Rolling Out the Magic Carpet: The Yoga Mat As A Reflection On Change

My yoga mat is a magic carpet. Kept in the back of my car, it goes everywhere with me, just in case I feel the need to bust out a trikonasana on a camping trip or find myself with spare time to go to class. As I roll it out on the plywood floors of my studio, or on the hardwood pine of my spare room, it gently thuds as it unravels, displacing dust or the tiny ants that happily wander in through the back door, knowing ahimsa codes will mean no harm here, of all places. Relaxing into a meditative seat or collapsing into the surrender of child's pose, I instantly feel a sense of calm. So well trained is my body that it knows this action means time to be with body, breath, heart. Whilst I might struggle on the mat, it is a safe struggle, on my terms.

Yet each time I roll out my mat in the studio, I roll it out in the far right corner, at the back. It is safe there - there is only one person to the left, and one in front. Behind and to the right of me are walls. If I practiced at the front, like I used to when I was much younger, I would have people behind me, on either side, and the teacher. In the middle, I would be surrounded by everyone. Once, that gave me strength - there is nothing like the oneness that can be felt when someone is beside you, breathing in unison with you. A shared experience. Now, I retreat to the sanctuary of my corner. The studio owner, in a particular quiet class of only three people, asked me about this choice, once. I smiled and explained that I work all day with people and the last thing I need around me is more people. The thing is, I knew he was addressing my habit.

What we do every day can say alot about where we are at. Our attachments and our aversions. Sometimes, we know something desperately needs to change because the signs are everywhere - the churning stomach, the sleepless nights, the failed relationships. They are warning signs that something needs to be fixed, or at least approached in a different way. @metametheus writes about the 'winds of change' from a Chinese Medicine perspective, warning that such a wind can alter things quite dramatically, if we ignore the signs. The storm that forces change can be turbulent, even painful. If we pay attention to the sense that something needs to change, however, then change is more 'gradual and controlled':

The concept of ‘wind’ in ancient China was as a source of disruption. In his seminal book Medicine In China: A History Of Ideas, Paul Unschuld reveals that 'wind' was the first natural phenomenon that was identified as a malevolent force of nature that was thought to cause illness. In later times, it became associated with the Wood-element, as en expression of a sudden, disruptive force of change. Like wind, change could either be gentle in its movement; or it could be swift and violent. Usually what happens is we get a sense that something in our lives needs to change. If we pay attention to that sense, then change is gradual and controlled; steady like the gentle wind that blows the seeds around in spring.

Rolling out my yoga mat reminds me of my habits every time I do it. It forces me to consider why I am setting my mat up in such a way. I often feel a sense of guilt, or anger, or annoyance or frustration, that I'm reduced to this little retreat in the corner. I should be strong and capable and confident whereever I am - where I practice in the room should make no difference at all. Yet those little sensations are a warning too. Why is it that I feel this way? Why is it so important to me that I maintain this habit, ensuring I arrive to class twenty minutes early just to get my spot? Why is I do any repetitive habit that I do that seems to be negative? Why do I just refuse to set up in any other part of the room? And, by extension, it reminds me to think about any habit in my life. Why is it that I do what I do, when I do it? Or not do things?

By listening, I am conscious of this choice and the need to respect why I set these habits. These little passing sensations and reactions to this habit are just reminding me to be conscious of any action that assures a continuity in my life. Is it protecting me in some way? Am I avoiding something? What must I face? Do I need to put myself in a situation of discomfort so that good change can happen? Working on the self is a constant process - not necessarily to 'fix' a problem or to 'heal' a wound, but to check oneself lest one wound themselves again, or others, or prevent one fulfilling a higher purpose. We must relish the discomfort that the winds bring when we change a habit, no matter how small, and use it as a tool to learn something about ourselves.

Rollling out my mat in the corner of the room, I realise, is a continuity I need right now. It helps me set boundaries between myself and others so I can return to the world nourished. It helps calm my nervous system and stop down the stimuli that rattles it in a stressful day to day life.

I realise that this was the small change I made in my life this year - to stop feeling guilty about this habit or feel the need to fix it, and instead realise it is the best thing to nurture my body, mind and soul so that I can be the best I can be.

@metametheus asks us to make on small change in our lives this week as acts of 'radical discontinuity'. He has set a steem bounty where you can win 3 Steem, some SBI, or LOTUS. He asks us to 'pick something seemingly small and innocuous that you do all the time, or at least every day, and change it' - from the food we eat, to the route we take to work, or even where we sleep in the bed. The disruption it causes - the discomfort - might force a little positive change, or at least enable you to see things from another perspective. I'm also contributing 20 Steem to the best post about this (if we hit ten entries). Use the tag #naturalmedicine and post your entry as a comment on his post here.