tides and seasons of my secret life

Okay, it’s time for some serious backbending, shoulder-opening, heart-opening work.

I finally arrived there in my mind.

Now, the body has to follow.

(I can rationalize about this a lot and that’s what I started writing in the original post, all the blah blah about tension and stiffness and closure and stuff, but then I realized I was lacking edge and didn’t really feel like over analyzing it. Just keep it simple, babe. “Just doing” is better than talking about doing. My mat, my best friend.)

Ever since I’m left on duty all by myself, I keep getting all the emergency cases. Tonight, it was a one-month old with a brain hemorrhage and hypothermia in urgent need of blood transfusion.

Why me? The nurses start rolling their eyes when they see me. Our chief of clinic sleeps with her telephone under her pillow, when she knows I’m in charge. And strangely enough, I’m getting used to it. I just never expected to have so much calmness and common sense to offer. I’d rather think of myself to be the panicky type. The one who runs around like a headless chicken screaming Can anyone get a doctor, please?! But much to my surprise, I’m not. THIS is why I practice, people. This is why I need to practice and this is why I will keep practicing.

Now I just need to figure out how to deal with so much adrenalin running through my veins. Sleep probably won’t kick in until tonight and I’m too exhausted to move, but too tense to relax properly. My best friend’s out of town, so there’s no dog to drag me across the park until I drop dead. (Well, not dead, hopefully :)) I may just download some episodes of House M.D. and get myself educated on complicated cases. Since I seem to be destined for those.

Strangely enough, I still sit on the porch and wonder, how did I ever get here? Jeez, I really became a doctor. Who would have thought that? Not me, anyway. I expected it all to go terribly wrong at some point, so that I would never graduate. Thank God it didn’t turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy, it would have been awfully stupid thing to bring upon myself. Then, I would have never gotten a thank-you-card from an 8-year old, stating I wish you 356 days of good luck. So, I have nothing to worry about. At least until next year

***

I woke up early with the urge to run out to the park and p r a c t i c e. Well, then I had a cup of coffee and some small talk with The Darling Man, and then I decided to create a meditation playlist on my Zenpod (which is a Creative Zen something, but that’s what I call it for short), and then I spend three hours on messing with the software and restarting my computer, until it miraculously worked. And then, I decided to read some blogs, and then I read some more. And then I looked at the clock and it was noon. And I still had that urge, but the little bitchy voice inside my head kept repeating, c’mon let’s do something FUN. But my stiff neck and my numb shoulders and my lower back kept screaming GO. PRACTICE. NOW!!! And then I luckily remembered that yesterday was September, 27th which marked the long-awaited first episode of Season 4 of Grey’s Anatomy, so I went to check whether it was uploaded yet and yay! there it was. And then, I resorted to some bribery and told myself, I would put it on download now and go out and practice, and when I came back, I would give myself a pizza-cigarette-grey’s anatomy-treat. Which finally sealed the deal. So now you can imagine what kind of a parent I’m gonna be. I’ll just bribe my kids all way to adulthood

***

And this, folks, this is revolutionary. During the last few months I’ve been practicing yoga and bagua/tai chi on and off with no regular pattern. Usually I ended up pretty frustrated with both of them. Yoga felt more like exercise that actual yoga, and bagua tortured the hell out of me, because… relax your shoulders? Tuck your tailbone in? How was I supposed to do that? As I am probably the most unrelaxed person on the whole planet. Today I was thinking about it and I had this idea to combine them, since there are yoga poses, which really open me up and let me soften and sink into them, so I figured, do the yoga first, then go into Zhan Zhuang (Stand Still like a Tree Pose), hold for as long as I can (but try 15 minutes), then go into seated meditation and finish with 20 repetitions of the Tai Chi form (I only know the first five movements anyway). Which sounded like a sensible plan to me.

By the time I had run through my yoga routine, I was warm and flexible and soft as cheesecake. I had found myself a sunny spot with not too many people running around (I still need to explore the park for better places), occasional dogs visiting and soft lush grass underneath. So when I came to Zhan Zhuang, I experienced a true revelation. Remember how those breakthrough miracles never happen to me? Ha! All of a sudden my shoulders went really low and I sank into my sacrum, as if that’s what I’ve done for a lifetime. Now, how great is this? I knew there must be a way to relax my shoulders (since I’m used to pulling them up all the time), I just hadn’t figured out how to do it. For the first time standing felt like it is supposed to feel, totally weightless. In martial arts Zhan Zhuang is similar to Savasana, with the sole difference that you have to stand upright and relax, which is much harder to achieve than when you lie down. I didn’t hold it for 15 minutes, though (the objective being an hour), but I’ll work it out in time. My blood-pressure’s low and at some point I tend to become dizzy and nauseous, still needing to get used to standing without moving in order to keep the blood circulating in my brain. By the time I was heading for seated meditation, my sunny spot on the grass had become rather hot, so I found myself a little clearing, amidst some pines with squirrels to keep me company and fragrant pine needles underneath my mat. Ten round of Tai Chi, a song on the Zenpod and another ten rounds later I was ready to head home for my treat

This couldn’t possibly be more fabulous. I am so excited I came up with the idea to combine both routines, I still can’t believe how great this works for me! Yay!

***

Back home I installed myself in bed with the laptop ready for 45 minutes of intense hospital drama By the last episode of Season 3, I assumed I wouldn’t enjoy Grey’s Anatomy as much as I did before, but I was wrong. I love it. I can hardly wait until next week for another serving of delicious new interns running around and Dr. Bailey Clones barking orders at them. Haha! I’m allowed to be amused, I’m an intern myself.

***

And now, ladies and gentlemen… best of all news is I’ve been anxiety-free for two. whole. days. I realized this during practice today. I haven’t been obsessing about hardly anything for forty-eight hours. How good can this get, before I burst into tiny little pieces of nothingness? Aww. I should shut up, before I spoil it.

Namaste.

I have a quiet hour at work, so I’m writing this. Just did my rounds and everything is fine and quiet. I love those kids. I love the way they are anxious and frightened at first and then I win them over and they start smiling, and sometimes I even get to hold them and snuggle a bit

I’ve been reading donutszenmom’s blog and I think I get high on it. It’s soothing to know others face similar issues. I’ve been whining to S. about practice. The more I practice, the louder I hear my thoughts screaming inside my head. It’s infuriating! I try to gently push them away, but they keep coming back and insisting on how important they are. Sometimes I’m inclined to go headbanging against the wall. Or cry. Impatience is another issue. I want things to happen at a fast pace (NOW!) and I definitely don’t want to make efforts. Well, just tiny little efforts for me, please. And then I become frustrated that I’m not granted miracles. I can be such a baby.

Practice within the group is a bliss. There’s something about the space itself that makes the shift in consciousness happen. Maybe it’s the purity, because this space is destined to be, well, kinda holy. I can’t burst in there with all my big pretense and self-importance. It’s humbling. It’s silent. It allows me to put myself aside without experiencing fear. I know exactly why I’m there and since it’s my own choice, I respect it. Then, the energy of the group adds up. There’s a sense of unity in the air, for somehow we all have a similar “objective”. Last, but not least, it’s the Master who makes the difference. Who would dare acting like a sissy when he’s watching. Not me, that’s for sure.

While at home, I become so easily distracted. By the walls which seem too close. By all the stuff lying around, turning the room into a restless place. (I don’t have the opportunity to practice in separate room, so I use the living-room.) By my own lack of discipline. At home, I’m still prone to self-delusion. I can sit in meditation, but not actually meditate. Nobody’s watching, why not cheat a little?

And then I realize what I’m doing and become a mess of guilt and self-accusation. Which is just as helpful, if not less. Of course, I know my practice depends upon myself, not upon the environment it takes place in. Well, in theory that’s how it should be. Not exactly how it is. I know with continuous practice everything will settle. I just need to keep going. This is why donutszenmom has been immensely helpful. She provides with excellent reasons why one should practice regularly. I don’t want to repeat what she wrote word for word. But I’m in awe I’ll print this out and re-read every time I get whiny or lazy. I’ll pin it to a visible place as a reminder. And keep going, even when I’m distracted or restless, or my thoughts drive me crazy.

It’s freaking hard. Physically. And even more difficult mentally. Because I have to give up, once and for all, the fantasy that it’s possible or necessary or even a good idea to have perfect or pleasant or always-progressing practices — and just do it anyhow.

Yogamum at Yoga Gumbo wrote about turning into an extrovert with age. Well, I think I might be turning into an obvious introvert. I’ve always understood myself as one, but nobody seems to notice. Everybody knows Lil’ Miss Sunshine (I’ve moaned about this before) and actually, when in public, I can’t help but be all nice and smiley. I think this behavior derives from my codependent need to be liked. (Okay, apart from that I just think being kind to people is a nice thing to do.) They know me as the friend who is always available (drops everything and runs to help, how codie is that ;)), they know me as huggy and cuddly and self-centered as if living my life on a stage (that’s the Leo ascendant, folks, it just takes over when there are spotlights involved). Even my own mother doesn’t know that deep down I’m a pretty silent, withdrawn person. All I can remember her repeating throughout my childhood is Be quiet, don’t draw attention to yourself. Talk less, sit still, you’re not the navel of the world. (Umh, mum, maybe I just needed you to pay attention. But that’s a whole other story.)

So, actually, I LOVE being alone and quiet. As unlikely as it may appear, I don’t even like talking that much. Socializing needs a lot of energy I don’t have to spare. It needs you to be a good listener, witty, compassionate. It needs you to be ready to share. And lately I’ve been thinking all this repetition and unfolding of my life before the eyes of others, filling them in on news and details, keeping track of their lives… it makes me weary. Silence is what I crave. I’m a bit tired of paying attention and being considerate and lately I like to keep it small and modest. I don’t know anymore whether having 150 “close” friends is a good idea. Maybe my need for outer recognition slowly subsides. Maybe I don’t need to be loved by everybody anymore. Maybe my energy is even better spent on less people. It takes me such an effort to harvest it anyway, I’m not comfortable with dissipating it. Less people means more energy to share. Actually, it means more energy left for myself. Which means more potential for change. Less clinging to things that make me feel secure. More strength to let go. Less need to attend to my foibles.

Today is a good day. Darling Man is out of town and he won’t be back until tomorrow. I have a day off from work. Time and space, it’s all mine. I plead the phone not to ring. I may even turn it off. I may stay in bed with music and a good book. I may go and practice in the park. Watch a movie, sleep, meditate. It doesn’t really matter what I do, for I can go inwards and stay with myself. I can devour the silence, open up some space for emptiness, maybe dig some stuff up I’ve been avoiding. Renew.

Then, I’ll have more to give.

I hate being underestimated. I hate being belittled. Because people walk in and think, oh, she must be 18. Twenty-two at the very most. She must be a new nurse. And when they find out I’m actually the doctor in charge, they decide I need their “help” and start bossing me around in my own ward. I have studied 7 years to get here, people. I have white hairs here and there. I am insecure. But I know what I can handle and I am not afraid to ask for help, if needed. I am not afraid to wake my chief of clinics in the middle of the night, I’ve done it before. But I really don’t need you to confuse me. I don’t need you to supervise me. I don’t need you to know better. And I most definitely don’t need you to deal with stuff you have no idea about. Thank you.

I’m so angry. I’ve been angry for the last few days.  I can see in their eyes they don’t believe I can cope. It’s okay. They are elderly doctors on hospital duty. One would assume they have lots of experience, and still. I am responsible for the ICU at nights. I wouldn’t even mind their help. If they wouldn’t make things worse, instead of better. Because when they make mistakes, there is nothing I can say. Since, formally speaking, they are all my superiors. It just drives me effing mad. Knowing they are wrong and I am right, but having to subordinate.

Whatever. There are lots of other things,  contributing to the pressure buildup. I may just write about some of them in password protected posts. Haven’t decided yet. Off to practice now, hope that helps.

Mary at A Room of Mama’s Own has honored me with the Break Out Blogger Award.

The award is meant to “cast a spotlight on bloggers who are just beginning to draw lotsa attention — the equivalent of a song with a bullet on Billboard’s Top 100 chart. Lotsa good posts. Lotsa good buzz. These bloggers are going places in a hurry.”

I don’t know, am I? Going places?

I know I’m being rather cryptic and reticent as far as my personal life is concerned. I am no lonely island in this world and although I have decided to display myself for the whole WWW to see, I have not asked my parents, my brothers, my friends or the Darling Man whether they want to be part of this. I can assure you, asking would be useless. They don’t. So I still haven’t found the best way to protect their privacy. But this makes it rather difficult to write about stuff in a tangible way. Also, as far as other people are involved, things tend to get rather subjective. You can’t really stay objective in matters of alcohol addiction, domestic violence, betrayal and whatnot. Most of the time, I’m not even sure I really know what happened during these early years of mine. It’s covered with somewhat of a blur and I wonder should I dig it up or should I be grateful God has granted me with the comfort of a disobliging memory. What I know is, it has been painful and it has left scars behind. So here, I actually write about the pain and the scars, I write about what has helped me escape the dark place I used to be in , I write about relapse and personal growth, rather than personal misery.

Uhm, I got carried away a bit. What I wanted to say, is Thank you, MPJ, for being out there and listening closely. So closely that you can actually feel the connection, although there is not much you know about me.

Now, I’ll pass it along to Gartenfische, who writes witty, intelligent, soulful and heartfelt posts about spirituality and you know, life as it is. Since this is an award for *new* bloggers, I’ll have to think awhile before I choose who else to pass it on to.

Stay tuned.

Why do I write text messages with the sole purpose to draw attention to my little needy self (and fully realize this) and then stare at the phone for three hours, waiting for a response, which never comes?  

Right.

***

So the other day, Dr. Slow and I, we had this little chap at the clinic. He had caught himself some stomach bug, which sent him puking all over the place and since he refused to eat or drink, he had the inevitable i.v. drip attached to his arm. He had a big forehead, huge eyes wide open, mouth slightly ajar and he rocked back and forth in bed, not seeming really concerned with what was going on. Since I’ve been a religious reader of Maddy’s blog for quite some time now, this struck me oddly familiar. He must be autistic, I thought. He’s autistic, his mum echoed, as if she was psychic. Nevermind, said Dr. Slow, who obviously thinks autism is nothing but a boring detail. I started chanting OM in my brain in order to keep it together until we can leave the room.

Outside, Dr. Slow concluded wisely, why does he even need the i.v. drip? - Umh, ’cause he’s been puking his guts out and he’s really acidotic? (Go check on the base excess values, you idiot.) - He’s not been throwing up since yesterday evening, I still don’t think he needs the drip. - He doesn’t eat or drink. - But he will, when he gets hungry or thirsty. - He’s autistic, for God’s sake! - How is this related to the i.v. drip issue?

This is where I went spinning like the Tasmanian Devil. Do you understand me now?

***

Practice was a blast. I pray to God, the Universe and all Mighty Good Forces that I can keep this up and going. It is such a relief to get rid of yourself, even for an hour and a half. Let loose, let go. Om mani padme hum.

Om mani padme hum is one of the most beautiful expressions for the ultimate experience. Its meaning is “the sound of silence, the diamond in the lotus.”

Silence also has its sound, its music… although the outer ears cannot hear it, just as the outer eyes cannot see it. We have six outer senses. In the past man knew only that we have five outer senses; the sixth is a new discovery. It is inside your ears; hence people failed to recognize it. It is the sense of balance. When you feel giddy or when you see a drunkard walking, it is the sense of balance that is affected.

Just as these six senses are used to experience the outer, exactly the same six senses exist to experience the inner — to see it, to hear it, to feel its utter balance, its beauty. It is invisible to the outer eyes but not to the inner. You cannot touch it with your outer senses, but the inner senses are absolutely immersed in it.

OM is the sound when everything else disappears from your being — no thought, no dream, no projections, no expectations, not even a single ripple — your whole lake of consciousness is simply silent; it has become just a mirror. In those rare moments you hear the sound of silence. It is the most valuable experience because it not only shows a quality of the inner music — it also shows that the inner is full of harmony, joy, blissfulness. All that is implied in the music of OM.

You are not to say it. If you say it you will miss the real thing. You have to hear it, you have to be utterly calm and quiet and suddenly it is all around you, a very subtle dance. And the moment you are able to hear it, you have entered into the very secrets of existence. You have become so subtle that now you deserve that all the mysteries be exposed to you.

Existence waits till you are ready.

~ Osho, Om Mani Padme Hum The Sound of Silence: The Diamond in the Lotus Talks given from 07/12/87 am to 17/01/88

This emptiness is at the root of all Eastern philosophies, religions and martial arts, more or less. Be empty, be humble. Don’t strive to attain what your idea of Heavens may be, but allow them to descend upon you. Remove yourself, so there is enough space for the silence to make itself comfortable within you. And then, as you move, do it slowly, careful not to disturb its workings, ’cause this is what turns us into better human beings.

Gartenfische wrote so beautifully about Humility. When I first came to my Spiritual Master, there were people bowing down to him, kneeling at his feet and I remember myself thinking, how weird is that; I would never do such a degrading thing to myself. During the years to follow, much happened. I displayed myself as the most stubborn, rigid human being, it was almost unbearable to witness. I wanted to leave, ’cause I couldn’t stand it. I suffered, I writhed in pain, but I stayed. And then, one day, silence came and as if driven by an internal force I had no control over (nor did I wish to control it), I went and bowed, and knelt. And it was such a liberation.

And it was only the beginning, I fear. Because I am not humble, nor silent, nor pure. I’m still the same old bitch for most of the time. I’m still the same old self-obsessed fool. But sometimes, like yesterday, I remember… And this is what keeps me going, what gives me no rest. Still, I’m in no hurry. Existence waits for me to get ready.

Om mani padme hum.

Have a beautiful weekend, y’all.

Bubbles courtesy of Peter Rol

Okay, I haven’t practiced for uhm, like, a week. Not bagua anyway. On Saturday I decided to take the day off (since I had been practicing the day before), then I went to a party and planned to stay until 9:30 p.m. in order to get enough sleep and be fit on Sunday. Then, I came home at 3:00 a.m., so that much about being fit. I had a terrible 12-hour shift on Monday, which I recovered from on Tuesday, before I went on a night-shift, which I recovered from on Wednesday and then had another 6-hour shift yesterday, which sent me screaming mad (more on that later) and I spend the afternoon and evening recovering from that (eating pizza and watching movies, people). And, umh, today. Today is training day anyway, so why bother. My very exigent Bagua Master won’t notice a thing. Except, I’m all stiff and hurting and my joints are all squeaky.

In other news, work. I really LOVE it. Except for a few people I work with. I know I’m fast (and furious), not very patient and an exceptionally annoying control-freak. I love to get things done by myself, because then I can plan ahead and I am aware I’m responsible for the consequences. I am in no way a very pleasant team-player. Most probably, I’ll try to control the work you do as well. Most probably, I will treat you like an idiot. And not because you are one, but because I’m crippled by anxiety one of us might miss something important. But since I know myself, I’ll restrain myself. Unless… unless you are a slow thinker and not willing to take responsibility. Unless you have no sense for emergencies. Unless I stumble upon you each time I actually try to get a thing done.

So this guy I have to work with occasionally. He’s SLOW. Like, five steps behind in thinking and eight steps behind in doing stuff. And he really sends me raging. This is not personal in any way, he’s actually quite a nice person. But he wakes the frenzied zealot dozing inside of me. Which, I realize, is a problem of my own. Maybe I should do like Maddy and run around the clinic, chanting OM in my brain. Any suggestions? Yes? I’m off to practice then.