Photo Credit: Crown Publishing Group
Composed of a series of daily journal entries throughout her two-month yoga training in Bali, author Suzanne Morrison lets us into her heart and her head during a life-changing experience from being a cynical, lost, unhealthy smoker to a reformed yogic woman through meditation, mindfulness and yoga. Excerpted from Yoga Bitch: One Woman’s Quest to Conquer Skepticism, Cynicism, and Cigarettes on the Path to Enlightenment Copyright @ 2011 by Suzanne Morrison. Reprinted by Permission of Three Rivers Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
I was doing a backbend over the open side of the pavilion this afternoon, looking up into trees and blue sky, and it occurred to me that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. There was a light breeze, and it made me notice that I’ve actually grown accustomed to the heat. I don’t feel like I’m in a sauna anymore. I’ve figured out where to put my mat so that the geckos don’t sh*t all over it in practice. Things are looking up.
Jessica and I are sitting on the verandah right now, both of us writing in our journals. The sun is setting and I can hear the women getting their instruments out in the wantilan.
Now they’re beginning to play. Why don’t we all have symphonies playing for us as the sun goes down? It’s hard to imagine how I could ever feel troubled in this environment. It’s perfect. It’s especially good for daydreaming, which is something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. I’ve decided Jonah and I need to completely remodel our life together. If we’re going to live together, I want it to be a new start. I’m picturing us in an apartment in New York that’s like a citified tree house. Plants and natural fibers everywhere -- pussywillow branches, river stones. I want us to sit on the floor. I don’t want a single chair in the house! I am going to be the anti-chair brigade! Chairs tighten your hips. I want dozens of meditation pillows and open hips.
Now, I’m not saying I’m going to insist we start referring to our privates as lingam and yoni or anything. That’s Jessica’s territory. But I must convince Jonah to try yoga. I want him to start meditating. I feel like we’ll be better together if we meditate more. We’ll be less resentful of each other. I’ll be less resentful of his independence, and he’ll be less resentful of my inability to say no to my enormous family and all the demands they place on us. We’ll be living in New York soon, sure. But even at 3,000 miles away, there will be demands, mark my words. But we’ll roll with the punches, breathing deeply and wearing loose, comfortable clothing. We’ll have sex by candlelight and wrap ourselves in silk sarongs afterwards. (NOTE TO SELF: buy sarongs.)
Grab a copy of Yoga Bitch by Suzanne Morrision.