First-ish class

I led my first "non-qualified developmental disability" class this afternoon. Five ladies from work were ready and willing to practice yoga in our work space/warehouse. 

E.A. loves to rock on her back whilst hugging her knees

V.B. wants to cultivate the balance to jump from rock to rock while crossing a creek during her upcoming  camping trip.

A.T. is naturally flexible, and open, and loves boat pose. 

N.R. did Adho Mukha Svanasana for the first time and wanted more. She also learned a little something about yoga and flatulence. 

A.L. was In Band in high school and taught the group a little something about breathing from the diaphragm.  

This is all great information, touch stones, and places from which to jump-off. I have to say that I am very excited about this after-work gig. Admittedly I was fairly nervous going into it. Logically I know that these are my friends and peers. They want it to go well too. But, there's that great old internal pressure that fools me into believing that although I have very little teaching experience, I'm supposed to be perfect n' more better. I find myself revisiting Kira's passing words, "desperate over-achiever." But once we settled in, it was all purdy good. 

I encouraged the ladies to simply notice the sensations, and feelings that arise while practicing. I'm fairly familiar with this practice myself and welcome the opportunity. But, I didn't anticipate the sensations and feelings that would occur while teaching. Wait, hold up here. There's more?? 

Afterwards I had kind of a'ha moment and realized my tendency to want to apologize for any difficulty that may be experienced during the practice. I discussed this later with Eric, which yielded lots'a insight. Although it's a little neurotic to want to make everyone OK in all circumstances, being able to speak-to someone's discomfort, effort, and experience is not. Perception is key. Although I may not have difficulty in a particular pose, I do have difficulty with o' so many things. Perhaps tapping into that kind understanding and softness is enough to meet that person where he/she is.  

Eric shared with me an experience he had in Stiff White Guys. He was in a posture that required a lot of effort on his part.  Although it was far from the most perfect rendering of the pose, he was at his maximum effort, concentration and allowing-for. Noticing and acknowledging this imperfect perfection, Kira said, "Beautiful Eric." Because it was. And he felt it way down deep.

That said, I realize that I had hoped today for just a sprinkling of that from mah ladies. I want them to carry even the smallest residual satisfaction from our practice. After we finished E.A. said, "I wanna do this all the time." N.R. said, "I feel ready to deal with my kid." This evening A.T. texted me saying, "Oh, my booty's sore, but it's good. I had a great time." Wonderful. 

Prana play yields lots of insight

My new favorite thing: standing in tadasana, playing with my prana. Ha! sounds a wee-bit filthy. I first did it this way a while back in Kira's class. A few 1/2 sun salutations to get the ju-ju going. A yummy chest opening with my hands reeeeeaching out to the sides and awayyyy from each other. Then gently, gently bringing them back towards each other in the tiniest of increments, playing with the energy "like taffy." In my minds eye it resembles a spiders web; seemingly delicate and diaphanous, but strong in its own right, and so present. I gently tug. It gently tugs back. I realize at this moment what I feel is a gentle bonding; literally and figuratively. And although I relish the experience, most times I practice this there's a feeling of disbelief. As if I don't really want to believe what it is. It's so tangible, it almost scares me. Hmmm, it actually that makes a lot of sense when I think about it. Especially today. 

I don't often go there these days, but today I felt an enormous desire to binge and barf (I hate the expression binge and purge. It's so someone else's words). I fought the impulse and allowed myself some time to practice. There was a tug-of-war going on because I really wanted to do both. So I reasoned, "If you still want to act up after some yoga, then you have permission."

A lot of the time, this kind of negotiation doesn't work. The impulse overrides. But not today. After a surprisingly enjoyable and fairly energetic practice, I didn't wanna act up. I still don't. Although I didn't totally dissect the depths of my stirred-up-ness, and why I wanted so badly to barf, I just noticed that I wasn't compelled to. Not right now. 

I realize that in some ways, it's that bonding, that connection that scares me. The connection to my pain? Perhaps. The connection to my power? Could be. Connection to something bigger? Probably. A connection to the quiet, soft, benevolent Care that happens when I allow myself to simply be? Yeah. 

I rode my bike down to the beach afterwards. It was 6:45 and I wanted to ride towards the sunset. As I peddled, I had a thought. "That wasn't exercise. It was food. This isn't exercise either." After all this time,  I'm still shaken to the core when that kind of truth comes in and rests. 

R.S. attends our day program. She's deaf. Because of this she's kinda kept from us, in a silent place of her own. I've noticed that I tend to shy away from her. Maybe it's because I don't know how to get to her. She writes most of her conversations to us on notebook pages. They're actually quite poetic, lovely, and fractured. But it's difficult when she wants to convey a straight-forward thought, or have a practical conversation. She's often frustrated because other's don't understand what she's trying to say. She's also surprisingly vocal and makes these inadvertent creaking noises that come rising-up from her wordless throat. 

I don't think she's had a lot of experience with yoga, but R.S. is a yogi. She's one of my favorite yogabelly-ers. Most of my peeps have short attention spans, and I try to work with that. I realize they like to be vocal in their yoga because it makes it fun for them. When encouraging them to inhale and exhale slowly and deeply, it's really difficult for them to do. But R.S. is different. Because she doesn't hear, her other senses are incredibly in-tune. 

It's amazing. If she can see me from her mat, her chest rises and falls with mine. She mirrors even the smallest movements. At times I'm made aware of a shift, or movement I've made because it's mirrored by her. Each breath, each posture, each focus. She also gets very quiet during these times. Her familiar creaks and moans become almost imperceptible. 

I feel so grateful to have had the opportunity to witness, and appreciate her abilities. Her "R.S. Ness." She relates-to and touches the world in such a different, sensuous way. 

Long time, no type

Oh, golly so much time has passed since my last post. I have to fight the urge to futilely cram it ALL in and simply write what's pertinent right now. An exercise requiring much restraint and letting go. Well, although it's begun to wain with the passing days, The Crib is still pertinent in my heart and mind, so I get to say a little somethin' somethin' about it. Fan-friggin-tastic!! I honestly don't know how to put it all into words, so I'll just ramble off some free-association thoughts: nourishment, friendship, community, connection, shooting stars, gratitude, abundant giving, amazing teachings, willing-to learning, dance, delicious movement, healing... I have to admit that on post-Crib Monday, I felt pretty lonely and opted  for an afternoon nap instead of a solo trip to the mat. 

About two months ago I started teaching yoga to the peeps at work. I work with developmentally disabled adults. Realizing the need for movement, connection with the body and general release, a fellow colleague of mine, who used to be a professional belly dancer, agreed to teach belly dancing if I lead yoga. So, we started Yogabelly.

Of all the thoughts, feelings, and experiences I've had during this new teaching time, the biggest lesson I am learning is to let go of any outcome or expectations. At first I noticed how difficult it was for me to veer from my lesson plans. Mostly because I'm insecure about being a "teacher" (and what that means), being able to hold the space, and wanting to do it "right." Up until a couple weeks ago ( just after the crib actually), I noticed an absence of this dis associative anxiety I was experiencing when leading Yogabelly. And as the weeks have progressed, I find myself much more OK with whatever happens. In every class M.G. is still M.G.: disruptive, attention seeking and challenging. But, when I am in a place of calm and receptivity, M.G. is yet another exciting piece of the practice; an opportunity, even.  

I've noticed that my peeps really like an opportunity to be vocal. I've weaved animal noises into the various asanas like cat dog, lion's breath, sighing, and letting go noises, I even taught them Kira's "wise guy," and encouraged them to speak with a mafioso accent. So, realizing that vocalization is an engaging part of our practice together, today I introduced OM. As we deeply inhaled for our third, glorious, centering round, D.O. inadvertently let out the loudest, longest, 5th-grade-funny, post-lunch flatulence this side of the mat. We were shaken out of our reverence and catapulted into total hysterics. I was reminded, yet again that I should never take it too seriously and that although I have my "serious" relationship with yoga, laughter and play can also be a part of it. It's all connected. It's all a part of the whole glorious, unpredictable catastrophe. I am reminded yet again of what a skilled teacher yoga is. 

Sunday Stiffies

It's weird to me now. Besides a workshop at last year's Yoga Crib, today was only the second time I've been to one of Kira's classes. I'm realizing that in this case the cart kinda came before the horse. After ten wonderful days of yoga submersion, and learning from my Den Mother, it's different to experience the everyday-ness of a Lulu class. Actually, this whole morning was a new experience in a seemingly familiar setting.

My boyfriend agreed to go to Stiff White Guys with me. Whew, getting him there felt like such a victory. We have very different relationships with our bodies, he and I. While we were sitting in the car just before going into class, he let me know how surprisingly fearful he was. His last experience with yoga left him pretty traumatized and oh' so aware of his limitations. While he easily lives in both his head and his heart, over the years his body has endured a lot of violence and is very locked-up. I was acutely reminded that the body has its own, undeniable language. I so wanted to be able to speak to it. Especially his. All I could offer were my eyes and hands to his, and a tiny reassurance that, "If it gets to be too much, we'll leave." Fuckin' props to him because he agreed to go, which required so much courage. Of course, Immediately after class I asked him how it was for him. "Great," he said, "I needed that."

Later we talked again about his experience: "I was thankful that the space was provided for people to be exactly where they are. I was glad to connect with my body and grateful for the opportunity to connect physically and spiritually. I felt like it was a beginning to healing."

This evening, he thanked me for taking him to yoga. Despite bringing tears to my egocentric eyes, his words speak volumes. He didn't say, "Thank you for taking me to yoga class." He said, "Thank you for taking me to yoga." At that point, it's so outside of me. It's all about his experience. It's all about pure being, and the teacher that yoga is.

Playtime

Today's class was so much fun! It really felt like playtime. In the past, I've mostly felt like back bends and handstands veer towards dangerous and scary territory. It's physical and SO emotional. Today however, had such a different quality. I felt such trust and comfort with whom (who?) ever I happened to pair up with. I knew I was safe. And when my partner and I did the scary things we didn't know we could do, we wanted more. Mmmm, I love that. Moving through the fear into fun. Into exploration. Into openness.

My thoughts these days are mostly around Lulu Time; that time when everything for me is turned up a notch. The colors run brighter, thoughts are clearer and comfortable, my body more tuned-into itself. And I carry that with me throughout the rest of the day. I WANT to remain connected and find myself doing so with other's in my life. I WANT to do the homework. I WANT to be engaged. I WANT to appreciate. Much of the time it feels like work. I have to push or remind myself appreciate and engage.

This also brings to mind the question Sara had about the woman with the obvious eating disorder. When she brought it up, I wanted to ask, "Is she new to yoga?" I guess this is because I figured if she was new, and if she was willing, the practice would eventually touch those deeply hungry parts of her. That was my experience. I had been to twelve-step and EDA meetings. Although I had benefited, could appreciate and intellectualize what was going on, it took really being in relationship with my body, with my breath, and with my whole being, to be fed. It's not that I had to make or will myself to start starving or stop vomiting; I simply didn't have to anymore.

It's Wednesday night. I know I shouldn't go here, but it's too late. I'm already getting sad that this experience is coming to an end. Whew, attachments abound, eh?

Belonging

I hadn't realized I'd let days pass since posting. So much to do in my "regular life", so much to experience in my "yoga life". Although I'm still working mah day job, I really feel as though I've been on a retreat with the yoga experience. I find myself resenting my job, which comforts and disturbs me. I am LOVING the time from 12:30-4:00 on weekdays and 1:00-5:00 on weekends. Loving the Lulu house, the trees that cast such lovely shadows on the walls, you amazing people/teachers... dare I say friends? I find myself at this time, marinating in thoughts around belonging. Part of me wonders if I've found myself veering down an unrelated, "not-yoga-enough" path, but that's where I've ended up.

Since hearing the unfortunate news that I would not be able to participate in the sweat lodge, a lot of my thoughts have been around "the Group". I've realized that I have a strong desire to be a part of something. To belong. For many, many years a voice in my head has told me that I don't belong; that I am not worthy. I have been a part of groups like ours in the past and unfortunately, that voice has weaseled its way into my head and clouded my experience. However, THIS time I am experiencing something wonderful and new. The voice is quieter and less obtrusive. I am able to see it as it is: old, noisy, un-useful. Really since day one, this has felt right and true. I feel like I deserve this. I am in the right place.

So, when I discovered that I wouldn't be able to participate in the sweat lodge, that mean fuckin' voice took its old place right beside me in the passenger seat. And I felt such sadness that I wouldn't be able to be with y'all for that experience; the preparation, the sweat, the feast afterwards, the community. I realize that feeling connected, fed, receptive, and belonging is just as important to me right now as the yoga training. I 'spose right now, I can't separate them. For now, they live in the same place.

That said, my thoughts and well wishes are with you ALL tonight. Ah'ho!