I have decided that a yurt is an absolute must for any home hubby and I retire to (assuming that the elusive R day will one day come). They are absolutely brilliant. An island in a sea of nature that envelopes and soothes one, lulling or gently rousing to / from sleep.
(Granted, it definitely adds to the ambiance to have the yurt smack middle in the nature as opposed to a heavily trafficked area, sounds of trains, planes and automobile lacking the same hypnotic, calming effect.)
As my fellow British yogis would say: Brilliant!
About the yoga:
I will admit that I am shamefully lazy about researching the various types of yoga that exist. If I were hard pressed to put a name to the yoga I generally practice, it would be something like Ashtanga or Power Yoga. The yoga we practiced at the retreat was not Power Yoga but, rather, had elements of many types.
(Which is one reason why it’s difficult to label many yoga classes / videos because they are often a mix of many.)
The morning session was more active than the evening practice, which we spent mostly on our back. While I was a bit disappointed that the yoga practiced – at least in the morning when I was more energetic – was not more vigorous and resembling the yoga workouts that Baron Baptiste and Bryan Kest deliver via DVD, in the end, it didn’t matter. Because I ended up feeling better and doing poses that I have never done before. The right leg, notoriously stiffer and more difficult than the left, became less cantankerous and more easygoing. The lower back, often outspoken and irritated – I presume due to running and the resulting tight hamstrings – quieted down. My head even made the acquaintance of the floor when I did the standing leg splits forward bend pose.
(This is not an acquaintance that I expect will get the opportunity to develop into a deeper relationship.)
Which just goes to show that one does not always have to huff, puff, and sweat to build, tear down, and move forward.
(But one does have to practice. Consistently.)
Both of which apply to writing, as well. While I definitely made progress and did not have a panic attack when told we would have to pull a creative work out of our literary bums in less than ten minutes (and neither did I suffer anymore stroke-like symptoms when reading my work aloud), I still have work to do in terms of getting into fighting, writing shape.
Especially when I had the privilege of hearing over and over and over again enthralling, side-splitting, mind-boggling stories spun by my fellow writing groupies.
Stories that never ceased to amaze and impress me.
Stories written in less than ten minutes.
With time for tea to spare.