Observer

I have determined, through reflection as well as through more obvious factual circumstances, that the main part I play in this life is one of an observer. From preferring to go off and wander up the big hill  in the school yard and sing songs to myself, or living as a foreigner in far away lands, I find myself falling into the category of "outsider" time after time. This is okay with me. It may have bothered me occasionally in the past, but I have come to accept this role and feel a safety here. I'm not saying that I go through life at a distance and separating myself and closing off. I have merely settled into this mind set of being ever so slightly stepped back from whatever I'm in.

What I mean is, I still enjoy being involved, being active, being out and about, as we Canadians are bound to say ;). But even while I'm IN something, I still have another set of eyes that I see through - an outsider's view. This is how I describe it and it's how I feel. I know it is just my perception, but I believe I come closer and closer to peace in fully understanding this perception. I'm sure many people who are labelled as "quiet" have this feeling at times due to our nature. I remember being told by my drama teacher in highschool that he could tell I was a person who took in everything around me; a person who internalizes. A person who internalizes doesn't always see a necessity to put extra effort into being heard and seen and otherwise be overly concerned with "output". I agreed with my teacher although I hadn't thought of it in those words. I liked that word though: internalized. It made me think of absorbing what is needed or beneficial, and rejecting or avoiding what is not. Nourishing the inner world. 

This tendency matches the kinds of things I am drawn to as well - dance (although it does usually have to be seen, it is more about the inner world than anyone who doesn't dance can begin to know), music (again usually heard but clearly a link to the inner world), yoga (duh), and enjoying the beauty and joy of nature and animals. When it comes right down to it, I think the world could use a little more observing. When we practice yoga we are learning to observe. We are asked to be IN something - a twisty pose, and yet stay aware of our breath and watch our thoughts and impulses without reacting right away. We are asked to sit or lie in stillness and watch our breath, feeling the motion and stillness at once. This is a state of observing, and according to Eckhart Tolle, the place where our true self lives. 

While, of course, life requires actions and reactions, there is also the need to BALANCE that with observation and non-reaction. Our day and age is one of hyperactivity, short attention spans, extreme highs and lows, good and bad tensions, etc. The trick is to level out the extremes. If we could all learn to take ourselves outside of the small pictures, maybe even step outside the big picture all together, we may find more peace. As an outsider, it is not my place to outwardly judge or control. I am not in a position to influence or change. I am an observer so the judging or changing will be within myself. The most I can do is to take in what's around, keep what I consider to be helpful and discard what I consider to be harmful. By observing as much as acting we can manage the extremes and move through life more easily. I am a huge fan of action - not the movie genre, although some are good. I fully embrace the drive to create, to improve, to communicate, to interact, to care, to try things. I just feel the QUALITY of our actions are being affected by a lack of observing before, during, and after. 

Summits and Savasanas

A week or two ago I embarked on my second mountain hike in Trinidad - the much anticipated high high peak of El Tucuche. I had heard that it was twice as hard as my previous hike (Paria Falls), which had kicked my butt, especially on the way down leaving me with blackened toes that are only now starting to look normal again. 

So after much deliberation choosing proper, extremely comfortable shoes I was feeling prepared and pumped to plunge into this next challenge. I was bracing myself for the worst based on the difficulty (but fun! honestly!) of Paria several months ago. Just imagining how hot and sweaty and huffy and puffy I'd soon be didn't make me all that excited, but I was looking forward to being in nearly untouched nature again. And in fact I was also looking forward to going through the discomfort of hiking in Trinidad heat and coming out the other side. I was looking beyond the inevitable icky parts and feeling reassured that afterwards I would enjoy the sweetness of cool water and a long shower. And deep rest. The kind of pure deep rest that can only be felt after approaching some kind of exhaustion. 

In exactly this way, the hike reminded me of a good old, sweaty, yoga session. The kind that makes your arms and knees quiver and your face (well mine anyway, blast my pink cheeks!) flush until you feel the pulse of your heartbeat in your skin. The hike was, as promised, straight UP. Right from the get go I was trying to keep my breathing steady as we stair-mastered our way up the steep mountain side. Just like those first sets of sun salutations that get your blood circulating. I liked smiling at everyone around as we silently acknowledged how hard we were all working. If we were passing someone, or being passed, the vibe was always supportive. 

By the time we got higher up into the thick of things I was in my element. The initial push was over and now the air was cooler, the cover of trees kept the trail shady. This is my kind of climate. Cool and not too sunny. I was feeling sprightly and nimble and still concentrating on making good foot holds and steadying myself with my hands in the muddy earth. This is the part of class where you are warmed up and practicing familiar poses that feel like home, fine tuning and bringing your breath and body into natural unison. Now I say I was feeling nimble which is true, but it was still a hell of a push to get our tushes to the top of this summit. And coming DOWN. That was an arduous task. Lots of concentration, willing ourselves not to slide full speed ahead down through the roots and leaves (and snakes I'm sure) on our butts. This was like the point in a yoga session where you are determined to work on your most challenging poses and are starting to feel your muscles tiring and your resolve wavering. But of course, much like the hike situation where you have no choice but to dig deep and maintain control and concentration so as not to slip and go plummeting down, you persevere and bring your body and mind to the brink of it's limit. 

And then we were done! We had made it! My legs were wobbly and my tummy was rumbling with hunger and thirst. We had arrived at one of my favourite parts - the heightened joy of simple things: a long drink of water and sitting. Ah sitting. Upon arriving home, digging into a plate of food, showering off the sweat, mud, burrs, leaves and any critters picked up along the way, and soon after falling blissfully asleep. This is that release into Savasana or corpse pose, lying back on the floor after a grueling yoga session. Letting all the concentration and effort now drop away, allowing the mind to expand farther and deeper than before you took your first breath on the mat. 

This beautiful hike with it's incredible view, sweet air, and intricately intertwined life forms reinforced the way I feel about why we do yoga. Or why we hike. Or why we do anything to take ourselves out of our daily comfort zones. Not only do the moments of difficulty teach you about yourself and how you deal with stress or hardship, it also makes the mundane seem magical once the hardship is over. It brings out the original beauty in simple everyday sensations. Yes I drink water and shower and sleep everyday. But I appreciate those things so much more after putting myself somewhere I am more thirsty, more dirty and more active than the rest of the hours in my days. 

This renewed appreciation for simple pleasures is a mind space of expansion. Which is why most yoga classes finish in Savasana. After narrowing the minds focus to one point (breathing, holding a pose, putting one foot in front of the other), letting go of that focus means the mind naturally expands back out with a wider scope. Taking you farther out of your usual habitual mindset. Taking you to a moment or more of pure presence. 

Practicing Presence in Times of Reminiscing

I think we all have at least one time in our life where we reflect back and say, I wish I could go back. Those good old childhood days, the crazy college days, the passionate days of a new relationship...ahhhhh. If only we could time travel and enjoy those times again. I find myself looking back to a few times that I'd like to revisit, just for pure enjoyment. I don't regret anything, but I do feel a bit of sadness at the passing of time. I guess that means I'm really getting old, oh man! Getting flare ups of misty-eyed-reminiscing-syndrome!

Of course, self reflection is a continuous and necessary process for personal growth and what not. So I shouldn't feel so bad for having a nostalgia episode. Here goes. My whole life I was involved in dance. Since the age of three I began dance classes and never ever wanted to stop. It was my number one passion and joy. I began with ballet, as most little girls do it seems, and right away my teacher noticed I had a knack for the subtler side of dancing. Right down to the expression in the fingertips, the toe pointing and feeling the music. By the time my childhood teacher wanted to retire I had wanted to branch out and try some new types of dancing - acro, jazz, funk/hip-hop, and found each style brought out different sides of myself and I appreciated these different qualities. I remember coming home from classes feeling completely energized, tired and sweaty yes, but so full of happy bubbly energy.

As I danced all through high school and continued on to university, I could tell my identity was now intricately wrapped up in being "a dancer". We even talked about it in some classes where our professors urged us not to forget about other aspects of our selves and check out our other interests, because as all dancers know: it is a short-lived life. Even if the best dancer lasts into her thirties and beyond, it's just not the same as when your body is young and your mind is eager. I was as naive as the typical, plucky, optimistic girl in any story of wanting to "be a star!"(insert jazz hands). My version of being a star did morph and change and become a dream of just having access to dance space, creative people, and the occasional performance venue - such as choosing a clearing in the park between some trees. And I did begin my yoga training during this time and opened up another side of myself.

But I still cemented my personal identity in dance. How could I not. I felt the greatest, most meditative, ecstatic, highs while dancing. Beautifully imaged combinations in technique class, matched with spontaneous music. Exhilarating and exhausting performances indoors and outdoors, on cement, grass, or glossy black dance floors. The swirl of costume fabric and particles of old theatre dust. The various pre-performance rituals and the otherworldly, in-between, potential space of standing in the wings, ready to reveal yourself.
        

When school finally came to a close and I whisked myself off to Japan to gain life experience and some debt-paying-off salary, I came smack against a brick wall. I slowly realized, even though I was determinedly dancing on my own in my tiny apartment, I was no longer a dancer. I tried to call myself a dancer still and the more time passed since an actual performance or class, the more and more I felt myself fading into nothingness. Yes, I still have great friends, great experiences, great learning. But up until this day I haven't quite fully mourned the passing of Heather, the dancer. Which was who I was for my entire life. Not to be her is oddly empty. I haven't faced it fully until now. I have told myself that I am still a dancer at heart. I have told myself that if I can get on my own two feet someday (financial stability, a place to live, food to eat, etc. ) I will immediately go to the nearest dance class and enjoy an hour or two as my true self again and as often as possible. I have told myself there is nothing stopping me from dancing around the bedroom and feeding that identity in a smaller way. Which I do sometimes.

I am not closing off the possibility of dancing "for realsies" ever again. I am just trying to recognize and reconcile this identity crisis. It's not good or bad, it just is. Now is a time for drawing on yoga teachings. This is yet another way to practice presence. Sitting in this head space of being uncertain of my identity. Staying present with the uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty. Not judging this feeling as being good or bad. Not running away from it. Taking the opportunity to observe the back and forth, tug and pull, of thoughts. After all, as Eckhart Tolle says in his writings, we are not our thoughts. Our true selves are somewhere beyond our thoughts. The proof of this is the fact that we can observe our thoughts, as I am doing now. I am observing my thought patterns of nostalgia. And all the while the real "me" is beyond any of these thoughts. 

I am bigger, in the outer space. 

We all are. 

Hmmm maybe I should do a dance about it... :)