Wednesday, September 26, 2001

ruins, revitalization, rest // Yesterday morning, in my haste to get out of skeezville, I suppose, I awoke at 6 am and immediately packed up my car and departed for Sunset Crater and Wupatki National Monument. Sunset Crater is the youngest of several hundred volcano craters that surround Flagstaff. It was born approximately 1000 years ago and was active for 100. It is largely responsible for much of the sunset colored cinder and ash that was scattered over an 800 square mile area. The crater itself doesn't look like much but the surrounding land is uniquely, and gothically, beautiful. After 800 years of dormancy, the land is still primarily barren with only a few scattered, extremely hardy, small trees and plants. Basically, it looks like a sparse charcoal garden. The cement walkway and the log-fenced trail that provide a short hike through the lava field felt like walking through a movie set. The smoothness of the charcoal and the lack of grass or other small weeds made it seem as if the existing plants must have been recently planted in full growth. The soft muted greens and yellows of the leaves and flowers looked virtually brilliant in contrast to the grey and black of the cinder and rocks in which they grow. The early hour and the absence of other humans enhanced the feeling of discontinuity with the natural world.

Continuing on towards the Wupatki ruins with windows down and music blaring (Jane Siberry: Hush) I was glorying in the vast expanse of desert and painted vista when my phone rang. It wasn't the mood spoiler you might think since I knew the only person likely to be calling was Pam. Brief and staticy (staticky? statickie? e-static?) it was, but the fact that I could hear her voice and describe to her what I was seeing and feeling only intensified the beauty and my appreciation of it. It was kinda like phone sex only without the sex.

The Wupatki ruins were much like other ruins I've seen. They're not so much beautiful in themselves except for their location and the fact that they offer a glimpse into the past. Impressive workmanship was involved in their making, of course, especially considering the environment (masonry is not an occupation I would choose were I to live in a dessert). Here, there were three features that stood out: a ball court, an amphitheatre and a blowhole. The ball court, while not exactly like the ones found in Mexico and South America, is similar enough to suppose that it was used for Aztec style ball games (no mention of human heads being used for balls, though -- is that the stuff of legend?). Apparently, many of the neighboring ruins also had ball courts so it's easy to assume that they may have had inter-tribal games. The amphitheatre isn't known to be exactly an amphitheatre but it seems to be a good guess since it's round instead of oblong and too small to imagine any kind of serious game taking place in it's confined area. I could easily picture community gatherings, oratorios, performances, meetings, potlucks, etc taking place here. I'm not sure why but it's comforting to think that we may have been more like these people than unalike.

Back in Flagstaff I checked into the Monte Vista. This is more what I had in mind. It's an old building and hence a bit weathered but very clean and comfortable. The bed is a firm queen, I've got two windows that open and look down on the street two stories below, a generous bathtub and even a small wall-mounted writing table that's just big enough for my laptop. Best of all, I can leave my car in the parking lot and walk to pretty much anything I need. Except the yoga studio, that is. Unfortunately, that's in Sedona which takes between 40 and 60 minutes by car depending on traffic.

I drove down last night and attended my first class in years. OK, it's only been 3 days but since I've spent most of that time cramped in the car or sleeping in cheap motels it felt like years. I arrived in Sedona immediately after realizing that I forgot to bring the directions to the studio. At first I tried to find the studio by driving until I saw something that sparked a memory but nothing came. I then stopped at the Natural Foods Grocery store to look for clues. They had a community bulletin board but no mention of Bikram. I looked in the local papers but saw no advertisements or class listings. I then found an Arizona Whole Life catalog (a kind of new age yellow pages for the state) which only listed one yoga studio in Sedona and it wasn't Bikram. What the hell, it's a smallish town so I called them hoping that they could help me out. The woman who answered knew where I wanted to go and began to provide directions by asking where I was. When I described my location in the parking lot outside Natural Foods she said, "Good, now go inside the store and turn left, walk into the deli and look for the woman with the cell phone at her ear." Voila, there she was. Shen then gave me directions to the studio.

This was my first time taking a Bikram class outside of my home studio in Atlanta. I wasn't exactly nervous but I felt misplaced and awkward. The teacher, Kelly, was great -- very relaxed, casual and warm. Kelly's teaching style was a nice blend of pushing and levity. At times she would almost be yelling at us to push, stretch, compress, twist, and then she'd say the last word of a sentence with an uprising lilt in her voice making her sound like she was playing with us. Now that I think of it, that's a style that pervades at our studio, too, the mixing of drive, concentration and letting go at the same time. Approaching yoga seriously but with a light heart and a sense of humor must come from the man himself. The class was attended by seven people in addition to myself and they were all very open and chatty welcoming me and poring over my tattoos and asking questions about my trip. The class itself was less formal than I am used to. Two people arrived late and joined us in mid-pose, there was a fan that people would turn on themselves occasionally, one woman left the room to step out into the cool air several times and there was one behavior that seemed distinctly odd: a few of the people would breathe loudly in and out through their mouths very much as weight lifters do in a sort of rhythm with their exertions. It was a macho sound and I assume it was coming mostly from the men, two of whom were very masculinely svelte. If I were already in LA I would suppose they were surfers - tanned, longish hair hanging boyishly into their faces, moving very deeply and aggressively into the postures. They sounded like they were having a difficult time but their postures were strong and well executed. I, on the other hand, while quietly breathing through the nose and concentrating fiercely in the mirror, was struggling. I had to sit out one set of Balancing Stick and one set of Triangle, two of my most challenging postures. I was sure that I wasn't pushing too hard so at first I couldn't understand why I was having so much difficulty and then I remembered that Sedona is probably much higher than Atlanta and the oxygen somewhat thinner. The floor poses were less traumatic and I felt great when the class finished. It's only been in the last several weeks that my practice has consistently reached that place that Bikram talks about where you gain energy with the exercise instead of losing it. I felt fantastic on the drive back to Flagstaff. Of course, by the time I finished eating and laid down on the bed I was exhausted and slept long and deep. I look forward to another class this evening.

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