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.