Like That Big Black Guy.

Two of you know what that title means. The rest of you are about to find out.

(Or you're guessing correctly as many people have expressed a certain specific wish to me that brings to mind exactly what this refers to).

First off, I know this blog is bumming people out. We might all be ready for a little positivity. It's going to feel for a minute like I'm just going to make you cry again but actually, if you read it all, it won't depress or bum you out at all. I promise.

Second, I would like to just bear my testimony of yoga. I know I've done it before. Here I go again.

I like it because it's really nice to you. The instructors are nice, like a psychotherapist mixed with a massage therapist. Soothing voices, encouragement in dim lighting. The only thing you're not "allowed" to do in yoga is to judge your body's abilities or your thoughts.

My poor body has been nearly motionless for 23 days, and nearly everything I've put in it has been either from a gas station or a pharmacy (exceptions: people buying me meals at restaurants). I remember the other day realizing "I didn't even go pee today." And only once the day before that. Gross huh. Are you so grossed out or what? You can be. Because that's so gross. Sorry I typed it, but I thought it just said a lot about my body. I mean, I just didn't even pee one day. Isn't that kind of something that should just have to be told to people? Because it's so weird?

For my cousin Tommy's 17th birthday, we were at Chili's for dinner. I ordered the chicken crispers (normally magically wonderful - about as good to have go through you as a bullet, but yummy still). It's just my usual. For my two sides (they let you PICK now!), I ordered vegetables and salad. When my meal came, I found myself feverishly horking down the broccoli and salad, and polished them both off. I realized I hadn't touched the chicken crispers. Yeah, it was like an out of body experience. Me? Stuffing my face in a desperate frenzy...with broccoli?

My poor little body was so starved for nutrients that it behaved in a way I've never ever seen it (Okay, A: broccoli is there for looks, and B: salad is there for the guy you're dating to know you are able to eat it and therefore might not get fat later). Maybe that doesn't sound so bizarre to you, to dive into the greens at dinner and not touch the greasy stuff. I know many people, especially supersmart awesome people, and therefore readers of this blog, eat right. After all, Reboyfriend had lectured me on the health benefits of nutritious eating, and it had rubbed off. I was a Whole Foods girl there for awhile.

But in addition, I've hardly moved. I've done a lot of relaxing and being gentle to myself, which are appropriate descriptions when they last a week. When they last a month, it's called being a depressed slug. Nobody can say "take care of yourself, girl, let's go running." Cuz then we get all up in a wad about, like, what is that supposed to mean. And stuff. So in that awkward case, nobody else can "take care of" myself. Otherwise, it would have been done for me, and everyone here knows it.

So in yoga today, when my whole body shook and trembled - in downward dog with BENT KNEES - it hit me what terrible shape it's in. I had no strength. I had to go out of every pose and acknowledge my weakness.

I was instantly self-conscious and ashamed and embarrassed. I'm sorry, but we were just laying on our backs with our feet in the air, and my legs were spazzing all over the place in shakes from not being able to hold them up. For the love of God.

So I was all nervous the instructor would notice. But like I said, yoga has one thing it "discourages," and shame/judgement/negativity is it. Why was I judging this poor human body that had done nothing wrong? What the hell was it supposed to do? I park it on a couch, then in a bed, then in an office chair for a month, starve it, pollute it, then throw it on a mat with nothing inside it except coffee and Amp, and expect it to be a sweating, stretching, engaging, contorting temple of zen radness? Then I'm all embarrassed of it? It wants to please me! It wanted to do what I told it to. I just won't let it. It can't win.

I mean, first off, I read this study where if you abruptly remove someone from your daily life that was in it a lot, after like a breakup, or a plane crash, your brain notices when it stops processing the smell of that person's pheromones or whatever. The absence sends a message to your body. It feels that loss. It is experienced on a physical level. My brain and body are noticing Reboyfriend is missing. Like that flock of ducks that wandered around our backyard for hours after our dog killed one of its members...they were so confused and they were FLIPPING out, quacking and going in circles, looking for this missing duck. Ducks are stupid, so they must not have noticed when our dog duck-napped it and bolted. Its feathers were all over the place in this big mess. I was really little, and my mom's heart broke over it, and she used the story in many [disturbing and, now that I think of it, not entirely age-appropriate] object lessons later in life. Sad. My mind got the phone call and read the FAA report, but my body's going "Hey! WTF! Something here has gone missing." I sniffed the sheets on my bed when I went back to our house last night. My body felt better for a sec, as I took in Reboyfriend's smell, still in them.

There were the mornings when the pain in my spirit was so great that swear it must have had to overflow into my physical body. I woke up shaking, trembling. It weirded me out. I looked down at my arms and legs convulsing and felt like such a freak of nature. My skin throbbed (every inch of it) like the way it does right after a gnarly belly-flop. I think my body got sick of that. It wasn't sure what the hell that was about.

Then I pump it full of shit.

Then I don't let it move or stretch or walk around or get any fresh air.

Then I take it to yoga and judge it and feel ashamed of it! I'm such a dick.

And then at the end as we lay there on our mats, the instructor telling us not to engage in thought, but to let our thoughts pass over us like clouds...I felt like when I was little and it was "nap time" at daycare and we were supposed to lay on our little mats and go to sleep. As if. My little budding ADD had me wide awake, blinking in the room, having to close my eyes when mean daycare lady came in to make sure we were asleep because I would get in trouble if I were awake. My inability to concentrate and just go to sleep meant I was kind of one of the bad kids.

So I'm laying there at the end of class when they let you relax (can't remember yoga name for it, remind me) I had just made my body do its first activity in a month, and it was thanking me with bloodflow and endorphins. But instead of meditating like I was SUPPOSED to, like all the other good yogis were, my mind went promptly to the vision of plane wreckage. Of the disturbing details they reluctantly waited to tell me until barely, when I demanded to know more about the wreck (of course, after I got all the graphic details I barked about deserving the DIGNITY of knowing, I got of the phone and almost threw up. Jenni had to drive me to the store for Pepto). Yeah. Those were my happy thoughts. Let me tell you, I caught myself doing it three times, and judged my thoughts (and my inability to control them) harshly.

I have GOT to get a grip, one of my thoughts expressed (in my defense, that one floated over me like a cloud). You have a testimony of yoga, you freak, why are you ruining this moment that could be such a much needed peaceful experience? (I don't know!!! Because! Just because. Geez, sorry. Reer).

(My friend in fifth grade said that to her mom once after her mom said no to something. "Ok. Reer mom." You remember, I know you do! It's how bratty kids in the early nineties mimicked a pissed off cat overreacting to something by going "reeeeeeeer." But she pronounced it as just a clipped, decisive "rear." I still find this hilarious.)

Truly repentant, my mind responded to the divinity in me. The divinity in all of us that everyone talks about at yoga. My Heavenly Father stepped in. He stepped in and threw down, like the Father figure He is. Enough is enough.

I'm blessed with five healthy senses. Sometimes six, in that way that we don't blog about (even me). And in thinking of them, I Got a Grip, Reer.

I thought, "OK. I wonder. What is the sweetest taste I've ever tasted?" These thoughts don't have to pass like clouds. "I'm going to really really meditate about this and that's OK."

My mind went to an ice cream cone. No, I've had better. It went to a raspberry shake at Bear Lake. Cilantro and golden raisins on my mom's curried chicken. A sinful Dairy Queen stop one Fast Sunday after church with just me and my mom (don't tell dad, she said). That donut the other day at Beyond Glaze. Creme brulee french toast. What is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted? So delicious, you are emotionally responding to it right now? You have indulged in and intensely enjoyed food, dear reader of this blog, at one time or another. It was a time you relished in Life, something I'm capitalizing on purpose because It is sacred. When was it? Think for just a minute, for me. If your husband is watching ESPN or reality TV, or your kids are fighting, walk somewhere else and do this for me.

I moved on. What is the smell in my life I've enjoyed the most? My heart responded to this. Real pine trees at Christmas. The melange of perfumes and new clothes when you first step into Nordstrom. My sheets back at the house. My mind raced. There have been so many, in my 27 years, smells I've enjoyed. No, "enjoy" is not the word. They've brought me bliss. You. I'm talking to you, person reading this. What is a smell that has brought you bliss? You can't pick one can you? Your mind is racing. Memories of things are competing with each other to be your favorite.

How about physical sensations or feelings? A few unbloggables went through my mind, and then I thought of getting a massage when I really needed it. At that very moment, my yoga instructor came up and quietly traced her fingers around my face, massaged my forehead. That beat up, neglected, judged, bewildered body of mine LOVED it.

What visions (oh, I'm choking up, here we go)? What are the most beautiful things you have ever seen or beheld? These things have enriched your existence, made it wonderful. Think hard. Let it be like one of those email quizzes or blog tags where you list your "favorite" of something and always cheat and pick three. For this one, pick three hundred.

I really need to tell you this, and I need you to pay attention, because I need to believe it too. The sights you've seen that have covered you head to toe in chills, things so beautiful you'll never forget - they outnumber plane crashes, even ones as bad as I just learned Reboyfriend's was. I promise you. They outnumber the bad sights of the world, and to be honest, most of them are more beautiful than his wreckage was ugly.

Not to cheese you out (consider this your heads-up), but my first and only thought in the sight category was Jed, the way he slowly blinked when a big smile spread across his face, and his eyes waited until the smile was fully widened and letting out a laugh before they opened again and seared into my memory. Many of you have had babies. Nothing I've ever seen will probably ever compare to things you've seen through parenthood. I'm not comparing or being overly generous. I just believe you guys about it.

I got home, feeling all alternative-y and hollistic. (This pertains, I promise). There was a package for me here at my aunt's house where I'm staying. It was from two blog readers. My aunt Jenni walked out of her office for something, and I slapped a card down on the counter after I read it, in total disbelief. I stood and shook my head at her. Read this. This package, these cards and gifts, they are from people who read my blog. I've met Tammy personally, once or twice at big dinners where I didn't get her to myself...but how I really know her is through the blogosphere. Teresa, my cybersister, I've never gotten the pleasure of meeting you. Their blogs are on my sidebar. They are funny, and real, and brilliant.

Tammy's card said "For You I wish I was that big black guy..." At first I cracked up because I thought the inside of the card would say something about that big black guy from Bliss that was trying to seduce me while I looked for my be-mulleted reboyfriend but couldn't find him, because I literally didn't recognize him. But actually, she is referencing The Green Mile. She wished she could take some of my pain and feel it for me. My little brother and mom have expressed similar desperation. "I know, Mom," I remember saying. "Ryan wants to Green Mile me too. Everyone wishes they could carry a piece of this pain so I don't have to."

My blog post about Gesthsemane isn't happening. Not one person reading this needs me to spell it out.

Jenni pointed to her forearms. "CHILLS! Holy freak! How is this even happening?" She says something huge has happened in this world. It sure as hell as taken mine over. Of all the beauty in this world I've tasted and smelled, seen, heard and been touched with, I didn't really ever think I'd see so much beauty in the human population. Via Blogspot.

The care package was full of things that heal. Tammy is a very holistic person, a massage therapist, and believes like I do in things some might consider "new agey." I was in the perfect mood for that. From See's candy to vitamins to essential oils, this package included...well, just sheer healing. The realization about what people are really like when they don't have to be, that is healing. How the hell did you guys get my address anyway? You are amazing. I sat there reading Teresa's card, chewing on my second See's candy (both of them happened to be my favorite flavors from See's...coincidence? God likes me to taste yummy things, as I think we've discussed ad nauseum here), and crying. I have never met her. And she did this.

We took pictures of the package. I'll post it. I'll post it soon. Along with some other images I've been waiting to show you. Pins and needles.

Thanks for reading. And for all the comments that make me feel like a Big Black Guy who is super hulking and strong. And for saying I was awesome. Just thanks.