I’m not one for crying at weddings. But I almost cried at this one. The wedding of an old work colleague, more recently friend, most recently a yoga student. She is, in fact, one of my oldest students, allowing me to practise teach her immediately post TT graduation, until the arrangement solidified into something more ‘professional’ — that being a euphemism for the fact that we reached a point where she felt she couldn’t take what I offered for free any longer. So to some degree she’s the reason I continue to teach. She asked; and I had been taught that if you’re asked to teach, if people need what you can offer, then you’re kind of obligated to try to meet that need. And everything I now do grew from that.
She looked radiant as she walked up the aisle on her father’s arm — and he looked full of paternal pride. In fact she looked radiant the whole day, not just the smile, there was some overall contentedness that she was exactly where she wanted to be surrounded by loved ones, that she was happily the centre of attention because truly she was special to this gathered company.
I could see all this, I’m sure everyone could. And as I watched how she moved through her day it reminded me of the privileged position I am in as I watch her move through her practice on the mat. Sometimes there too I see this luminous quality, other times I see uncertainty, reluctance, frustration, embarrassment, perhaps some tears. Teaching yoga is indeed a privilege. I hope I honour it always.
But today I’m just smiling as I reflect back on the wedding rituals, the well-wishing and hopes for the future, the public declaration of profound love and deep commitment, the joy and the celebration.
Life is rich.