there's no crying in...well, sometimes there's crying

There’s no crying in yoga.  

Wait, no, that’s baseball.   I’ve seen plenty of people cry in yoga.  I’ve cried in yoga.  Actually, I cried in yoga today.

It came as a surprise, just a simple, spontaneous, child’s pose at the end of my savasana.  After a practice that felt pretty good.  But I had to face it – I’d been in a bona fide slump.  The slump is filled with self-doubt and anxiety.  It happens in occasional cycles, often following something I perceive as a personal failure or mistake.  The slump awakens my dormant inner naysayer, who chides me with criticisms of my performance and questions my self-worth.  It’s a mean, condescending voice.  It wants me to be small. 

Thankfully, there are other voices in the room.  The voice of my instructor reminds me gently to breathe, to be present, to acknowledge my thoughts and surrender them.  Her gentle adjustments guide my body to hold these intentions.  From here awakens the voice of my inner teacher, which is not linked to my success or failure.   I remember the passing nature of these sensations.  I recall the knowledge that all good things take time, that challenges are but stepping stones on the journey, that I make mistakes because I’m willing to try, and that being small does not serve my higher purpose.  It tells me I can offer the gift of grace to myself and others.

It’s just another way to practice yoga. In the past, I might have run from that discomfort, distracting myself with food, alcohol or some form of chatter.  I might have intensified the slump, thinking something was even more wrong with me for feeling this way.  But now - through practice - I can breathe into the tears, into that doubtful, grieving place and allow it to be.  When it passes, I am lighter.  For now, the voice of the slump is gone.

In its place is gratitude.

 You are very close to the Divine. The perfection you are seeking is as close as your breath.  It is only because we get caught in a state of dualism that we feel separate from that experience.  

-          Sri Shambhavananda, from Spontaneous Recognition

the littlest yogis

Children always seemed  like a mystery to me - at least since whenever it was that I stopped thinking of myself as a child.   I was both fascinated and slightly afraid of them, never quite sure how to react to their frank lines of questioning and contextually absent statements.

Then I had one of my own, and the universe of children began to unfold upon me.  And, as a dedicated yogi, I decided that yoga should be a part of this universe.  Somehow.

So I read books and took classes.  Baby yoga was fun, though I often found myself doing more nursing than yoga postures.  I decided to practice baby-feeding as a form of devotional yoga (consequently I learned this is in fact true of all motherhood's responsibilities).

As my baby girl turned into a toddler, we tried all kinds of yoga classes and videos.   These sessions usually included me being climbed on a lot, my daughter doing all kinds of cute and laughable things, and a very wiggly savasana.  Sometimes I wondered if she was learning any yoga, or if I was doing any yoga.  Our joint practice was distracted and silly, sometimes frustrating, and we never looked like the photos in our toddler yoga books.  But we were having fun and bonding together, so I kept it up.

I have taught yoga to preschoolers for nearly 3 years now, and it is as playful and fun as ever.  Young children take naturally to the postures of yoga, their bodies still relaxed and flexible.  Practicing with their beloved adults gives them valuable bonding time and gently accustoms them to the dynamics of a group class.  Yoga teaches them, little by little, to be aware of themselves within and without.  As they grow and learn to focus, their yoga practice will follow.  And in the midst of the silliness, there are always moments of bliss - there are all kinds of sweet cuddles, kisses and "I love you" moments that happen on the mat.

My now-5-year-old takes yoga for granted in her life.  The effects of her playful practice are evident in her lovely posture, her ability to focus in her kindergarten class, and her keen self-awareness.  She will leave half a cookie uneaten because she "doesn't want to get a tummy ache", and sometimes asks to leave a party because she feels she " needs to rest a little bit".   I can't guarantee these results for all children, or presume that my daughter will not still struggle with balance in her life as she grows up.  I can say, with confidence, that yoga makes a difference in a child's life, just as it does in yours.

Be well, and practice on.

Om Tat Sat (You are the Divine)