Between the horrors of the Syrian Refugee Crisis, the nonsense of a Kentucky Court Clerk’s refusal to issue marriage certificates to same-sex partner applicants and the thought that Donald Trump could ever become the next President of the US – it’s been a week of: “how the hell did we get here?”. So, I thought a little lightness was in order.
I am trying to write this post on stress and relaxation techniques and nothing comes to mind but a bunch of platitudes that can be found on a million websites at the click of a finger. I stare at the dogs, sleeping by my desk, hoping their furry backs, undulating slowly in a rhythmic motion, will provide inspiration. The sock monkey on the electric blue rocking chair mocks me with his fixed grin. Now I am stressed.
“Hi, I’m Suze” her hand outstretched across the counter and a warm smile welcomed me to unplug, a meditation studio that just sprouted up in West Los Angeles.
What took me there were a mixture of curiosity and a desire to spruce up a meditation practice that went by the wayside a few years ago. Above all, it was my critical mind, on full alert, that pushed me out of the door by 7:30 am on one of the few days I could have slept in.
I am no stranger to meditation. The very first yoga class I ever took, over 18 years ago, happened to be a free meditation class on January 1, 1996. I…
During my Yoga teacher training I battled to meditate. It drove the woman who ran the ashram mad, she said she could feel my thoughts ricocheting around the room. I’d had this kind of feedback once before – at a step class when the teacher asked me to move to the back of the room because my lack of co-ordination was distracting the others. But this felt like a bigger failure – not being able to control ones limbs while hideous 80s disco music distracted my mind was one thing. Not being able to manage my own mind whilst sitting on my butt, was entirely another.
Both camparigirl and I practice yoga, and go through the fluctuations of time spent on the mat that most busy yogis experience. Both of us leave class each time, thinking to ourselves – “I loved that, I really should do more of it. Anmhour a day would be perfect”. Then life intervenes, and we’re back to a couple days a week. Essentially we should be able to practice yoga until the day we die .. that’s the theory anyway. But stiffening joints and atrophying muscles might not always make that possible.
So we were thrilled, inspired and heartened to read on Shape.com that the Guinness Book of World Records has recently named New York resident Tao Porchon-Lynch the world’s oldest yoga instructor.