Peaceful distraction

 

          Gentle yoga went well yesterday, a happy change from last week when my knee was still behaving like one of Satan’s minions. On Monday my doctor suggested the possibility of a damaged meniscus and sent me off for an x-ray. Happily, not only did he give a prescription for a super-duper non-inflammatory med, the x-ray results said it had just been arthritis rearing its ugly head. Less happily, my stomach’s not too sure how it feels about this med so I’m treading carefully with that.

          But. . . much better knee so yoga went well.

          Before class began, a friend and I had a big discussion about arthritis and feet. Aging – flat feet – plantar fasciitis, and in no time the lady in back of us scooted over to show us her “barefoot” sneakers. Turns out she’s a waitress and those + orthotic inserts have saved her life.

          We went through our usual routine- stretching, a little down dog, a few warrior stances, and soon we were in the end of the session rest mode, flat on our mats, eyes closed.  I thought I even heard a quiet snore from my friend to the left.

          We began by visualizing somewhere we felt “happy, safe, and at peace.” I always pick the same place I use when I’m having my blood pressure taken (trying to keep my numbers low). I’m lying on our old swim dock on the lake – I’m alone, the sun is beating down, and the waves are gently rocking me. I could analyze the fact that I’m also isolated from anyone else, but that’s for another day.

           Then we were told to imagine a white light scanning over us, toes to top. This always makes me think creepily of an alien examination, probably not the experience our teacher wanted us to summon.

          The room quieted to almost silence which then was interrupted by pot banging from the caterer next door that rents the kitchen from our YMCA. Silence reigned again, although like waiting for the other shoe to fall, I was listening for the next pot bang.

          A little silence, then along came the train that runs alongside the building, tooting out “shave and a haircut, two bits.”