Turning

“Come on the risin’ wind. We’re goin’ up around the bend.” ~ Up Around the Bend, Creedence Clearwater Revival

I’ve started teaching yoga.

This has come as a complete surprise, because teaching yoga was never anything that I’d ever dreamed I’d be doing, not even when I’d signed up for the teacher training. In fact, when we took our seats in a circle on that first day, we were asked for a show of hands as to why we were there. Had we signed up to teach yoga? Had we signed up to deepen our practice? Everyone raised their hands accordingly; everyone, that is, except for me.

I didn’t have an answer as to why I was there. I was seated without any clear intention, knowing only that I needed something next, and I wondered if this might be it. I figured in 200 hours over the next five months I’d be able to figure that out.         

I’d felt much the same way when I started practicing yoga. It was several years earlier, and a sign had suddenly appeared for a new yoga studio in the shopping center near my home. I saw it every time I drove by on my errands to the bank, or the grocery, or the gas station. I circled it like this for months before finally stopping in. And then I signed up for a class without any clear intention. At most, I thought I might get some exercise. It would be an understatement to say that I was in for a big surprise! 

Right away I started practicing and couldn’t seem to stop. And I kept on like that, completely unaware that I had embarked on any sort of journey. In fact, if I’d been asked as to why the practice had gripped me so, I don’t know that I could have answered. I wouldn’t have been able to explain why it felt so good to move on the mat the way that we were moving. All I knew was that the movement moved me. Practicing was making me feel as if I were on my way somewhere, and I think that’s why I was always there.  

In truth, I’d been there many times before, because the new yoga studio was in what used to be the video store! Oh, what irony that the place that once put me on the couch was now the very one to lift me from it! For years my children and I had roamed that same floor, looking for movies to kick off our weekend. Our all-time favorite was The Sound of Music. On countless Friday nights we’d sprawl across the couch with family and friends and watch it all over again.  

Those Friday nights were a like a breather for us. Our busy week had ended, but the even busier weekend had yet to begin. In many ways, those Friday nights mirrored my life. I was taking a breather, too. Recently separated, I’d made enough decisions to settle with my children in a home of our own, but not many more than that. The rest would have to wait. Repotted for the time being, we were taking root, and those Friday nights were watering us.    

It would be many more years before I would find yoga. My children would grow up, and then I would, too! They flew the coop first, jetting off to college within a year of each other, and I was the last to go, jetting all the way down the street to my first full-time job since before they were born. And what a big turn that was for me! My Friday nights became a breather again, this time in between my work week and my weekend. With my new schedule filled to the brim, it never occurred to me to look for anything more.           

But, as it turns out, just because we aren’t looking, doesn’t mean that something’s not around the corner, just waiting for us to make that turn. And that’s how I discovered yoga. I literally turned the corner, and there it was, outside my car window! I’d been on my way to the neighborhood shopping center, and when I made the turn, I spotted the new sign above the old video store. It simply said, “Yoga.” That would be the first of many times I’d see that sign. Like a favorite movie, I’d watch it all over again, until that fateful day that I dropped in.   

Right away, I loved the practice! Yoga was like Twister, the game from my childhood. While trying not to fall, we’d put our hands and feet here and there and twist and turn in all sorts of directions. The practice was hard, but it was also fun! From the very beginning, I was eager to learn, so I paid close attention to all the directions, even though I struggled with some. Apparently, I had some inhibitions to overcome. But I persevered, because it felt good to move. And that perseverance, coupled with a lot of encouragement and some very patient instruction, helped me turn some corners that I hadn’t even known were there.   

And so I made a deal with myself to keep practicing, because I liked how it felt to flow like this, not just on the mat, but also around those corners. Each revolution was an evolution, and the practice propelled me. And that was a good thing, because, as it turned out, the practice made for a lot of turns! In fact, that’s how I found teaching. After several years of practicing, teaching was what was around one of those corners, and so I made the turn and signed up for the training.

And that’s where I met an expert on turning. Another trainee, he was a dancer who’d been turning from the young age of three. And whenever I’d turn upside down, he’d claim to see a dancer in me! He said that he could tell I felt good there, as if it was a natural place for me to be.

“I always felt good turning,” he said, “so I can understand.”

Turning, he said, made him feel protected and on top of things. And while he knew that I preferred my turns upside down, I knew that he preferred his by spinning around. Maybe that’s why, at the end of the training, the instructor insisted that he perform several pirouettes before getting his certificate. He had never danced for us before, but he quickly agreed. He had so many turns inside of him that it wasn’t going to be a problem conjuring them.

“Watch your heads!” he said.

We scooted back to make room for what we were about to see, and then we cheered as he easily set them free. We watched as he spun, releasing his turns, one by one. In multiple revolutions, he propelled himself across the floor before arriving in a gentle landing on the other side.           

And I wondered: Did he even know that his turns were a gift? Or that they were evidence of fearlessness?

I looked down at my own certificate and thought of the many turns that had landed me here. With those in mind, I guessed I’d been practicing long before I ever saw that neighborhood sign. In many ways, by that time, I’d long been putting my hands and feet here and there, twisting and turning in all sorts of directions, while trying not to fall. And now I had learned how to teach the practice, so that I could help others do the same.

The energy of his impromptu performance hung in the air like an invisible sign that read, “Turn here!” And I could feel it directing us around the next bend, where it promised that we might find that same energy again. And, so, while I couldn’t see it then, I followed that sign like I had the other, and now I’ve started teaching yoga!

And I’m surprised by how much I like it! Mostly, I’m surprised by how at home I feel when I teach. I turn on the music and start the class, and I feel as if I’m where I should be. And my goal is to make everyone else in the room feel that same way, too. And so, when I call the class to the top of their mats, I ask them to set an intention. And then I tell them that it’s okay if they don’t have one. If that’s the case, I say, then just flow with me and see what’s learned, because I’ll be teaching from all the corners I’ve turned.  

 

 

Repeating Numbers

Repeating Numbers

“A B C. It’s easy as 1 2 3, as simple as do re mi, A B C, 1 2 3 … “ ~ ABC, Jackson Five

I was at yoga the other night for an eight o’clock class, and, for the first time in years, the instructor was running late. But that was okay with us, as we ourselves had lost track of time. We were all happily seated in the practice room, visiting each other’s mats, chatting and catching up from the week.

The door finally opened. It was the instructor. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said. “It’s already 8:08!”

808 is a significant number for me. When I was a little girl, my parents encouraged my siblings and I to learn our home address by heart. That way, if we were ever to get lost, we would be able to tell someone where we lived. Our street number was 808, an easy enough number to remember. I remember practicing my address earnestly, reciting it over and over, like the words of a favorite song. As a result, the lyrics embedded themselves so deeply in my consciousness that, to this day, 808 is a number that’s as fresh in my mind as it was when I was a child.     

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Surrender

Surrender

“Little darling, it’s been a long and lonely winter.” ~ James Taylor, Yo-Yo Ma

We’re in the middle of what’s turned out to be one of the moodiest winters in my memory.

We’ve braced ourselves against some of the coldest temperatures in history and basked in temperatures warmer than they ever should be.

It’s as if Mother Nature were battling herself, hesitant to fully emerge into her own season, even though it’s one that’s already here. But that’s okay, because, in our own way, I think we’ve been doing the same.  

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Prayer

Prayer

“I pray you’ll be our eyes and watch us where we go and help us to be wise in times when we don’t know.” ~ The Prayer, Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli

It’s Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish New Year. It’s the Day of Atonement, the day when we fast and ask G-d for his forgiveness for any and all of our sins. All day we pray to be entered into the Book of Life, and when the sun sets, the gate on this opportunity closes until this same time next year, when we get to pray for forgiveness again.

This year, the High Holiday has fallen on a Saturday. I wake up and brew some coffee and then mix up a green shake. I tend to faint when I fast, and so it’s been a while since I have. And with my children all grown up, I no longer belong to a synagogue. And so these days I opt to spend the high holidays at hot yoga, where I’m always able to find something spiritual in the sweat. Today I shower and sign up for class and leave the house with my hair still wet.

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Rise

Rise

Come with me. Leave yesterday behind and take a giant step outside your mind.” ~ Take a Giant Step, The Monkees

It’s been a long day.

I arrive home from work and grab a quick bite and am about to go upstairs to my room in order to change into my yoga clothes for my evening practice.

But to leave the kitchen and get to the steps, I have to pass the most comfortable chair in the house. It’s big and soft and green, and it fits me perfectly. I often sit with my feet propped up on its matching hassock, or, more often, I sit sideways with my shoulders propped up on one side and my legs hanging over the other.

Needless to say, I don’t quite make it to the steps. I sit down in the chair instead and cover myself with a quilt, thinking I still have a few minutes to watch a little television.

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Loss

Loss

“Limitless undying love, which shines around me like a million suns, it calls me, on and on, across the universe.” ~ Across the Universe, The Beatles

Last night at yoga we did a few stretches before we were called to the tops of our mats for the start of practice. Once there, the instructor asked us to set an intention.

I used to set an intention by making a wish, like a private prayer. But I’d struggle to come up with something quickly, and I couldn’t always get it done. So I started to simplify things, and now I just conjure up an image, usually one of someone I love, and then I wait to see what comes to mind.

Last night the image was my son, decked out for the swim portion of the New York City Triathlon. He was in his wet suit, wearing goggles and a bathing cap, mid-air in a feet-first jump into the Hudson River!

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Space

Space

“I’ll rise up, in spite of the ache. I’ll rise up, and I’ll do it a thousand times again.” ~ Rise Up, Andra Day

My daughter had a tragic loss that's left a gaping space. And so I’m spending time beside her, as she struggles to find her place.

In yoga, I hear so much about space. We’re supposed to make space, clear space and even hold space. When I first started practicing, I didn’t understand. But soon the practice grabbed a hold of me, and, like a key, it opened up a space inside. And it’s in this space where all my incremental shifts take place.

My daughter’s world has shifted. She’s lost her love. Without warning, the man who was always there was suddenly nowhere. And even though she knows he’s gone, she can’t help but try to find him. She searches for him and yearns for him and wants to talk to him.

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Bare Feet

Bare Feet

I’m trying to remember why I was afraid to be myself and let the covers fall away. ~ Naked, Avril Lavigne

I climb three flights of stairs to get to my yoga class.

And when I reach the top I am greeted by dozens of shoes. It’s warm outside and the landing is a maze of flip flops and sandals.

I stop and stare at the shoes. For some reason I am so happy to see them, as if I’ve been greeted by the people they fit! I don’t know why I feel this way. They belong to those in the class before mine, and I don’t even know whose they are! But here are their shoes, their spirits still in them, standing to greet me.

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Flying

Flying

Anne flies with instructor Jonathan Ewing (pants by www.vivashaktiyoga.com)

Fly by night, away from here. Change my life again. ~ Fly By Night, Rush

When I was little, my father used to fly me around on his feet.

He'd lay on his back and put his feet on my stomach and lift me into the air like Superman.

Other times, he’d lay on the floor and put up his knees. I’d climb on top and perch there, placing my feet in his hands, driving an imaginary car while I pressed into his palms with my right foot on the gas and my left one on the brakes.

Of course when my children were little I’d do this with them, too, only we’d drive on top of the bed to accommodate the wild turns. In addition to their imaginary stops for donuts, they’d steer recklessly from atop my knees, flying overboard in all directions for wild and crazy landings softened by the mattress.

And now, after all these years, I am flying again! There is something called Acro yoga, and it’s just the flying game all over again for grownups.

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Imagination

Imagination

We are stardust, we are golden. We are billion years old carbon. And we got to get ourselves back to the garden.

~ Woodstock, Crosby, Stills & Nash

I’ve been looking at the sky since I was a little girl.

I look up when I leave the house in the morning, and I look up when I arrive home in the evening. All throughout the day, all I have to do is look out the window. Our offices occupy the top floor of a building, so I get to work right in the sky!

Really, if it were possible to keep my eyes open, I’d watch the stars all night.

There is some kind of tie between yoga and the heavens. It’s taken me a while to figure this out, but for me there seems to be a connection between the practice and what’s going on up there. This seems to be what grounds me.

If I try to put this into words, I’d say the sky is limitless, and when I move on the mat, I feel limitless, too.

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Bareness

Bareness

Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities. Forget about your worries and your strife. ~ The Bare Necessities, The Jungle Book

I usually get up and get dressed every morning, except for Saturdays. On Saturday mornings, I get up and get undressed.

This is the morning of my hot yoga practice, and it’s a bare one. The room is fairly bare. There’s a big Om on the wall, but that’s all. I am almost bare, my pants are cropped and so is my top. Even the instructor’s mat is bare. It lies empty while he teaches from all corners of the room.

It’s just too hot for any sort of cover. One step into the room, and the heat has already stripped away whatever I may have on. By the time I unroll my mat, I’ve no choice but to be there bare.

On this particular Saturday, it is overcast and quiet and, somehow, at just one day past Halloween, it is already a true November. There’s a chill in the air and the wind is blowing, baring the trees of their leaves that have only recently begun to change. At this early hour, downtown has yet to be dressed, too, and I easily find parking in the empty streets.

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Blessings

Blessings

I'll say a little prayer for you. Forever, forever, you'll stay in my heart. ~ I'll Say A Prayer For You, Aretha Franklin

I have a buddha in a bubble!

My children surprised me with a snow globe that houses a golden Buddha, seated in a peaceful womb of gold and glittering with sparkles that alight on his shoulders, his head, his hands, his lap and his feet.

Every morning, I shake my buddha!

And I watch as my vanity lights illuminate the sparkles as they glisten and swirl in a dance to start the day.

At the closing of one of my very first yoga practices, I sat for the first time with my hands in prayer while the instructor said a few words.

He instructed us to exhale what we no longer needed and to inhale some goodness into its place. After the practice, I was so hypnotized, I would have followed any instruction, and this seemed easy enough. I was surprised how visual it was for me, and I exhaled what I imagined as the color gray, and I inhaled what I imagined as the color white.

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Step Up

Step Up

I just take one step closer to you. And even when I've fallen down, my heart says follow through. ~ One Step Closer, Michael Franti

Step to the top of your mats.

This is what the instructor says at the beginning of most every yoga class.

I hear this so much that it’s automatic to simply step to the top when I’m told. I can be finishing a conversation, coming up from a seat or coming down from a stretch. It doesn’t matter. Everything stops, my mind clears, and I step to the top.

But last week, I heard something else.

Step to the top of your mats, the instructor announced. 

And when I did so, my mind, on its own accord, suddenly responded in silence, Reporting for duty!

I’ve never really had a thought surprise me. I usually know what I’m thinking about. But, that day, this response was as automatic as my step to the top. And even though no one could hear my mind speak out, everyone else reported for duty, too.

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Stillness

Stillness

How can I possibly be inconspicuous when my flow is so ridiculous? ~ I’ll Be Around, Cee-lo Green

I was at an evening yoga class with a guest instructor who arrived with a great big welcome, his greeting warming the room, and his smile inviting many in return.

This is a Level Two class, he announced. So, what would you like to work on?

With each answer, he jokingly upped the ante, saying, Oh, hips? That’s a 3.23 class!. Inversions? That’s a 5.67 class! Backbends? That’s a 10.789 class!

He asked us what we wanted and got us laughing when we answered, promising us a high energy class and lifting us with that of his own before landing the room in a quiet meditation with a poem and a chant. 

I was happy to be there, sitting next to a friend who was leaving town and among others I knew as well. I felt cozy as evening fell outside the windows, darkening the room in a stillness filled with the rhythmic voice of the instructor.

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False Starts

False Starts

ometimes we only think we know where we should be.

The other night, for whatever reason, I was not supposed to be at yoga. I don’t know why, and I never will, but I was not supposed to be there.

That’s not to say I didn’t try. Believe me, I did!

In yoga, we’re told to trust the process. I’ve heard this saying lots of times, but it’s only recently that I’ve begun to understand its meaning. I think it means that we are exactly where we are supposed to be at the time we are there, even if we think we should be elsewhere.

And the other night I got the chance to trust this process.

For whatever reason, my best efforts to get to yoga landed me right back where I started. I don’t know why, and I never will; but, in the end, I think I have to trust that I was just not supposed to be there.

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Certainty

Certainty

Sometimes you just know what you know.

I’ve always had a bit of a sixth sense, but that doesn’t mean I can see the future or always pave what I think might be a good path. 

This heightened intuition is a knowing that is difficult to describe. The best I can do is to say that if a truth could be touched, it would feel like this. This might sound vague, but the feeling is anything but.

When I am practicing yoga, I can experience a sensation similar to this sixth sense. In a pose or after a practice, a calmness comes at me, and I feel centered and light and surprised. 

It is like the feeling I get when an old favorite song comes on the radio: Oh, I know this!

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Crown

Crown

Something's going on in my head!

I have to admit that what I like best about yoga is the workout. Each and every time, though, I am surprised by the after effects.

There is something spiritual about each practice. No matter the studio, no matter the instructor, no matter the style.

I’m not always conscious of how the practice touches my spirit; instead, I just know that I feel different afterwards.

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Validation

Validation

It's not always easy to tell the truth.

You can’t find the truth anywhere but in yourself.

These were the instructor’s words as we lay in pigeon pose the other night in yoga.

You can’t find it in a book, you can’t find it in your teacher, you can’t find it in anybody else.

I must admit his words brought me up short. If the truth is inside of me, then I want to know where exactly!

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Fear

Fear

I'm hoping the third time's a charm.

I hit my head at yoga. Then, I did it again and, shortly thereafter, once more.

These three hits happened accidentally on purpose as part of my efforts to drop into a backbend from standing.

It’s scary, but I am not ready to stop. I console myself with the thought that hitting one’s head is supposed to happen in three’s so, hopefully, I’ve also hit my quota.

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Seeing Stars

Seeing Stars

I've been seeing stars at yoga.

As soon as you see the floor, put your hands down!

The instructor is standing in front of me, holding my hips. My hands are in prayer at my heart.

The plan is for me to bend backwards and look for the floor, tilting over and saving myself last minute with my hands.

I think most people can probably identify a time when they’ve had to save themselves last minute. Such challenges can just be part of life, the part where you learn, the part where your head spins and you see stars.

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