mesmerizing micro movements

photo by Noah Preston

I used to have the most ridiculous misperception about yoga. That it was all about the poses and the gear. Of course I never believed that to be its purpose, but subconsciously I placed those expectations on myself. If I didn't have my own mat then could I be taken seriously? And if I can't do a pose perfectly doesn't that mean I am failing? I rushed from getting the proper tools to the end product - which is not to be confused with the end goal. Product and goal are two very different motivational factors. And I was on the wrong one.

I thought about yoga class almost all day today; it flowed in and out of my brain. Not that I don't enjoy my daily activities which include being surrounded by sometimes loud sometimes quiet teenagers with outstanding ideas but reality TV type drama and high school pressure.

Needless to say I was ready to get to my mat today. However, there was a moment after I got home, changed clothes, and was eating a banana on the couch that I thought to myself "I wouldn't mind just laying here becoming one with this plush couch snuggling with my dogs." But what about my meeting with my mat? *sigh*

30 minutes later I am placing my beat-up, faded blue Tom's into one of the white cubbies.

"Samantha right?" an instructor from the class that just ended guesses. "Right." I reply. Click. I have been checked into the class. Instructor two walks into the quaint entry way. Chatter proceeds as I take off my top layer, silent my phone and get some water. Instructor two is subbing today's class. She was our leader for Candlelight yoga last night.

Greetings and salutations.

Me: Great! You're subbing the class. I like you.

Her: laughter with gratitude

Me: I mean I don't not like anybody, I just really need last nights class.

Her: I'm glad you enjoyed the class. I love teaching the Tuesday night class.

Me: Yeah it was really different.

I silently judge myself: Who says things like that?

But two steps later across the tranquil grained wooden floors the criticism rolls off me. As if it just needed to bead up fully before gaining enough momentum to separate itself from me.

I stop in the general 2 foot radius of what is quickly becoming "my usual spot" and gently roll out my mat. My blocks, blanket, bolster, and strap I set to the left side, walk around to the front of the mat and step one foot at a time onto the fibers. My feet sink in as I push down with the force of my body before rolling onto my back. Knees bend slowly and my feet again seek a new place of foundation on the mat.

Allowing for my breath to slow down, I begin to consider what is it that made me crave my mat more today than any of the previous four - including one and two as those were the first days of a new adventure, and for an adrenaline junkie that is its own rush. But day 5 is of no significance. (Why? Who decided what points were special? Why must we chunk our time based on someone else's ideas of adequate measurements?) People shuffle in around me, conversation faintly sounding in the distance, and meditation music humming in the background.

Arms stretched wide, horizontally, palms up for "open heart" I know what I am seeking. I am seeking renewal. The mat becomes my mat the instant I pick it up from the stack of 20-or-so navy blue mats in the studio, and the following 75 minutes I share with it is a place unlike any other. Which is why the judgement rolled off. Because there is no place for it on my mat. My body refused to accept the self-deprecation. Otherwise it would have multiplied. Not here. Not in this place or on this mat.

Can you see the ripple? On the surface: insignificant. Above the surface: reflective. Ripples are our ability to introspectively examine ourselves; they are the micro movements of our legacy.