Writing Beside Pearl (Only She Usually Maintains A Slightly Bigger Private Space.) (Also, sorry for Apple plug...)
Yesterday, thinking about yoga and my dog Pearl, I wrote about blocking writer’s block through finding a seat in your blank page. Mulling over these issues further made me think about the time, some years ago, when I stopped going to yoga classes.
I practice Astanga yoga and had gone to six or seven classes a week for some years. Then suddenly, it all got too expensive, and more importantly, too stressful.
It is very easy in a Guru-oriented practice like yoga to fixate on your teacher–to obsess over whether you are pleasing him or her, to (on the inside) constantly beg for approval. It is easy to fixate on your fellow students too. (Why are they getting all the assists? Does my teacher even like me? Is it the sweat?)
These types of thought patterns can turn one literally into a downward dog, sniffing constantly for a simulated treat. (Think “spaniel”.)
Now, Pearl, my fifteen-year old dog, is a very different kettle of canine. She is not averse to pats, but she won’t perform for them. (It’s cheese or nothing.) She likes to be quietly near her human; but she doesn’t grovel. (Except, that is, if there’s cheese, and, perhaps–if you start it–the occasional belly rub.)
Perhaps A Belly Rub
Doing yoga to score points with a cool teachery type (at least two earrings in one of his ears, one nose stud for the female nostril) is clearly unyogic, but doing yoga in isolation is also pretty difficult. Often I feel sluggish and apathetic. Even so, I generally can make myself go through the motions because of three basic reasons: (i) it is what I do; (ii) it makes me feel good, and (iii) it is one of my few clear channels to a greater Self.
Writing is very much like that (if you leave out the sweat.) It is fun to take a writing class; it is fun to write with a buddy–but how do you keep going without the pats of your colleagues; without acknowledgement, and no certainty of an audience.
First, you have to tell yourself that writing is simply what you do.
Secondly, you have to focus on the physical pleasure of writing–the flow of energy through your arms, the dance of your fingertips. You have to let yourself understand that even writing “tada tada tada” can be a sensual experience. (Much less the word “sensual.”) And what about the elation of scribbling off that last sentence? (Tada!)
Three–you have to let yourself enjoy your greater Self–the mind’s eye that reads what you write before you even get it down.
Finally, find your inner Pearl–that part of you which will not shy from a pat, but won’t perform a trick for it. This is hard, but recognize that when you just let your self write–the physical pleasure, the verbal company, and the sheer satisfaction of doing what you do–will be enough to carry you forward.
(And, probably, to maintain integrity, you should maintain a safe distance from…cheese.)
Cheese!
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