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.