.) The room faces the blue sea, waves crash, the wind caresses. "Is Ron relaxed?" he asks the class. A resounding no. He's sweating and tense, he says as he adjusts me for pranayama, a position I find virtually impossible to hold. As always, I am made aware of how much I have to learn. The previous day Barbara had us move slowly towards a balancing pose that began with getting one leg over our shoulder. I put my leg behind my head. "As impressive as that is, Ron Hicks, that is not where we are going." I realized it was my pride that was leading me in that moment and I acknowledged and pulled back. When we achieved the final pose, again I felt a sense of accomplishment that I quite nicely achieved the pose. Barbara pointed to another student and directed the attention of the class to her pose. I felt totally deflated and ignored.
"We are so easily blown about by the winds of praise and blame. This has been going on through the ages. They criticize the silent ones. They criticize the talkative ones. They criticize the moderate ones. There is no one in the world that escapes criticism. There never was and never will be, nor is there now, the wholly criticized or the wholly approved." (Skakyamuni Buddha, more than 2500 years ago.)* The desire for praise can be a hook, just as an aversion to criticism can be a hook, no matter how constructive the criticism may be. Know your triggers and acknowledge when you are hooked, advises Pema Chodron.
We are a trio from Sydney, Amsterdam and Dripping Springs. We kiss and hug tightly. We have long discussions on all things yogic. Life is good. We eat, laugh, drink Red Stripe beer and sip some rum. We order extra vegetables. We haggle with taxi drivers. We work hard in class, perhaps too hard, I am told. "You don't always have to give 100 percent," Marietta tells me, "quite often 90, or 80, or 70 percent might serve you better."
We have our last class of the retreat this afternoon, followed by dinner and a party, and tomorrow Clive will deliver us to the Montego Bay Airport as we all go in separate directions.
*Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change, Pema Chodron
I am naked on the beach in Mona Lisa's massage parlor, a small wood frame structure with walls of fluttering sheets offering some little degree of privacy from those walking the shoreline. "It is not a problem, mon." She is a hefty woman with strong hands, her massage is deep and feels good. I go into deep relaxation. She caresses my genitals in several long strokes that take me by surprise but it seems so natural. There is an earthy quality to this woman that puts me at complete ease. I sit up slowly to dress, and she tells me "your shorts are lost, mon". A joke. It is raining. My shoes have been left on the beach and are wet.
My bed sheets are spotted with blood this morning as are my pillows. My elbows are raw and have bled throughout the night. The yoga room floor is hard tile. I am still feeling some anger at the taxi driver who yesterday hassled me and tried to frighten me into paying an outrageous fare. He partially succeeded but the amount was not significant; however, the hassle was. The anger will pass just like the clouds, it will fade away like the whistle fades from the peanut man. It is worth it, lunch at Jackie's with Sharon is sweet. One of the best smoothies ever.
We went snorkeling again today with Vincent, an exceptionally nice man who watches and guides us with great care. The water is warm and calming, the stingrays graceful as they swim in front of us. The reef is alive and vibrant today, perhaps because of the intense downpour late yesterday. I hold a live blow fish, a sea cucumber, a starfish...
John asks me to remain still as he tells the entire class to come and observe. "His sitting posture is better than anyone else here," he tells the class. My ego wants to grow big but I am humbled by the experience. I am dripping in sweat as we've just come down from head stand then shoulder stand. (John tells us the only rule in Iyengar Yoga is that head stand comes before shoulder stand.) The room faces the blue sea, waves crash, the wind caresses. "Is Ron relaxed?" he asks the class. A resounding no. He's sweating and tense, he says as he adjusts me for pranayama, a position I find virtually impossible to hold. As always, I am made aware of how much I have to learn. The previous day Barbara had us move slowly towards a balancing pose that began with getting one leg over our shoulder. I put my leg behind my head. "As impressive as that is, Ron Hicks, that is not where we are going." I realized it was my pride that was leading me in that moment and I acknowledged and pulled back. When we achieved the final pose, again I felt a sense of accomplishment that I quite nicely achieved the pose. Barbara pointed to another student and directed the attention of the class to her pose. I felt totally deflated and ignored.
"We are so easily blown about by the winds of praise and blame. This has been going on through the ages. They criticize the silent ones. They criticize the talkative ones. They criticize the moderate ones. There is no one in the world that escapes criticism. There never was and never will be, nor is there now, the wholly criticized or the wholly approved." (Skakyamuni Buddha, more than 2500 years ago.)* The desire for praise can be a hook, just as an aversion to criticism can be a hook, no matter how constructive the criticism may be. Know your triggers and acknowledge when you are hooked, advises Pema Chodron.
We are a trio from Sydney, Amsterdam and Dripping Springs. We kiss and hug tightly. We have long discussions on all things yogic. Life is good. We eat, laugh, drink Red Stripe beer and sip some rum. We order extra vegetables. We haggle with taxi drivers. We work hard in class, perhaps too hard, I am told. "You don't always have to give 100 percent," Marietta tells me, "quite often 90, or 80, or 70 percent might serve you better."
We have our last class of the retreat this afternoon, followed by dinner and a party, and tomorrow Clive will deliver us to the Montego Bay Airport as we all go in separate directions.
*Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change, Pema Chodron
