My Longevity Practice
I want an easeful death as much as I desire an easeful life. Doing my best to die gracefully is my responsibility, not just to myself, but to my loved ones. I envision my later years to be filled with lightness, mobility, discipline, service, and laughter. Leading up to those most precious remaining moments, I seek to build a foundation of well-being, do my best to transcend my core issues, and expand my life practices.
I appreciate that the more joy I cultivate within myself, the more capable I will be of showing up for all the responsibilities in my life. For it is these responsibilities, including children, partner, pets, land, home, plants, and life’s work, that will inevitably feed my soul the balanced energy I seek. Therefore, I strive to root my longevity practice right here, in the present moment, step by step.
I work everyday to balance my well-being with the responsibilities I choose. As I experience stress or frustration in my life, I must go within to elevate my self-care practice – and intentionally let go of some if not all of my responsibilities for the moment. I trust that prioritizing my self-care practice will inevitably result in my ability to show up even more in service. The ease and grace we are able to cultivate in this dance between responsibilities and well-being, I refer to as longevity.
This is my longevity practice. I sit and deepen my breath, straighten my spine, and clear my mind. With my eyes closed, I breathe gently in and out through my nose. I acknowledge my being. My time off the court when the game is not on the line, when I practice being human - with no noise, no schedule, and no one else anywhere to be seen, except when my 12-year old princess yells “Dad!" I practice the simplest and maybe most profound functions of being human: breathing, posture, self-observation, alignment and stillness.
Sometimes I light a candle, burn some camphor wood, and/or massage some AURA Serum or Soothe Serum on my body. Sometimes not. I often sit for over an hour at a time, next to my bed, on a firm yet sacred throne of meticulously stacked and folded blankets. I sit on the edge of my throne, using it to tilt the back of my pelvis up, stack my sit bones, stick my tail out, and make sitting upright for a long period of time as easeful and graceful as possible. I love finding epic places to sit - by the ocean or in the river, on the beach, or perched up on a rocky cliffside. I will sit anywhere and everywhere, but as a householder, I sit most often and conveniently by my bedside. I will sit anytime of the day or night, but love sitting most during the wee hours of the morning in the dark.
I begin to observe the chaos of my thoughts, attachments and stories I am carrying from the day. “How could I have become them so quickly?” From the littlest to the biggest of stories and circumstances. I feel the accompanying emotions of frustration, resentment, and anxiety move through me. I intuitively deepen my breath, realizing they are just thoughts. I remind myself they are not me. I choose to breathe deeper and surrender them as I realize their compulsive nature. I begin to trust the liberating practice of emptying out the mind and body through a strengthening spine and deepening breath.
Lifting my chin, I carefully circle my neck again and again, then slowly change directions, gently reacquainting myself with the acute pain that stifles the full mobility of my neck. I will be doing neck circles forever to counteract my daily head-down phone use. For I trust that if I am able to loosen my neck and begin to tilt my chin up, my heart will inevitably open. My spine and physical body are then able to expand upward into the ether towards the stars with every inhale, and root downward into the core of the earth with every exhale.
I slowly raise my arms by my side, with my hands and chest open, and raise them up, bringing my hands together in prayer over my head. I hold them there for as long as possible with minimal stress; with the intention to invert my spine, kick out my tailbone and freely circulate the breath to nourish my body and mind. My petty thoughts begin to dissolve as my spine deepens its inversion. Crack! Pop! It is most likely the first of many deep lower spinal realignments I will experience during my longevity practice.
I naturally inhale the rich garden air to consciously expand my chest cavity. I intentionally hold the breath to bask in the life-giving oxygen. Then slowly exhale the air from my chest and throat, and out through my nose, consciously grounding the energy through my coccyx bone. I gently engage the perineum area, as I empty out through every extended exhale. My legs intuitively embrace the process as well, centering my life force in the deepest part of my sacrum. The energy flows. The space opens and energy is channeled through the antennae of the spine.
I consciously think about the vast possibilities in the universe. I have become one of them! Then, after emptying out my breath for a final and most exaggerated exhale, I hold and hold, until…I almost die. My consumption of energy becomes completely still, if only for a moment. My entire upper body begins to tingle. And then, a sudden gasp of air, like my life depends on it. I open my eyes for the first time in well over an hour. A feeling of trust, ease and bliss begins to embody me. So grateful to be alive!
I try to make space for my longevity practice whenever things aren’t going so well, but also when grace has been bestowed upon me. The more the merrier. When the full moon or new moon roll-around, I intuitively find myself sitting for hours to align my energy. I have learned that the more I practice being human off the field, in the simplest posture known to man, the more I expand on the field- ready, willing and able to be of service. For practice makes perfect - if there is such a thing…
