I re-registered yesterday for my second month. The shala is still quite full– my start time is still officially 9:30 (though I’ve been coming a little early and that seems to be fine), but I have to get a new registration card from Sharath today, and when I do, I’m hoping he’ll tell me to come earlier.
My camera, the fancy new Nikon J1 I bought for this trip a month and a half ago, has kicked the bucket. Without warning, stopped working. The super-helpful manual asked me to check if the battery was 1. charged and 2. in the camera, which, thankyouverymuch, it was. I’ll have to send it in when I get back to the states, and for now, iphone pictures are there.
Everything else here, however, is wonderful. I’m fully recovered from the bout of sickness at the beginning of my trip that left me afraid to eat anything at all, and I can now enjoy the culinary delights of Mysore (of which there are many). A few of my favorites: Vivian’s Taiwanese lunch buffet on Thursdays, Sandhya’s home cooking, Sixth Main, Tina’s Cafe, and of course smoothies at Anu’s.
Practice is practice is practice. From time to time I wish I had taken to writing regularly about my asana practice, simply so I could remember the process, the trajectory of struggles, the time it took me to feel comfortable in the landmark poses, or to heal from a hamstring injury. But it all blends together and I get glimpses of memory instead: being bound in Marichyasana D at the Gold Coast Moksha that doesn’t exist anymore, the first time I was able to touch my fingers together by myself in supta kurmasana (after food poisoning, actually), the first few (ok, dozen) times I hit my head on the ground attempting to drop back. ’05, ’06, and ’07 respectively, if I had to guess, but time is funny. In the years in between, I added many poses, then took some away, then got some back, then took some away again. Now, rebuilding. This journey is not linear. Sometimes I feel as though I’m in a constant state of backtracking. The first bit of a new practice is all progress, all the time (though it doesn’t necessarily feel like it), and then some time in, you began to learn how much you don’t know. That’s where I am right now. Scale back, go deeper rather than faster. Learn more.
Speaking of time. My nephew is four, and he has had a couple of imaginary friends for a long time, maybe almost two years. Their names are Benny and Bunny.
My dad was going through some things in his house today, and came upon a book that I had written when I was a teenager (I have no recollection of this book). He tells me the title was “The Anteaters Become the Planteaters” and the two main characters were named– wait for it– Benny and Bunny. I wonder if these two actually exist, not in the imaginary realm at all, but are only visible to children? How else would you explain this?