Gaze is up. I heard my yoga instructor's gentle reminder each time I lowered and lifted myself through chaturanga, the breath driven transition between upside down and right side up. Still, my head hung like a bowling ball, my gaze fixed somewhere between my naval and my toes.
Transitions are never easy. The Jewish High Holidays are here, again, falling -- by design -- during that odd period of seasonal equinox. Those neither here nor there days, when light equals dark, when the waning sunshine outside beckons for last hurrahs and the un-airconditioned cool inside beckons for an early jump on hunkering down. My closet feels the tug-of-war between summer and winter as I place sandals and tank tops tantalizingly out of reach and bring boots and sweaters to the forefront. My outerwear, my inner thoughts, it seems, all coexist in an awkward alliance to carry me through from Point A to Point B.
Gaze is up. I was still contemplating my naval, no matter how many times she said it. Though it did not feel quite right, it felt safe. I could tell she was singling me out when she said it, but I ignored her, content to look down until I was ready not to. Yoga is about looking inward, not gazing up, dammit.
Yoga is also about letting all your thoughts go, which is something I have been unable to master in the almost twelve years since I embraced the practice. A reluctant convert, I became addicted to the idea of a mind/body connection, but have always struggled with the concept of leaving my stresses outside the door with my shoes. At least, while I am on the mat in the yoga studio, there is no CNN.
The quiet and contented camaraderie among yogis is a welcome diversion for me, particularly these days. And particularly on this day, Yom Kippur, when I cannot help but think back to, well, everything -- the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I cannot help but think ahead, hoping for a lot less of the bad and the ugly in the coming year, which doesn't seem too much to ask after a year in which the bar has been set pretty low for many of us. It's not that I don't recognize or appreciate the extent of my good fortune; I'm just a bit selfish.
Nice Lisa!!! Halfway through the class, I decided it was time to lift my gaze, and it was duly noted. I smiled at my yoga instructor, who encourages but never chastises, and I somehow drew my thoughts away from my naval. Fasting is not in my repertoire, but penitence is; I will give up non-stop election coverage for a day. And I will contemplate how we all got from there to here, and will think about how best to get from here to there, as we all coexist in a fragile and awkward alliance through breathtaking transitions.
Gaze is up. I was still contemplating my naval, no matter how many times she said it. Though it did not feel quite right, it felt safe. I could tell she was singling me out when she said it, but I ignored her, content to look down until I was ready not to. Yoga is about looking inward, not gazing up, dammit.
Yoga is also about letting all your thoughts go, which is something I have been unable to master in the almost twelve years since I embraced the practice. A reluctant convert, I became addicted to the idea of a mind/body connection, but have always struggled with the concept of leaving my stresses outside the door with my shoes. At least, while I am on the mat in the yoga studio, there is no CNN.
The quiet and contented camaraderie among yogis is a welcome diversion for me, particularly these days. And particularly on this day, Yom Kippur, when I cannot help but think back to, well, everything -- the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I cannot help but think ahead, hoping for a lot less of the bad and the ugly in the coming year, which doesn't seem too much to ask after a year in which the bar has been set pretty low for many of us. It's not that I don't recognize or appreciate the extent of my good fortune; I'm just a bit selfish.
Nice Lisa!!! Halfway through the class, I decided it was time to lift my gaze, and it was duly noted. I smiled at my yoga instructor, who encourages but never chastises, and I somehow drew my thoughts away from my naval. Fasting is not in my repertoire, but penitence is; I will give up non-stop election coverage for a day. And I will contemplate how we all got from there to here, and will think about how best to get from here to there, as we all coexist in a fragile and awkward alliance through breathtaking transitions.
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