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la fuenta eterna

I cannot seem to get out of bed today. I did manage to walk my son to school, and I’ll have to do that walk again soon, with errands added in, but some gravitational pull has anchored me here amidst 5 pillows, cotton sheets, and a cat. Can’t quite blame my lethargy on the cat; he is being ever so supportive by maintaining the horizontal position, too. Normally, he places himself midway between my writing/creative space, and the room my husband like to work in, in order to track both of us. Normally, I am up and about and bouncing between writing and laundering or cooking the day’s ‘comida‘.

I think I know what the problem is: an overly-stimulated brain. I took a 90 minute ‘ashtanga yoga’ class yesterday evening. Lovely teacher with a mellifluous voice. An outdoor setting that was perfect: balcony* with a sweeping view of San Miguel, overhung by trees, positioned to catch a breeze… I had been hesitating about taking the class; I haven’t actually ‘taken’ a yoga class led by someone else in a really long time. But this particular class is one I might be leading as a fill-in, substitute teacher come October, so it seemed politic to roll out my mat and dive right in, rather than observe.

It felt very natural to move and breathe with others, in the choreographed way that is inherent in the Ashtanga style. I imagine that one could step into an ‘Ashtanga Yoga’ class anywhere in the world, and feel pretty much right at home even with language barriers. There are some differences in how the sequence is taught, with some asanas embellished, some left out, but once you get a feel for the rhythm of the teacher- modeled by their breath and inflection- you’re good to go.

The practice felt right and I was able to modify when needed to manage my herniated disc issues (Mostly. With no side-eye from Jean or Kate to keep me in check, I had to rein things in a bit on my own…). The walk home down steep, winding, cobblestone streets was quiet and meditative, as the ‘commuter’ traffic was done for the day. But as soon as it was ‘light’s out!’ time at Casa Keogh, it was ‘light’s on!’ time in my head.

I thought my well was dry. I thought I had no desire to teach for awhile. I thought that I was going to use this sabbatical time to sink in and draw up words slowly, writing my opus on yoga- or whatever else surfaced- from a deeply quiet place.

HAH.

Last week, the idea of subbing was broached by someone responding to my query about yoga spaces- which I had envisioned using for my own, solo explorations into asana, etc. Then I had the experience of seeing who my potential students might be. Now, waves of teaching language and imagery are welling up, spilling out of a vessel that I thought was dry. It’s almost hallucinogenic, this experience. I can’t seem to get up and write while it’s going on; I can only hope that I become more adept at finding those words and phrases when I sit (or lie down) to write.

Time to train the cat to take notes for me. Or invent a thumb drive that I could insert into my ear and download the LizaTube videos that the Internal Imp of Creative Pursuits insists on filming while I try to sleep.

(*Oh. My. In searching on line for a photo of this place, I discovered that the yoga balcony is actually part of a B+B called  ‘Casa Angelitos‘. My poor over-stimulated imagination is now fantasizing about holding a yoga retreat here. February, anybody?)

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