I woke up exhausted this morning because I was grieving over conflict with others. As I have said, that's harder for me than losing Mike. Whatever happened with Mike was full of love. I can bear anything if that is there. These situations have some loving intent, but everyone, including me, is defensive. I don't like it when I am like that.
When I got to Bikram, I asked for hugs—the kind that squeeze the pain out. Mike gave me those kinds of hugs. I got two. They did, indeed, help.
I plan to do the asanas while lying on the floor until I am sure I won't retrigger that back and leg pain. Also, I am discovering things lying on the floor that I couldn't perceive while standing. Standing requires a focus that distracts me from paying attention to other body parts.; the challenge is to stay upright. While lying on the floor on my back doing the standing asanas, I can feel how flat my back is. Is everything evenly touching the floor? I also find I am contracting my upper thighs more, which Bikram calls "locking your knees," and I feel that contraction triggers abdominal contractions. I remember dance teachers saying, "Feel the leg start in the abdomen." The leg may not start there, but the muscles which bring the leg forward do. When I did the standing bow lying on the floor (it's different from the standing bow because the arm is in a different position), I found I couldn't balance on my left hip. At the same time, I had no trouble balancing on my right hip. After class, I asked Heather what she thought was going on. She said," Weak gluts." Ah, that makes sense. That's a big deal with my left leg. Doctors tell me it's because of my arthritic hip. Maybe, maybe not.
My theory is that problems are caused by poor use of the muscle structure. This body has a design. If we don't use it as designed, why should we expect it to serve us perfectly forever? With age, we lose muscle mass. We can no longer compensate for the harmful use of our body structure. I am trying to rediscover that basic structure. As I go along and make changes, my body sometimes protests, as it is now. However, I push through very gently and respectfully, only doing what my body is prepared to do and listening very, very, very carefully to the messages from my body. In that case, I don't know how many ways I can say this to tell you how important to listen and respect what my body has to say is. When pain hits as it has now, the question is: Have I reached the end of what I can do, or is this the beginning of a whole new level of development? So far, so good. It has always been the latter. I already see that in my practice. Heather, the teacher, said she could also see it. This negotiation between my body and mind is so much fun. I also think negotiating between the different parts of my mind is fun — each to his own.
When I got home, I felt somewhat better but still wasted by grief caused by the conflict. I didn't ask too much of myself. I didn't do any writing yesterday and had trouble reading. I pulled out a book that I knew was well-written. I wouldn't be packed with information that I could use to advance or modify my ideas, The Emperor of Maladies, a definitive book on the history of cancer. I may pull out a book I have on wisdom. It is so well written. I loved reading it. I can't remember what it said, but I do remember it was wonderfully said.
I fell asleep quickly. I woke up around 3.
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Musings::
More confirmation of the dangers of self-sacrifice unless it is essential. If there is a choice, it should be avoided.
If Mike had lived, it is unlikely that he would ever have regained the life he had before he got ill. It would have been tough on him. I anticipate that he might have been filled with self-hatred; he would have pushed my love for him away, feeling that it was contrary to his feelings about himself. That would have been hard for me. Would I have pushed him away? I would have hung on as long as I could. If it created a situation where it would kill me anyway, I would probably have taken some action: hired healthcare workers to care for him. We had long-term health care insurance.
I am the beneficiary of someone who sacrificed themselves for me. That kind of sacrifice comes with a large side order of self-righteousness and resentment. I don't want resentment. Whatever a person has to offer is drained of value. I want a loving and joyful life, not one where I feel I am the cause of someone else's unhappiness.
That form of self-sacrifice embodies the adage, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." It is driven by someone's need to prove they are a good person; in other words, it is ego-driven. Their need to see themselves that way overrides the needs of the person they are ostensibly serving. It creates a lose-lose situation versus a win-win situation.
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