Four Cats

Between Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner I spent time with four cats in four different households.  One is the cat who lives with me — Becky, who has been with me since she and her sister Henrietta were just under five weeks old.  Becky will be 21 years old in April.  Becky likes to be near me, but prefers to just sit still on my lap and be petted very gently.  She still goes up and down pretty steep steps several times a day, but she needs a cushion next to the bed and a low coffee table next to her favorite sofa to be able to climb up to her favorite sleeping places.  She is very affectionate.  When I have guests, she always comes out to greet them.

On Christmas Eve, I went to a party at a neighbors’ house.  There were lots of children running around, tumbling with each other; those who were not in the play basement climbed on adults and furniture, filling the house with energy.  After most of the children went home (departing early in bright-eyed anticipation of Christmas morning), Tabitha, who is about 13 came downstairs to visit.  She checked out most of the people in the room and jumped up and down off of the sofas several times before picking my lap for a nice petting.  Although she is still is solidly, physically able, she has slowed down since I first met her 8-10 years ago.

At lunch on Christmas Day, Sunshine, who is about three, sat in my lap, wildly draping herself into fabulous contortions as she was petted.  She lives with two elderly huskies.  She was feeling spunky because one of them just had a major operation, and she was feeling safer and more confident, being far the nimblest of the three animals.  She even played with her feathery thing on a string toy right in front of the huskies, neither of whom had the energy to disrupt her play.  She engaged in some tolerably strenuous antics, but only for a short while before she got bored and took herself off for a bath.

The cat guest at Christmas dinner was seven-week old kitten Toulouse.  She does not walk.  She bounces.  She likes to dance around on her hind legs.  She has figured out that if she gets a running start, she can leap onto, instead of clambering up, the sofa that is about five times her height.  She played the whole time before dinner and then after dinner played madly with any hand, string, dust mote, rumpled up piece of wrapping paper, computer cord, shoelace, shadow, rug corner, pants leg, cat toy, etc, etc, that flitted across her vision.  Like the children, she is still building her strength and flexibility and discovering how to get around and where she can go.

Watching those cats made me think of my continuing coming to terms with the range of my asana practice.  I often practice with a group of yogis who are, for the most part, 10-20 years younger than I am.  They are beautiful and flexible and strong and a joy to witness.  Sometimes when I am practicing with them and I am feeling the aches and pains of an aging spine, it is hard for me stay at peace with the fact although I have a fairly strong physical practice, I cannot have the same one that I would have had if I were working from my level of competence and was 15 years younger.  Even when we stay physically engaged throughout life, the realities of aging will change our way of being in the body.  Just as it was a delight to sit with all four cats at such different places in their lives and observe their grace, we will age more peacefully if instead of fighting always to have the physical state of youth, we celebrate what enhances our feeling of well-being wherever we are in life.  And regardless of previous practice or physical fitness, a steady asana practice at every age, like the play of a cat, can help keep us more vital.

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    In addition to teaching, though, I had been looking forward to studying with Amy Ippoliti on Friday night and Sunday morning.  I could take a taxi and a bus combination to study with Amy this weekend or just forego my tuition.  All that would be easy enough.  But I had invited a friend to come and visit to take the whole weekend with Amy — which includes another 12 hours of teacher training on Saturday and Sunday, where I will be off doing my own thing.  Since my friend and I will have very different schedules for this yoga weekend, and neither of us are much of a driver, renting a car was not really a viable option.  I thought about just staying in a hotel in Silver Spring.

    Then I got to my personal yoga.  One of the hardest things for me to do is to ask for help (of almost any kind).  I am good at offering to help and am good at both helping when asked and saying I cannot help (the latter took some practice).  What I know from being a “helper” is that I get great joy from giving and offering assistance.  My never asking, then, means not giving those in my life the joy of providing assistance.  I overcame my deeply ingrained reluctance and asked for help.  Not big help.  Just is there someone already attending the training who can give a ride from the workshop into the District each night or provide an extra bed for my friend.  Fellow yogis were indeed happy to help; there are now a surfeit of options.

    The minor inconvenience to me from this tragedy reminded me again to send healing energy to those who are suffering and to see things in perspective.   I was given a sweet reminder of the warmth and generosity of my yoga friends and colleagues.   I was able to practice with success addressing one of my continuing challenges.  I have been blessed, then, in the aftermath.  Contemplating these gifts with gratitude gives me more energy to send out for those in need.

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    Heat Advisory (and Gratitude)

    It was already hot when I went out into the garden after I sat for meditation.  I try only to water every third day it does not rain and have used soil supplements such as “soil moist” to make that possible, but it was critical that I water so that the plants survive today’s blazing heat.

    Before I went out, while listening to the weather forecast, I drank my second glass of filtered tap water.  I thought how lucky I am to have fresh drinking water from the tap, shelter from the heat, ice if I want it, and water for the garden.  All those warnings to stay inside, keep cool, and drink plenty of liquids are meaningless unless one has access to those things.

    I am grateful, too, for my practice.  I know that a slow, quiet practice helps keep me cool and rested,  and that I can get extra enjoyment from the way the heat warms my muscles without any effort at all on my part.  In the heat, stillness is so welcome that sitting is as sweet an activity as I could know.

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