Warrior Pose (51 page)

When I bought our Coronado home in 1994, it was a new, two-story remodel of a much smaller, historic Craftsman house built in the 1920s. In designing the expansion, the contractor kept a portion of the original footprint to satisfy historical requirements and fasttrack the building permit process. This created a little leftover space downstairs, a tiny room that was turned into a business office. It's only nine by nine feet, with wall-to-wall built-in desktops and file cabinets, leaving barely enough room in the center for a small swivel chair. There are two narrow, horizontal windows high up one wall, and a large framed bank of harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling. It always has felt like a stuffy, cramped little cave, and so I've never used it.

This space is right across the hall from Morgan's playroom, and as I pass it this morning, it hits me. This is my “Himalayan cave,” like a plush version of the caves my books say ancient Yogis took residence in as they sought enlightenment. This is where my healing journey will continue, my place of solitude, contemplation, and
Sadhana
, the
Yogic ritual of devoted daily practice. I have no desire to renounce the world and am light-years away from enlightenment, but I need a cave, a private space for healing, and this is perfect. It's as if the little room has been waiting ever since I bought my home for just this moment to arrive. I call a friend who does carpentry and beg him to come over immediately. We decide to tear everything out of the office and install ceiling-to-floor mirrors on three of the walls. This will create endless reflections, an infinity effect, that will give the room a sense of spaciousness while also allowing me to view my alignment in various Yoga poses.

When Morgan was born I could barely participate in putting together his nursery. Now I'm able to climb up a ladder to the container box and tack some silk tapestries over the fluorescent light panels. I was given the tapestries when I was in Thailand, and as I drape them so they dip and billow, it creates an exotic, soothing effect, like I'm in a temple. Then I climb down the ladder and roll out my Yoga mat beneath the “temple lights,” making sure it's perfectly aligned in the center of the room.

One angled corner of the room, by the entry, has a small diagonal shelf built into the wall. This becomes my new altar. The golden Buddha I brought out of North Vietnam is the centerpiece. A friend from Boston sent me a white silk scarf blessed by the Dalai Lama for my fiftieth birthday. I wrap this around the lotus blossom carved at the base of the Buddha statue. I'm not studying or practicing Buddhism, but to me it symbolizes a spiritual quest and holds personal meaning as well. Finally, I add candles, incense, and a few gemstones I picked up during my travels as a journalist, and my new altar is complete.

My comfy Himalayan cave feels like I'm in an ancient temple and is exactly what I need. I'm up again at four every morning, immersing myself in my practice. I begin by lighting candles and incense at the altar, then whispering a soft prayer for healing. Gazing at the golden Buddha, I touch the silk cloth blessed by the Dalai Lama. For the first few weeks, I ponder the significance of the statue's left index finger pointing upwards and his right pointing down. Then I finally get it. The Buddha is pointing toward Heaven and Earth.
The gesture signifies “as above, so below.” It's a concept found in Yoga as well as most religions, a reminder that each of us is connected to all that is.

I'm up at four again, this time without any alarm clock. The sages of Yoga named this pre-dawn time the “Time of the Divine.” I can see why. There's something naturally meditative about this dark and silent time before sunrise. The moment I sit on my mat I can feel stillness surround me. I can also sense the world preparing to come alive for a new day. Breathing deeply, I see myself becoming part of this eternal rhythm, which helps to make my practice seem effortless. My body feels fluid. The air tastes like nectar. I am connected and fully alive.

It also feels healing. We live in a stressed-out world and spend most of our days hurried, anxious, agitated, and feeling completely separated from any sense of unity or oneness. Our minds are spinning like crazy with endless streams of disparate and disjointed thoughts. Mass media, TV, and video culture spin us further with an overload of fast-paced images and intense sounds. As a result, like Dr. Miller says in his
Deep Healing
book, we're usually in a low level of “fight or flight” response, adrenalin constantly pumping through our veins. I felt this every day as a journalist, especially in war zones and in the pressure to meet deadlines for filing my news reports, but even in less-trying times the stress was omnipresent.

In this “fight or flight” state, Dr. Miller says, our sympathetic nervous system takes precedence in order to meet the perceived emergency we feel we're facing. It's one of the major aspects of our autonomic nervous system, which subconsciously and automatically controls our responses to stimuli, including our heart rate, digestion, breath, salivation, and perspiration. When the sympathetic nervous system is activated, our hearts beat faster and we perspire as energy courses through us to prepare us for an emergency. This shuts down much of our digestive and immune systems so that our energy can be used to fight or take flight. It's a good state to be in when there's a
serious threat to our lives or we have important tasks to accomplish, but being in “fight or flight” all the time burns us out and damages our health—
don't I know it!

Practicing deep relaxation, Dr. Miller notes, allows the parasympathetic nervous system to take over. This is a state of “rest and digest” as opposed to “fight or flight.” In this state, adrenalin stops flowing through our veins and our brains produce soothing neuropeptides that promote healing. Our digestive and immune functions are rekindled and our heart rates slow down. Our nerves relax and our organs recalibrate themselves. Body and mind begin to harmonize and heal. This is why animals crawl into caves when they're wounded, instinctually knowing that deep relaxation is essential for their survival.

I experience this state of deep relaxation and inner peace every time I slip into my cave. Sitting cross-legged on my mat, I can feel stress melt away and healing taking place in all aspects of my being, especially when I bring full attention to my breath. Deep breathing continues to help me release old psychological wounds and cleanse my emotions. Focusing on my breath is not only healing, it's a passageway to merging with something mystical and eternal, connecting me to my growing sense of higher power, a silent conversation with the very essence of life.

Chanting
Get up, Daddy
with the flow of my breath, I sequence myself through a series of gentle Yoga postures, slowly and mindfully, harmonizing every movement with sustained deep and rhythmic breaths. Each time I breathe in, I see myself drinking in golden healing light that permeates my entire body while soothing and cleansing my mind. As I exhale deeper into each twist, extension, forward fold, and backbend, I visualize that I'm squeezing out years of pain and toxins. I also try to find something in every pose that's called “the edge.” It's the place where I'm moving my body into new territory and going beyond my comfort zone. At the same time, I have to be careful not to go too far and enter the realm of pain or risk an injury. It's a delicate balance, like walking a tightrope.

At the end of my practice, I often place a candle in front of me and sit gazing at the flame. This is a Yoga technique that crystallizes
the mind, brings me further into the present moment, and promotes single-pointed concentration. As my mind stills further and becomes more focused, I see deeper into the essence of the flame and the element of fire itself. I notice flames within flames. Colors within colors. The miracle of fire. A tiny piece of our sun. I close my eyes and gaze at the image of the flame as it floats behind my eyelids, changing hue and form. All stress melts away now. My mind is as still and calm as a placid lake. I am fully here in this eternal moment.

Although I've come a long way physically, it's still impossible to sit cross-legged on my mat staring at the candle for more than a few minutes without having spasms in my lower back. Each time this happens, instead of reacting with fear like in the past, I breathe, stretch, and relax myself out of it, then support my back against one of the mirrored walls and continue my meditation on the flame.

By sunrise, I'm in the zone. Totally present, serene yet vitalized, feeling balanced in body, mind, and Soul. I gather my consciousness to my heart center, a space right behind the breastbone next to the organ of the heart. Yoga teaches us this is where the light of the Soul dwells. I listen for the whisper of my inner wisdom, open myself to its guidance, and then, toward the end of my practice, ask this Divine wisdom within me to help me heal. The messages I receive from this ritual are consistent.

In the “Time of the Divine,” I listen. I learn. I deepen my devotion. I feel like I am being slowly transformed.

CHAPTER 33

The Story Bench

I
F YOU HAVE A FRAYED ELECTRICAL WIRE, there's no light when you flick on the switch. Touch the wire and you'll be shocked. Ignore it and it smolders. It can start a fire. Burn your house down. This is what's it's often like between Pamela and me. And we can't seem to find a way to fix it.

We have some really good times together, and they make both of us hopeful that things are going to work out just fine. When I find out that the creator of the therapeutic Yoga that Savita taught me at the Pain Center is leading a weeklong retreat in the mountains of Costa Rica, Pamela agrees to make it a family trip. She and Morgan join me, relaxing together while I'm in the retreat sessions. I'm amazed that I can even make this trip without much pain, and thankful that the Yoga is gentle and therapeutic, which helps me recover from sitting on the airplane and riding in third world taxis. Secretly, I'm hoping Pamela will get interested in doing Yoga with me and attend a session or two, but I soon see that it's not meant to be and choose not to push it.

After the retreat, we visit some of Costa Rica's remote beaches and national parks, even taking a small tour boat into jungle swamps where dozens of small, black monkeys crawl aboard from the mangrove trees to snatch bananas out of our hands. The tour guide ensures us the monkeys are harmless, and Morgan is completely enraptured when a baby monkey climbs onto his head and chatters like
crazy. Pamela bursts into laughter and snaps a million pictures. The whole experience renews my hope that things might work out for us as a family.
Maybe we really can put the past behind us, forgive and forget, move forward together, and build a new life
.