So, one of the things I did for my 30th birthday was get a barn-burner of a pedicure--the 15 massage add-on, the deep moisture treatment, the callous removal (I was a little dubious about that, as I spend so much barefoot time AND for whatever reason nail ladies are always so judgy about callouses, I don't even know if I want them up in there), the polish, the foot massage--so good!! I was so happy to be getting some "pampering"--I was a little frustrated that all the good fashion mags were on the other side of the room--but it was mostly very, very, good. And then I noticed that my finger, the index finger on my right hand was...well...rigid. Every other part of me was relaxing into the chair, relaxing into the hot neck pillow thing behind my head, except this one, pesky, finger.
I flashed back to a day in a class several months ago when one of my teachers kept coming over and pressing my finger down on to the mat--that same index finger--because it apparently was having its own practice and like a little stress-flag, did not want to be put down.
And as I relaxed the finger in the nail salon massage chair, and its adjoining hand, I thought about how funny it is that tension will, just, find a way. And I thought about how this firm little digit was like some last holdout of my un-relaxed (smaller) self--wanting to be in charge, wanting to hang in there a little longer and make sure all is well before really giving in to being relaxed. And this finger seems to be a safe respite, a hidden spot in my body.
Well, not for long, sucka!
I have been paying a good deal of attention to those rebellious fingers lately...keeping them planted firm in downdog, keeping them sweet and soft in the standing poses...urging myself to be brave...reminding myself that it is okay to let go completely, even of this stubborn pesky pointer.
(For you symbolists in the audience...coincidence that the index finger is the finger used to point out when accusing and to point in when gloating?! I think noooooot.)