Sunday morning yoga
Traffic in and out of my yoga classes has as little logic as traffic in and out of Chicago on the Eisenhower.
Last week, four of my regular students, and a slow, meditative, yin class with lots of hip openers and some pranayama to warm ourselves up. I teach first thing in the morning, and the studio was 55 degrees when I came in.
This week, a big class full of students who either had never been to our studio or had not been back in a long time. A lovely class, lots of laughter, a nod toward sequencing the poses by returning periodically to poses that involved spinal twists. Long holds in each pose. Time for the class to stop, occasionally, and just feel how they feel. More difficult than it sounds.
When is the last time most of us just stood still, sat still, without an activity to keep us busy? Sometimes when you stop, you can hear things that otherwise go unnoticed. The wind in the trees, the crickets humming at the end of autumn, the sound of your breath, the sound of what you truly feel and think. It doesn't have to be a great revelation. Sometimes what you can hear is the simplest wish: for a good cup of coffee, or someone to do the wash besides you, or a better way to organize a drawer. If bigger thoughts come, all right. But to be mindful of the little things is a very good beginning and a very good place to rest.
A long savasana, with Barber's "Adagio for Strings" playing in the background.
Last week, four of my regular students, and a slow, meditative, yin class with lots of hip openers and some pranayama to warm ourselves up. I teach first thing in the morning, and the studio was 55 degrees when I came in.
This week, a big class full of students who either had never been to our studio or had not been back in a long time. A lovely class, lots of laughter, a nod toward sequencing the poses by returning periodically to poses that involved spinal twists. Long holds in each pose. Time for the class to stop, occasionally, and just feel how they feel. More difficult than it sounds.
When is the last time most of us just stood still, sat still, without an activity to keep us busy? Sometimes when you stop, you can hear things that otherwise go unnoticed. The wind in the trees, the crickets humming at the end of autumn, the sound of your breath, the sound of what you truly feel and think. It doesn't have to be a great revelation. Sometimes what you can hear is the simplest wish: for a good cup of coffee, or someone to do the wash besides you, or a better way to organize a drawer. If bigger thoughts come, all right. But to be mindful of the little things is a very good beginning and a very good place to rest.
A long savasana, with Barber's "Adagio for Strings" playing in the background.
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