When Ayurvedic doctors read my pulses, they say, “your body type is pitta/vata: fiery, intense as a first default; airy and quick as plan B; not much Kapha, not much Earth.”
My husband Jon is Earth, the contented cow in the field moving ever so slowly from one comfy patch to another. There’s not much fire in Jon, and I’ve not seen much air since I met him in 1973. So I tell my Ayurvedic friend Sophia, who also knows Jon, that I could learn Earth and unruffledness from him. She says, “Yes. He can be your teacher if you let him.”
I try to let him. I make an effort to watch the Red Sox on his huge flat screen TV in his man cave. He slouches into the huge sectional sofa right behind his pool table, next to the card room (where he plays poker unmoving for hours) and around the corner from his computer. I rustle; make sure my cell phone is in my hand, lap top too, so as not to miss a call or a Face Time opportunity. His phone rings from upstairs and he barely shakes his head, “No, no, don’t jump up to get it. I can check it later. Maybe tomorrow. No rush.”
His soft languid voice explains how that pitcher just signed a multi-million dollar contract and how this manager was just acquired from that other team. I check my phone for texts and send e-mails while he sinks into the game until the 8th inning when he saunters to his PC. He hunkers down in his tufted chair. He is solid, grounded; typing at the speed of molasses. My fire/air has had enough of this tranquility. I say, “I’m going upstairs if you’re not going to be here with me. I don’t stay put so well, you know.”
He smiles his comforting smile and says in his happy Kapha way, “Ya, I know. Sure, hon. Of course, do what you want.”
I have assumed he’s been teaching me all these years about focus, holding center and staying calm. Then Sophia said she wanted to listen again to my pulses, to find my Pakriti, my most authentic nature, my essence, who I really am. She palpated over and over again, each time moving her finger and thumb just a teeny bit deeper into my wrist. She kept wrinkling her forehead and saying, “Hmm, hmm.”
Finally she said, “Now it makes sense. Now I get it. I never understood how so much fire and air could do the work you do. Now I know why you teach yoga, mindfulness and meditation. Now I see why you write.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Your pakriti is Kapha. You have to do the quiet practices to keep returning to your true home. You must. They are who you are.”
