On Top of a Yoga Mat
I think what I like about it is when I see Jessie close her eyes. I like how vulnerable she allows herself to be while her hands are pressed against each other, fingers spread, thumbs to heart. I like how she talks about being grounded and sturdy as she balances on one foot. It’s ironic that sometimes it’s when we’re on the verge of toppling over that we feel most at home, most upright. It’s at that moment that we know we are living, and we can feel that. There’s a comfort to the realness of it all. We send our thoughts down to our feet, planted firmly on the ground, and our bare toes tell us we’re going to stay tall. Jessie tells us this, while her eyes stay closed.
I had taken yoga before. I used to go to classes by myself in middle school when I felt they were needed, and I had always liked the serenity of them. They helped me leave my messy heap of life at the door. Each time I left, I would try to leave at least one thing in that pile, to try to lighten my load a little. And yoga did just that for me. It lightened my load. When summer ’16 rolled around, I resorted to sleeping on the beach and warm lazy nights as my load-lighteners. Yoga left my head. Yet I soon found myself wrestling with the workload of high-school, and playing red-rover with the new social scene. I had a core group of amazing friends, but I felt like my days were just a blurry canvas of homework and grades, stretched out across more of me than was comfortable.
Some friends and I decided to give it a whirl. None of them had ever taken classes before, but yoga has a little something for everyone. I wasn’t worried. I was more curious of what it would be like this time, to have my best friends breathing right along with me. I knew the serenity wouldn’t be changed, though. Company is comforting. So one Wednesday, a school night mind you, the five of us showed up at Laughing Elephant Yoga looking like confused, suburban, morning-jog-type moms. We dumped our messy pile of life at the door and found our way to the candle lit room. The walls were draped in Christmas lights and the speakers played zen music… instant load-lighteners. As we were setting up our mats and the classic foam blocks, I knew that each one of our heads were open to this new idea of self-care. We were excited to all get what we could from this new world we were entering. We were excited to be alone, together.
I couldn’t tell you half of the words said over the course of the class, let alone how to pronounce them. It was a new language… A varsity version of every measly “Warrior One” I had known. Very soon into the class my friends and I figured out the most flexible of us all, the loudest breather, the heaviest sweater. It was obvious which of the other, older women had been coming every week. A whole lot of them had tattoos placed on their shoulders, whether it be a chinese character or an intricate design. There was even some pink hair. But as I lay there thinking about the stories and smiles and lives of all these different women under one roof, I knew we were all one and the same. We were all trying to find ourselves. We all were just experimenting with stripping away layers of skin and seeing how many it took to reach our center. To be able to touch it.
The purpose of yoga is to achieve a higher state of being and to train your body and mind to self-observe. To acknowledge what you feel and what your mind and body tell you, but then mold that into something that will push you to be taller and brighter. The beauty of the practice is its fluidity. Yoga is open for anyone and everyone, no matter the body size, body shape, physical capability, mental illness, age, gender, or race. We are all just trying to pull layers of skin away, to touch our center. We are all trying to feel the floor underneath us. The same floor. And at the end of the day, we are all trying to ground our minds and bodies. To stable ourselves using whatever hands are reached out in our direction.
Yoga has been a big hand for me. I am not the strongest when I walk in that candle lit room, nor am I the most experienced in any way. I am but a searcher among other searchers. I am a friend among other friends. Every single person in that room has their own strengths and weaknesses, successes and struggles, and smiles and tears. Yet for ninety minutes, we inhale together and exhale together. Palms together, fingers spread, thumbs to heart.
