This is my idea of “downward dog”, as in yoga. I HATE yoga. Wait a minute. Do you know anyone that hates yoga? Isn’t that what is loved so much?

When I was growing up in the 50’s, my mother did yoga. No one, no one, no one knew what in the world yoga was where I lived in Virginia. She taught herself from a book and swore by it. “Try it!” she advocated. I learned some stretches from her. She was a determined teacher. Soooo boring for a 6-year-old. “You’ll love it!” Not me.

Years later, I’ve ventured into so many other areas: Pilates, Tai Chi, plus the outdoor fun. Just don’t ask me to stand and stretch. Don’t tell me what to do and for how long.

Well, up here in the boonies of New Hampshire, there is NOT a lot going on. So in the last few days, yes, I went to 2 (!) yoga classes. And this is what I discovered: that I still hate yoga. (what?) I go into the class. I am miserable, negative all the way through, no matter what I tell my stuck belligerent mind. It’s nattering away, saying lousy stuff ongoing.

However, in some way, all that junk, all that crummy self-talk is coming to the surface. My body is opening and this is what’s stirred up and processing. That’s my conclusion, anyway, because afterwards, I feel great! Oh, so hard to admit. But yes.

Now, okay, Mom. I’m beginning to understand something I didn’t before.

But downward dog? I still look forward to savasana.

And how glad I am to do my art afterwards.