"When the student is ready..."

"...the teacher appears." Buddhist proverb

Late last summer Squanch and I were exploring in our area and we ended up on a nearby mountain slope picking wild cranberries with two strangers, while our dogs intermingled, weaving golden threads in and out of the little pine trees around us. It was one of those encounters that feels like a gift from the universe. These two women were wonderful berry picking companions, and every time I sprinkle those frozen red orbs into my blender for a morning smoothie, I am reminded of the serendipity of that afternoon.

Well, the gifts from the universe keep coming (I sound cliche new-agey when I say stuff like that but oh well, it is the only way I can explain it). Turns out one of those women runs an outdoor learning centre from her home where there is a beautiful building (I describe as a hippie/zen church), that hosts, among other things, yoga classes. And so, by this chance encounter I was enrolled in the best yoga classes I could possibly imagine!

The teacher blends her incredible knowledge with an uncanny intuitiveness. She takes time to explain things, allows us to experience the poses how it feels best to us and guides us gently with her calm wisdom. By the time class ends there is a sense of balance to my energy, I feel as if I have exercised and had a massage at the same time. 

The atmosphere of this hippie-zen-hall is perfect for yoga. We do mountain pose in front of a wall of windows overlooking a mountain range. A wood-stove crackles in the corner while we lay down on our mats for our final relaxation pose.

I must remind myself, as socially anxious as I am, such gifts often come from outside my comfort zone. We approached those women in late summer, on the side of a mountain, and struck up a conversation, and after a long dark winter, I am still benefitting from the harvest of this encounter.

keep baby safe

Mornings at home are easy. Sundrenched and slow. I sip coffee and listen to the radio. Juniper is happy to play, feed, then fall asleep for a few hours.

It’s the afternoons away from home when it hits me. Lethargy. Weight. A hollow fullness of the gut. Senseless anxiety resulting in a fatigue so strong it’s as if my body is moving through syrup and not air. There is something wrong deep inside my abdomen. Yesterday, out shopping in town, bent over my cart, I become disoriented in the store. Dizzy with the danger of all the strangers around me. Every single one of them is a bit off. My body stiffens when I pass them, they all have arms to reach out and touch the baby, to grab the baby, harm the baby. What am I there for? Wandering around on the border of panic, feeling as if I may fall over. Rational thought tells me I’m ok, I will not pass out, but rational thought is such a pushover, extremely susceptible to the convincing powers of anxiety.

I pull through. Always do. Go to the library. The new one with the stairs. Somehow I make it up them, grab the book, walk back down. It takes all my power to let the sight of the railing pass through me as I ascend and descend, to ignore the scary drop to the hard tiled floor. How does one ignore gravity? Of course, more attention is paid to something being actively ignored, and in so ignoring, quite the opposite effect is attained. The muscles clench, the bowels tie themselves in knots, in tatters, in muddy mats like a messy head of hippie hair. My innards. Dreadlocks. Locked with dread.

This is how it is. My role as mother. Walk around in constant computation of danger to baby. And, everything means danger. Worse, every possible horrific outcome, I witness inside my mind. I am in a constant state of trauma, grief, agony over everything that could possibly happen, because somehow my brain can’t tell that these images are simply meant as warnings, are not actually happening.