As we arrive to Week Eleven of Sheltering in Place I’ve
learned a few things from truly spending time with myself. My mind-body
connection has never been stronger, and it is teaching me a few things I’ve
learned but until now didn’t know.
Two years ago in my Yoga Teaching Certification Program, I
studied the body and its miraculous systems. At the Dallas Yoga Center Shelagh
McElroy taught me about my feet and Carla Weaver taught me about the benefits
of the Rest
and Digest neural response to situations (the opposite of Fight or Flight).
Through this pandemic as time took over, Fight or Flight became less of an
option for me: no one to fight, no were to fly to. And so, what does happen to
the body when we have an affluence of time and an opportunity for more resting,
more digesting? Let’s take a journey through the body to see just what the silver
linings are of a sheltered life.
Feet
After ten weeks out of heels, I wonder if I will ever go back.
This sabbatical from dress shoes has been bliss for my 26-bones and 30 ligaments (x 2).
The three arches of the foot (transverse/ medial/ lateral) have been at ease in
a natural way in house shoes, tennis shoes and even plein air. My toe nails,
un-polished are almost grown out from the stress of pedicures and the natural nail
is knowing for the first time in a long time what contact with oxygen is like. My
daily walks at White Rock Lake have been good for my feet in contact with the
earth. I am in every sense of the word, grounded.
Legs
My walking practice has been good for my legs, too. And my yoga
practice. I am stretching daily and have noticed a toning of my calves and thighs.
We were meant to walk. To be in nature. Our paleo roots teach us this, and in
this pandemic I’ve spent more time outside reminding me of my summers at Brush
Ranch Camps. Daily contact with the planet has been good for me and my legs.
Heart
Brush Ranch was in the mountains northeast of Santa Fe, New Mexico. The altitude and the hiking offered me an unexpected benefit: the heart murmur I have would disappear after my months at Camp. I like to think this is happening here, too, with more cardio offered to my heart: more oxygenated blood in a daily practice from my walks and on-line yoga classes. The physical heart thrives in a space of having time for exercise. And my spiritual heart is stronger, too: being with this suffering is teaching me how widely I can love and care. I follow the heart and the heart gets stronger.
Lungs
I’ve been breathing more than usual, too. Deep, intentional
breathing every day helps me know I am here. Breathing can also trigger worry
of Covid-19, but I sit with this and the thoughts pass. A practice for breath
is good for me. I have a daily practice of mindfulness that offers me moments
with the breath. Thich Nhat Hanh offers the beautifully simple practice of Breathing
in, Breathing out. I have spent more time with my breath than ever in my life
and each breath is an invitation to fall in love with this moment, this miracle
of each breath.
Sight
I am working on a future blog post of the benefits of
watching something grow slowly over time. This pandemic has helped me see
things: the edges of growth in my thirteen-year-old son as by micro-millimeters
he became taller than I am. I watched the bold greening of spring in the trees
arounds us, the unfurling of Queen Anne’s Lace, the mint, the potato vine, the Cosmos
and now the baby sunflowers I am growing from seed. Each moment is a miracle.
Seeing things happen slowly gives me the presence of my moment-to-moment
experience. Mary Oliver in her poem “Wild Geese” writes
Whoever
you are, no matter how lonely,
|
the
world offers itself to your imagination
|
Now, ten weeks into this pandemic, I know it is true. I’ve
seen it.
Hearing
For the first two weeks of the pandemic it startled me that
the birds left the neighborhood. Our birdfeeder, a place of frenzy and hype
stood untouched. Perhaps the birds were startled by the shifts in our patterns,
air pollution or how our stillness rippled into their waves. Perhaps it was a
season for mating, appetite for birdseed fell. But it was quieter, too. Maybe
it was colder. Nevertheless, they returned two weeks later, emptied the feeder
and began daily pre-dawn concerts for wakeful, willing listeners. My ears were
tuned and ready and now I throw open the windows, listening for names I don’t know.
This soundscape is the backdrop to my sound meditations. Never before have I
known how it is possible to finely tune one’s ear and one’s heart to the
conversations of nature. The frogs at the lake are singing in the moonlight.
And I am not missing it.
The Brain
If you venture out, be careful. Our brains have been called
to other tasks for these past ten weeks and they are out of practice for the
quick-response thinking needed for driving. Our daily decisions have become
fewer and more slowly summoned. I spend about an hour and a half driving daily,
countless decisions made to accelerate, yield, see, respond. At home, it’s
different: certainly the work to be on a video conference call offers a new kind of strain, but for most people, this affluence of time (what we spent
commuting) is offered to other tasks: and with intention it can be extremely
beneficial.
Also, the brain likes to have patterns and predictability: there is peace in the rhythms we’ve created at home, if even a relaxing to the blurred lines of home and office. The mental energy to dress for events, presentations, travel has all evaporated and in this space the distance between preparing for here and there has diminished. I moved all of my work clothes to a different closet. My choices are fewer and even the dog has come to love it when she sees me pull out the walking shoes. My brain likes it, too.
And sleep: I’ve had my moments of wakeful worry, but I am now in a space of knowing we may be at this a while yet. I’ve stopped waking up at 3:45 am and now, with two long walks a day at the lake, can fall into my pillow easily. For sleep, I am creating an allowing: an allowing to rest for a few minutes in the afternoon, to go to sleep earlier if I feel like it. If I can sleep, I try to. The daily walks have been very helpful to this practice of sleep.
Skin
And finally, our exosphere: the magical human organ of skin:
alive, permeable, responsive. I am noticing the little things: the appearance
of more hydration (I am drinking more water). The daily connection in my
mindfulness practice to skin, noticing the connection points of skin to air,
breathing out to the outer edges of my skin and back into the body. I am eating
less fried food (more home cooking) and I can see it in my skin. I've stopped wearing makeup. More Vitamin D
has to be helping, too. More oxygen from my walks. More joy, too. In this common
humanity, it feels a little better to be in our skin, not in the tension of
where we were pre-Covid-19. At home, in this waiting place, we’re in the
practice of being with what is, in the skin that we have. I can only imagine
this to be really and truly good for us.
So take it all in – yes, we have new worries and strains on
the mind, body and spirit, but from this lens on week eleven, my body feels more
like mine today than it did in February. And as we lean into this future, this one
we don’t quite imagine yet, I plan to bring this body along with me. Stay well, friends.
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