Tantrum Yoga

I have developed a habit of meditating every morning right after I wake up.  Most times, I roll out of bed first to pee, but immediately come back to the warmest spot in the house (my bed) and sit meditation for at least ten minutes. I observe what Buddhists refer to as monkey-mind, or what I like to call, the pendulum swing between monkeys sleeping  and monkeys going full-blown dookie-throwing ape-shit.   

Because I didn’t sit meditation on this particular morning, I just *knew* my day would just be brilliant. 

I sped through a bunch of errands in the morning as I anticipated two phone calls, which never came.  I had not set up phone dates with either of these people, but because of recent contact with them in which I solicited my services, I (or rather, Ego) naturally assumed that I would be tied up with getting those projects going.

Of course: no phone call came.

In my irritation at them not recognizing the opportunity that I am (Ego speaking loudly here), and not JUMPING to snatch me up, I hastily threw together a heavily processed lunch involving a high count of sugars/simple carbs.  I topped it off with a huge mug of coffee to wash it down.

I blew off my to-do list (no one was going to tell Ego what to do) and restlessly worked on various projects for a couple of hours with jittery A.D.D. strength when remembered I hadn’t worked out yet. 

Ugh. 

Treadmill? Weights? Ugh.  No--that all involved with counting reps, sets, and repeating moves over and over again.  I did NOT want to count. (Yes, I really didn’t lift weights/run for that reason.)

I grabbed my yoga mat and stared at it for a whole minute.

Ugh.

The last thing I wanted to do was to stop or slow down.  I had to keep going, keep moving.  For me, yoga right would be like driving a Porsche (Ego here again) at 220 mph into brick wall deceptively camoflauged to look like feathers.  How the hell was I going to move in slow motion and focus on my in-breath/out-breath? 

Naturally, my dogs sensed my mood, woke from their naps and followed my lead, but felt compelled to vocalize their ape-shit thoughts.  Here, let me translate their conversation : 

Mom! Mom! Juno won't play with me!

 

No, look at that hot bitch outside walking their human! Aye mami!  Let me get a sniff of that!

Oh look, half a ball.  Let’s toss it on Mom’s mat!

  

No, I’d rather copulate with myself ! Noisily!

Hey look! A bird!

I want to pee!

I want to talk!

Loud noises!

I want to talk AND pee!

(Believe it or not, I’m still a dog lover.) 
(I also want to apologize for how this font turns my exclamation points into lower case Ls.)  
I let my wily canines out, rolled out my mat,  and said, “I HATE YOU.”  I meant it.  My mat said nothing in return.

What followed was a violent barrage of quick asanas.  There was no hold-this-pose-for-three-breaths.  Instead, it was a furious dance of anger.  Plank was held by pissed-off balled fists instead of flattened palms.  Jumping my feet forward to move into Chair pose felt like a stomping into a person's chest.  When I moved into Warrior I, I fought the urge to raise only my middle fingers to the sky.

Somewhere in my yoga tantrum, I stopped thinking about my anger. I can’t say that I stopped feeling it, because the rate of my movement through my free-style sequence would say otherwise and I can still feel the agni (fire) burning through me while writing this.  But that violent, bitter edge is off.

I know I could have gone hard with weights or pushed it on the treadmill, but somehow my body knew that the fight was me-against-me (that is, the collective “I” against that one pushy sector, Ego) and that I needed to take it to the mat.

Do I feel like skipping on the playground and planting flowers right now? No.  But I certainly don’t feel like shoving kids off the jungle gym & ripping bulbs from the ground.  Tomorrow, I won't hastily throw a sugary lunch together and I certainly won’t forgo my morning centering practice.  But if I ever do, at least I know where I can get free 24-hour access to a boxing ring.