105. Just doing a whole lot of flakey zoning out

staring kitty

I dated a guy for four minutes a while ago and he used to describe yoga as ‘zoning out’. ‘How did you enjoy your zoning out?’ he would say.

Did he think I was off down grading a cell phone plan?

While it’s true the mind is somewhat set free during yoga, should I for a moment ‘zone out’ I would find myself toppling fast towards an inelegant collision with the man or woman to my left. Or my right. The toppling would be random.

While yoga is mainstreaming faster than electric cars, there is still much swirl around What Actually Goes On in those classes.

Another conversation – as recently as last week – revealed a thoroughly modern man’s active decision to ‘stay away from that flakey stuff’.

flakey

adj.,to be unreliable, and/or absent-minded, flightyfickle. Generally unresponsible.

Bob said he’d bring beer and instead he invited his friends who brought no beer.And he used to be into punk and now he likes disco. Dude is totally flakey.

Truth is, I can be absentminded. I can turn up for a flight 24 hours late. I can turn up to a restaurant 24 hours early. I have no idea what’s in my diary on any given day till I look at it in the morning. If you ask me what my car registration number is, I have to go look at the car. Again.

But, when I want to, I can also have a focus so laser pointed, it could scare small animals.

Ramping up the yoga, as I have over the last year, is firming muscles in my mind and my butt in equal parts.

So the laser focus is occurring more often, and the ‘Brinsdon moments’ (as my sons like to call my randomness) are becoming more infrequent.

This can only be a good thing.

90. Mental Housekeeping.

111113bucks-carl-sketch-articleLargeI’m not a big fan of slow anything. I want to make better friends with it. Even on a break like this I’m scheduling each day so I feel a sense of achievement in embracing my state of exhaustion.

Big achievements happening.

Like I went to bed at 830 last night and was asleep by 835.

High five.

Have now spent 180 minutes  in a room doing absolutely nothing before a golden Buddha. Another 90 this morning.

Woop woop.

Shed a few tears in front of a Francis Bacon yesterday. Quietly. I was sitting in a room with six paintings, a created collection called ‘In the flesh’ with Picasso, Bacon, Freud and Soutine.  I have visited a few times now. Human vulnerability, no matter how much we try to hide it, turn the corner it’s waiting.

Big up.

One yoga class, also 90 minutes, made me realize how spoilt I am by my one on one classes with Suzie. Bloody princess. That’s me not her.

Met a long lost cousin for lunch. Who’d have thought I’d initiate something like that. Or maybe he did. Well I was there wasn’t I?

Mental housekeeping.

To be continued, probably forever.

 

89. Demon slayer.

Look. I might be imagining it.

But when I walked back from the first 90 minute meditation of the retreat, I was  PRETTY FUCKING CALM.

Like, a lot calmer than I was when I nervously walked towards the place that’s for sure.

I celebrated by dropping into a sake bar round the corner from the apartment. For a sake.

There were three dry sakes so they gave me a taste of all three.

This one I said.

I didn’t know this was its name, but if I had accidental plans to toast my first attempt at true stillness – STILLNESS – this would be it.photo