The yogini to one side of me was having a tough time last night. Sobbing through class, tearing my heartstrings until I could almost not bear the proximity of her pain. It was in such stark contrast to my own feelings of exuberance and light curiosity that carried me through such physical exploration I would have thought impossible. How to reconcile my emotional lightness with her anguish?
It was another ‘advanced’ class. So joyful and energetic. So much beyond me on one level, and yet I did it anyway. Lots of playtime offered where I felt (mostly!) unfazed by the acrobatic inversions and balances going on at the front of the room as I worked away steadily with my modest crows at the back. I was pushing my limits of strength, breath, concentration and awareness. I was as ‘advanced’ as I could be and that was all that mattered.
I still feel like the child who’s been allowed to stay up late in these classes, in any yoga class perhaps. Not so much that I’m out of place or don’t deserve to be there, but still so much wonder at the new world I’m glimpsing and increasingly participating in. It’s maybe starting to feel strangely right for me.
And all the while the teacher encouraging awareness rather than accomplishment, honest change rather than striving for perfection. And no mention here of burning off Easter chocolate! It was pretty inspiring for me.
I was a happy, sweaty, wobbly mess.
And through this one person sobbed on. Until the final OM.