On the Mat

This is part two of an exploration into how I navigated a recent difficult period. The first in this series is, Distorted Nostalgia.

So the next morning, I decide to skip yoga class, but not the yoga.

… on the mat …

During savasana ... day dreams about someone setting the monastery on fire. I kept trying to get out but every exit is blocked. Then I wake up to discover that someone had rigged it so that the monastery catches fire. So I go around disarming the devices, turning off the gas and carefully opening all the windows to let the gas out safely.

I kept asking, “Why would someone set fire to the monastery?” And I hear the sound of screeching brakes … wrong question. “Who is setting the fires?” Oh yeah, me – I am setting the fires.

… deep breath, adjust my body …

And now I am in a yoga class in the studio. A woman loses her balance and begins to fall. I jump up and catch her before she slams into a wall. She is not grateful, she is angry. “Let me go”, she shouts at me. And I respond, “No problem, just stand up first so you can regain your balance before I let go.”

Again, I ask, “Who is out of balance?” And the answer is the same, “I am out of balance.”

…I wiggle my fingers and toes, slowly turning on my right side then slowly sit up …breathing deeply,

I begin my metta prayer. “May I be healthy …” I remember yesterday’s message about my fire needing balancing with water. I make a mental note "Today will be a water day." I hear protest from my fire side, "Yesterday was a water day dammit!”

Good point. “Today will begin as a water day.” Which for me means taking things slowly. I mentally add laundry and dish washing to the morning chores. Later I will pay bills and go through the mail.

“Okay?” Blessed silence … okay, time for breakfast.

The next morning … from my journal …

…dreams … of this young woman who seems in a hurry to experience the joys of life. It is hinted that it is because she has not long to live. So she rushes to marry the man of her dreams so she can be sure to experience the bliss of her wedding night. It is also hinted that it is a family curse that can only be broken by experiencing true love, multiple orgasms and real happiness.

I had been up past midnight the night before trying to solve one of the design problems. I hug myself wondering, “How am I going to get all of this done?”

I ignore the dream … I am truly scattered and worried all day.

Next, a revelation … of sorts.

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On the Trail ...

Shadow stalking can be an exhilarating sport. My quarry is leery of being seen much less being cornered. The chase can seem thrilling, especially when I am getting close.

It throws up all these distractions …

”Why are you doing *this*? You could be watching TV. You like TV right?” Or …

What if that car exploded and then ….the resulting gas cloud was ignited by *this* candle and … it fried half of the block?” And …

"What if a car careened from the road and headed right for these trees while you were gazing at *this* stream and listening to its water?”

It stalks me, even as I follow its trail. Booby traps filled with emotional triggers, hidden pits of despair and grief, and poisonous self-talk all are weapons at its disposal. All I am armed with is the light of awareness, and it is all I need.

Hey! If I can see you clearly, you are mine!

And lately, let’s face it, your tactics have taken on the stink of desperation – I must be close. When I catch glimpses of you, you seem nervous and twitch at every sound. And I am getting closer everyday.

Your armory is well stocked, and your stealth knows no limits. And you have escaped me for many, many years. But as soon as I can see you, you begin to weaken. Every time you escape me now, just hastens the day when I will have you squarely in my sights.

And on that day, I will pull out my trusty journal and draw your image with words. And with each detail I capture, you will become pinned to the canvas of the page.

There, I will remove your mask and peal away all your disguises. And there I will uncover your real name and then … you will be mine.

Then … we will embrace, join hands and dance joyously together. It will be so wonderful, so beautiful, we will both cry with delight and relief.

But till then, you better run and you better hide … because I can see you and baby … the hunt is on!

©2008 Katrina Messenger

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Little Girl Lost

And so I walk to where she dwells, that small weeping child in the darkness. She sits huddled over and shivering. I can hear her light sobs punctuated by the movement of her tiny shoulders.

Her clothes are dirty and torn. Her feet are covered with decades of grime and filth. Her eyes, when I can see them are filled with such agony and fear.

At first I try to embrace her, holding her against me so as to warm and reassure. But it is not nearly enough for so many years of pain, terror and despair.

So I get up. I start collecting twigs, branches, bark and dried leaves. I drop them in a pile just a little ways in front of where she sits. She is startled each time I drop another bundle.

Slowly as I sit sorting the wood from the kindling, creating piles from the quick start to the long lasting, she dares a peek.

Yes! She is still curious, that is a good sign. She watches me now through her fingers as I begin building the tripod that will later receive the fresh fire.

I pull out my fire kit and begin striking the steel against the flint. Her eyes glow with excitement when the spark hits the char cloth, igniting the shredded rope. As I place the fire bundle into the tripod, she sits up to watch. Slowly she exhales as I blow into the building flames. Quickly but deliberately, I add twigs, then branches till finally I can add the long burning log.

She has stopped crying and now I can see her small tortured face. Her cheeks are clean from all the tears but all else needs a good scrubbing. Her hair is matted but I can still make out what had been her tender baby curls.

I pick up the ready blanket and wrap it around her narrow shoulders. She looks at me with such trepidation yes, but also I can see the glimmer of hope.

I pour water into my camp mug and offer it to her. She grabs it quickly and downs it completely. I refill the mug, holding it lightly and lift it slowly to her mouth. One sip, then another, and her eyes flicker with understanding as she sips slowly as I leave the mug cupped in her small hands.

I pull out the soup and the bread, as I begin preparing her meal. I catch her looking at me with such raw emotion that it tears at my heart. By the time I offer her the meal, we are both crying … again. But this time the tears are not so bitter.

Slowly I lay out the pad then the sleeping bag, as I help her to lie down for her first real rest in years. At daybreak, we will return home … together. But tonight she gets to finally sleep and hopefully begin anew to dream the dreams of the innocent … while I keep vigil throughout the night.

©2008 Katrina Messenger

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