sweet darkness

this morning i took a yoga class. i brought my new "thirsty" mat--part of my christmas spoils--to a not-yet-explored studio.

yoga reminds me of church. you walk into the building, and you can feel a sense of belonging along with a longing to belong. it is often a room full of women chatting quietly, asking about children, pets, injuries, relationships. veterans and newcomers are clearly distinguishable.

the mats were crammed into the u-shaped room. it was possible to sit in the same room and not be able to see three quarters of the people sharing the same space. the teacher roved freely, stepping on and across mats, encouraging people by name. she could have said, "good job margaret, very nice tara" and few people would have known whether there actually was a tara or a margaret in the room. but the personal touch was enticing--you want her to learn your name and pair it with praise for your mermaid, your camel, or your pigeon pose.

"smile in downward dog", she suggested, "it's aesthetically pleasing". the room erupted in unstifleable laughter and snorts. i couldn't muster one: chortles of approval are not my forte.

"do not identify with your tight hamstrings. you are not your tight hamstrings". what a relief.

the philosophy of self-acceptance in yoga still surprises me. in a standing split, i remembered ballet: the contrasting black swan to the sunny freedom flight of yoga. self-love is alien in that world of stiff tulle, bloody toes, and forced frontiers. i know because i marinated in it for a good ten years. in yoga, i am still surprised to be told not to push myself, to lower my leg, to relax my face, to let go. i might have better harnessed my mind/body connection as a dancer had someone reminded me to breathe.

"send the breath to the place that hurts"

this is like chasing a drop of oil in a pan of water. when you summon the breath like a legion of mercenaries, the pain will split into two, multiply and be fruitful. it will vacate the space visited by the breath, only to dilate in another part of the body. in essence, you are chasing pain with the breath. and each time you catch it before it retreats, the mind meets a new sensation.

meeting the pain or discomfort is empowering.

left to float undetected in the body, pain is like an intruder hiding in a dark house, waiting to strike before you flip on the lights. yoga is like tearing back the shower curtain to see what lurks behind. and often, it's nothing more than the mind's expectation of danger, aka fear. i could actually see the pain as i sent my breath to alleviate it. it looked like a bright yellow comic word balloon. the edges were jagged, sometimes they glowed red or orange. then it was like an amoeba the size of my hand.

our yogic tour guide had an air of cool indifference. her posture, instructive tone and arbitrary laughter at things unfunny suggested how little she gave a shit about what anybody thought. i am not your friend. i am your teacher. i will leave you in an excruciating position for thirty more breaths and lose count along the way. got it.

her toenails were a dusty pinot noir. her forename is spiked with an apostraphe, suggesting that she is "of" or "from" a land called ana. i imagine she was visiting for the day, from a narnia-like place, tolerating mortals for a living. she put me out to pasture for three minutes at the end of class (my favorite position, the death pose, shavasana) before dinging her sacred bell three times. each ding grappled with my overwhelming urge to take a very long nap.

she seemed to appear and disappear in different corners of the room. post shavasana, she was at my ten o'clock, perched in the corner and consuming minimal space. it was time for a poem. it came from a collection called "house of belonging" by david whyte. title and flesh as follows:


Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

~ David Whyte ~