So I know your thinking, blah blah, what about the zombies? Hey, isn't there enough of that these days anyway? ( I kid. Sort of).
Here is my point, it feels like my body is dying when I feel how stiff I am. It doesn't help the absolute lack of yoga that's been my life for weeks! At the same time, even through unfortunate long bouts without yoga, I have never felt this way in my life on a consistent basis. It all began that week of almost 60 hours at Not Ashtanga aka work. It hasn't gone away since. Then the week before this one, I felt fine, but I had a few symptoms that I thought could be related to a cold. Not major sniffing or sneezing like now. And then this week, after being unable to stay warm (so zombie) in the cooler, going in and out to try to warm up (that helped sheesh!) I end up with a full blown cold by the end of the day.
You don't really feel pain in the same way either as an animated corpse. Something may hurt a bit, but it becomes more of an inconvenience than anything. A zombie's arm gets blown off,and they are shocked an pissed mostly because now they have to try to eat you left handed (as a human it was righty) and the blast from the shotgun delayed it 1.5 seconds from charging it's meal. I mean honestly, on the job I look at my hands and wrists and go, "Where on earth did I get new little cuts on myself?" or "Ow, I just jammed something into my leg, it really hurts but no time for that." Then go home and see, geez, that was bleeding a little.
A specific part of me that is "decaying" are my hands. My hands used to be my favorite part on my body. Maybe they still are. Maybe they will be again. I always liked how they looked. Slender fingers and good skin. Nicely growing nails. I Write with them! Now when I look at them, I get a bit fearful and sad. What new cuts have they endured? Why are they so dry and worn looking? For the longest time my nails couldn't grow past a certain point without being broken off, Thanks not Ashtanga.
I have not written a post in too long for myself and haven't submitted any to websites either. I looked at my hands yesterday, dear goodness what are they?! They were white and raw. (Shea butter to the rescue!) I mean, I could see flaky skin on the back of my right hand as if it had aged and was loosing moisture before inevitable decomposition. I know part of it is because of constant hand washing from the job. No it's not OCD but I can see the message in that. And sanitizing so not to infect anything that needs touching on shelving after a brief sneezing fit.
The point is the symbolism behind it. The decay of the physical connecting to the decay of the spiritual and artistic life. Make sense? I can see myself turning into a physical zombie, dying on the outside, and therefore see my art, dreams and purpose slowly fading away, decomposing, struggling to stay present in my mind. Trying to not lose my mind and drifting into the undead.
There is hope! Ah-ha-ha yes my dear friends! This is not Resident Evil 100 or whatever it is now. (I mean really, let them be happy or end it all!). It's a bit more I Am Legend. Though probably one of the most depressing movies I have ever seen, at least there was a cure! Yes, humanity can be saved! All I have to do is quit my job, become a full time writer and yogi and live happily ever after. Aaaaand go!
Okay, so it's easy and not easy. I do have a loving husband who is absolutely amazing and that would be kind of, I don't know, inconsiderate, for me to just drop everything at the tip of a hat. Or is it? That is my struggle. (oh did I mention I have a bit of Jekyll and Hyde syndrome? Do what makes you happy! vs Be considerate of others! Halloween is in full bloom in this girl. *jack-o-lantern smile*)
I want to be a Writer, Yogi, Wife, Traveler, Searcher of Spirituality and leader to help others find there's, Connector of People, Open Book. The average 9am -5pm job has absolutely no appeal. Life is about Fun! There, I said it! Life is about Fun, not work and Damnit that is what it shall be. Well, one day.
But seriously, the cure. In the movie, I think he was strapping these zombie people to the table and starving the zombie out of them. Along with the cure he was working on. Again, I only saw the movie once. Really good but depressing! Either way, it's a great idea. Metaphorically be strapped to a table unable to do the things that are no good. (for the zombies killing and infecting people).
For me, can't work a job that doesn't make me happy if I'm strapped to a table. (aka quit) That's ripped out of my life. Not fully committing to my dreams and purpose will become torture. Just laying around I have nothing more to do but to think about them. Fear from making things happen turns into fear of not being able to if I stay on this table. Insecurity has been greatly dulled. I may still be insecure a little when I am freed but it's either go after what I want or go back to the table. Starve all the bad out. Start dying. Just enough to regain my mind and be brought back to who I really am.
Then begin to get injected with the cure. Never working another job that doesn't have the slightest bit of meaning to me. Practicing yoga at least 4 times a week. Writing, writing, writing and some more! Following my dreams. No wait, even better. Grab my dreams by the hands like a best friend and walk together. Studying yoga philosophy, the chakras, my spirituality. Inspire others to do the same and perhaps one day teach them.
I know I talk about this often. Unfortunately I am a person of many beginnings. I start over and over and over. And eventually I won't have to start over again. I will continue forward. I will say this, I rather start over again, then fail and never begin again.
The good things is, I am soooo on my way to finally continuing with this beginning. Since I'm figuratively dying and all. Turning into a zombie with my walking rigamortis. What makes it so hard is that there is no hero to come in determined to change me back. I have to find my own abandoned lab, strap myself down and experiment. Like those enthusiastic mad scientists determined to prove themselves right so they become their own Guinea pig.
So here goes to the self cure.
Namaste with love,
~Chelle aka Writer Yogi