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I watched a seagull fly low over the choppy waves in the blue, blue sky. The wind was so strong the bird simply bobbed up and down on an invisible funnel of air, unable to move forward even an inch. Somewhere in the clouds I imagined a Giant, with hairy fat knuckles, pulling on the strings of the helpless bird, making it dance in place for entertainment and toying with its hunger for freedom. In the vibrant colours of the evening sky, the bird looked like the star of a Pixar animated short; a commentary on the rat race of modern living. With all our apps and notifications, we make our lists, set goals, accumulate wealth (or some do), all in the hopes of getting somewhere. It’s the dream of reaching a mystery destination that’s just up ahead, beyond the tedium and obstacles of everyday life that fills our tanks and thrusts us into drive day after day. The wind that held that seagull in place was a mightier version of the little voice that whispers in my head, telling me to win and do better on a loop. Once in a while I soar above the noise and drink it all in, coasting in neutral, but sadly, I still spend a great deal of time flapping my wings and pooping in the wind.

This was my bird.

I kept the little creature in my periphery as I sorted myself out on the lumpy grass at the edge of the water. I spread out my mat a few feet from the rocky drop-off and flipped off my shoes. It was almost twilight and the volume on the colours around me was turned all the way up. The gauzy fabric of the sky bled deep blue and orange and the leaves of the trees seemed to be lit from within. It was just about the end of September, still green but chilly. My yoga mat was cool beneath my bare toes, sending electricity to all the sleepy parts of me. The wind pounded my eardrums in a stormy rhythm. I’m teaching high school special education again this fall after a two year hiatus, in the middle of a pandemic. The stress of delivering a model of education in the era of social distancing requires me to be diligent about letting off some steam in a healthy way. A deep stretch on a windy evening seemed like a good idea. Beside me, jet skiers, clearly addicted to toddler-like thrills, darted about on the waves, mocking the struggling seagull. Their engines roared as they chased each other in giant circles, either because they thought it was cool or the circle was the only path they could come up with in their little testosterone jacked brains. Yes, the sound was irritating me and yes, I got their message; engines rule and nature and feathers are for losers. I shook my head as I tried to get rid of my desire to see an epic wipeout. Sneaky rage; another reason I need yoga.

I stood tall on my mat. My fingers joined together as I reached for the sky and leaned over for that imaginary branch to my left. The stretch in my side opened up like the seam of an old dress. In slight agony, I pulled myself upright then leaned over to the other side, breathing through another dramatic expansion of flesh and bone. The fall air stabbed the warmest parts of my nostrils. I heard creaks and cracks and swore up and down I felt my lungs shiver. The bird still hovered in front of me, the idiots circled, and I tipped forward drawing my leg up behind my head. My body dipped down the way a record needle drops onto vinyl. As my fingertips neared the ground, the wind attacked and toppled me like a stack of empty boxes.

I was down. Workout interrupted.

I gave up and lay back, allowing the wind to assault me with my own hair. Somebody had to be nature’s bitch tonight, why not me and the bird? I would have laughed out loud if I didn’t think I might choke on a strand or catch some poop in my gullet. I did a few stretches on my back under the gusts and paused plenty to watch the clouds roll by. The vertigo was slightly intoxicating and my mat began to feel like Aladdin’s carpet. More than once, I gripped the side of the mat believing I must be high enough to bump into the seagull. I let go and reached out to hug my knees into my chest and crack my lower back; a favourite stretch of any middle-aged former jogger. I hugged them again. And then again. With nothing but sky and clouds in my view and my arms wrapped firmly around my rickety knees, it was easy to believe that I really was up there, way up there in the sky, giving myself a squeeze in a sort of zero gravity spa. My imagination drifted further as the wind continued to cut off my connection to reality. I felt the weight of Aladdin, super-handsome-40-something-Aladdin, maybe post-Princess-Jasmine-divorce, no-dad-bod-Aladdin, sitting next to me, my yoga mat now completely morphed into an exotic carpet. My muscles and spine turned liquid as Aladdin and I flew off on our adventure to a whole new world (that line just typed itself). I smiled and mumbled like a kid rehearsing an excuse for a teacher on the long walk to school. Curled into a ball, rolling around in the wind in South Etobicoke, I played at steering myself around the surprise buildings of Agrabah. Maybe this was a new kind of meditative yoga I’d stumbled into?

Or maybe I just didn’t want to fight anymore.

The seagull and its mighty battle looked ridiculous; a small bird fighting a ferocious wind that barely acknowledged its presence. The fight was as fair as red wine versus white linen pants. Six months ago, I may have persevered and let myself teeter and fall, teeter and fall, curse the wind, teeter and fall - my workout a vital part of my routine that must be completed in order for the sun to set and the plants to exhale oxygen. Tick that box and all will be right in my world. Today? Hmph? I didn’t see the point. The world is in turmoil and anxiety grips as many people, young and old, as acne, or spontaneous flatulence. People are gobbling up mindfulness apps like Halloween treats and wrestling to control, or ignore, negative thought patterns by baking bread and adopting dogs. We’re all trying to paint over black with a thin coat of yellow. My workout is a prescription for health and happiness but sometimes, I don’t want to take my medicine. Sometimes medicine is just medicine; a bitter, random pill occasionally taken out of habit.

What is the cure for difficult? For loss of balance? For uncomfortable? For overwhelmed? Even though my life is quite lovely and richly seasoned with friends, family and puppy, I feel the char of 2020 for sure. Stress has quietly immobilized my shoulders and set fires in the unlit corners of my daydreams. The struggles of the world gnaw at the fringe of my sturdy existence like mice working on a piece of stolen cheese. While yoga is often the elixir that warms my muscles and drenches the dangerous flames, on this night, it was nothing more than a car wash on a rainy day.

My nostrils pulled in cool air and blew out the dusty spaces inside me. I was awake now and just as relaxed as if I had done my little Ipad yoga routine. I lay on the ground - in the same lakeside park beside my house where I have lived for 21 years. Never had I ever lay on the ground in that park before. Because - why would I? That night it occurred to me, why not?! In Dead Poet’s Society, Robin William’s character, English teacher Mr. Keating, hops up on his desk and asks his student’s why he would stand up there. When the kids shout back, “to feel taller”, he shuts them down with a swift “No!”. He stands on his desk in order to see the world from a different perspective; a challenge and act that has inspired humanity since the beginning of time. Bill Gates' legendary “Think Week”, that takes him to a cabin alone, twice a year, provides the billionaire with a much needed pause in order to ponder the forest and get his head out of the trees. These think breaks have contributed to the stability and impact of his innovations and charitable foundation worldwide. Siddartha Gautama spent three years in the woods searching for a better life only to discover that enlightenment cannot be taught, but rather comes from within - wisdom that revealed itself in dense quiet. Shakespeare wrote King Lear during quarantine at the beginning of the Spanish flu pandemic - a time when the world once again slowed down in order to save itself. A terrible accident left Freda Kahlo trapped inside a body cast. In her nearly immobile state, she began painting to pass the time. Stillness and a change of perspective has long been the birth of much greatness and clarity.

CoVid-19 has taken many many lives but I also believe it has given many back. The cure for difficult might just be easy - take it easy. Go easy on yourself. The remedy for losing balance may be to get off your feet, lie down and look up. Deepak said it best - “we’re all just specks of cosmic dust”. It’s liberating to be dust from time to time and not the most important thing in the room, or the universe. The cure for uncomfortable may be as simple as seeking comfort - rest, companionship and connection. Instead of being overwhelmed by a crammed calendar, I hope I can still feel the simple pleasures I felt during quarantine, like the sheer delight of finding a large pack of two-ply on a random supermarket shelf. It should be obvious to me that the antidote to work is play. As Ferris Bueller once said - “life moves pretty fast”. And what did this punk ass kid do? He took a day off! Ferris Bueller really is my hero.

So instead of my workout, I played ...in the clouds, in the Agrabah of my Disney inspired dreams.

I ended my half-wit meditation with a sprawling, self-satisfied stretch. When I stood up to roll my mat, the bird was gone and the jet skiers were headed off toward the marina, their laughter trailing off with the fumes. I understood them now, and their silly loud circles. I assumed the bird had either dipped below the wind and found a place to perch and ponder, or turned back for a more thrilling, augmented ride. Either way, the bird had escaped the force that held it back. I lost my own fight with the wind, but not without gaining a little insight into how to win the war. The antidote to war is, and always will be, peace. Namaste.

By Carol Sloan

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Namaste Birdie