My teacher started class last night with a personal story. It was about wanting something, having it taken away, finding a way of accepting that — and then having it offered to you after all. It happened trivially, rather sweetly, to be about wanting a cake-trip to a favourite café. But it could have been about anything. In fact it was about everything, though he’s skilful enough not to labour the point. He never lectures; we draw our own conclusions.
The theme was carried through class as the teacher encouraged us to let go of the expectations of how our asana might look, to let go of the results of our physical efforts or perhaps of our practice overall. A subject close to my heart. The sort of stuff I find myself writing, noticing, wondering about. He called his cake episode ‘having a yoga moment’. And the class laughed.
Why did they laugh, I wondered.
And then I let it go.