Sidebends and Mermaids

The truth dazzles gradually, or else the world would be blind. - Emily Dickinson in the Zen Calendar (December 24, 2002).

Day 232. Ruby was not discharged today, so I paid her a visit at the hospital. She moved a lot like I did four days after being hit by a car. Makes you a bit stiff. I took her for a brief walk outside, which made us both grin like Buddhas. The visit did us a world of good. Togetherness is the best medicine. She may get to come home on Friday.

Pilates is a constant in my life preceding blogging and sitting. I have been a serious student for three and a half years, and it has been intriguing to observe the ways meditation spills over into my movement in Pilates class. There is a lovely reciprocity in how the two practices influence one another. Breath work that frustratingly eluded me now seems like second nature. The erect posture that coincides with original Buddha nature is lengthened and strengthened by Pilates. These two sacred facets of my life beautifully compliment one another. Mutuality at its best. Like quilting and gossip. Darts and drinking. Mountain biking and first aid training.

There is a basic sequence in reformer Pilates class called Sidebends and Mermaids. It is as fundamental to early Pilates as dribbling in basketball. Sharin, brilliant instructor that she is, finds my ineptness on these moves incomprehensible. I am notoriously strong and coordinated at several of the more complicated maneuvers, yet in three years' time have managed to set a record in ways to botch a simple Sidebend. Too extended, too restricted, too slouched, too upright, too tight, too loose, too crooked, too straight. Ribs wrong, hips misaligned, pelvic floor unstable (a cardinal travesty in the Pilates world). The patience and tenacity of my teacher has been tested like an inner city middle school teacher on bus duty.

I know my problem. I over think things. Especially simple, uncomplicated, organic things that are best left to instinct and reflex. Stupidly, but sincerely, I try too hard. Like the myriad mental acrobatics I executed in my early search for enlightenment. Dripping effort from my pores in the quest for Nirvana. Excruciating exertion in the service of emptying my mind. Struggle, strain and arduous labor may be exquisitely useful in writing a dissertation and clearing 32 ice mangled trees from a newly purchased acre, but they are not a blanket panacea for all of life's demands. Sometimes a solution requires surrender. Relinquishing effort. Ceasing the struggle in order to become very, very still.

Yesterday I was exhausted and distracted by my Ruby worries. I went to Pilates and rather mechanically executed the first segment of class. I heard the cue for Sidebends and Mermaids. On auto pilot, I swung my body into position on my reformer. Stretched into a Sidebend. Attempted to register the breathing method Sharin suggested. Suddenly I heard her exclaim my first and last name. Next I heard her laughingly observe, "I just said your first and last name, didn't I?! That was the most beautiful Sidebend I've ever seen!" She was ecstatic. I played it cool, mumbling, "Better late than never." Secretly, I was ecstatic, too.

There are sublime moments in our lives when all the practice, effort, concentration, mistakes, flawed attempts, and bumbling suddenly coalesce into perfect execution. It usually corresponds with the exact moment we get our head out of the way. That's the "trick" of meditation. Since most of us have really big heads, removing them as impediments is no small task. It takes a whole lot of thinking to learn not to think. And a whole lot of bending to learn how to bend.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc