Something very interesting (or very dangerous, if you happen to be a bird) happened during practice this morning. To get the full import of what I'm about to share, a little background story is in order: A few days ago, my fiancee got into one of her periodic bouts of furniture-rearrangement-frenzies. This latest one ended with her moving a few pretty big pieces of furniture into what used to be my practice/Buddhist prayer room. Which means that what used to be my practice/prayer room isn't so good for practice anymore. Hmm... I really don't get this craze for furniture rearrangement that some people get into. But well, whatever rocks one's boat, I guess :-)
Because of this new furniture configuration in my apartment, I started doing my practice in the living room yesterday. Another little background story: I also have a pair of pet cockatiels. They are very cute and interesting birds. Because of the round shape of their eyes, I sometimes, in my more grandiose moments, think that they may be aliens disguised as cockatiels, sent to earth to monitor my yoga practice. At the end of the day, when nobody's watching, they get out of their cockatiel outfits and go into a cleverly concealed little spaceship (this, I suspect, is disguised as that little stainless steel kettle in the corner of the kitchen counter, next to the stove... I mean, do you really think it is a coincidence that some of the latest stainless steel kettles from Europe look suspiciously like flying saucers?), from which they send dispatches to Patanjali detailing the latest yoga adventures of World Famous Ashtangi Nobel.
But I'm being very grandiose and self-important here. So I'll stop being that way. So as I was saying, I have a couple of pet cockatiels. This morning, just before I started practice, my fiancee decided to let them out of the cage in the living room just before she left for work, so they can fly around the house and get some activity (I think she thinks they have been putting on weight lately, and need some exercise). I had serious misgivings about this decision (you'll soon see why), but I think some wise guy once said, "Thou shalt not disagree with thy significant other before she leaves for work in the morning." So I left it at that.
So I rolled out my Mysore rug in the living room, and started doing my practice. The birds were pretty chill for most of the practice. They flew a couple of rounds around the living room and kitchen, and then decided to perch atop the kitchen cabinet, from where they could get a good bird's eye view--no pun intended--of my asana practice, so that they could file a good detailed practice report to Patanjali later in the day. And then, the moment I got into second series, they decided on a different plan of action. As I planted my heels on the ground and started twisting myself into Pasasana, they landed beside my mat and started waddling around (observing how deep my Pasasana twist is?). And for the next few postures (Krouchasana and the first few backbends of second up to Laghu Vajrasana), they continued waddling around the perimeter of the Mysore rug. Sometimes, they would come up onto the rug for a few moments to get a better closeup look at my alignment. Which made me a little worried that I might crush them by accident. But I was too into the flow of the practice to feel like getting up, picking them up (sometimes, they might not even want to be picked up) and then walking them back to the cage. So I continued to practice, all the while trying to be cognizant of their positions relative to my position on the mat.
And then when I got into Kapotasana, I felt this little soft feathery thing nibbling at my right knee; from what I could remember of the birds' positions before I got into the posture, I knew that it was Thelma, the grey cockatiel. I'm guessing she's probably thinking, "What are you doing? Why are you trying to become a bird?!" She looks like this:
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