There is power in the poses. Beauty in the binds. Magic on the mat. The energy changes with each class. Sometimes it is there, sometimes it isn’t. Some days you struggle with something seemingly simple, while other days you are able to bend in half and fold in on yourself. You feel fierce and flexible, beautiful from the inside out. And you realize that energy you sense isn’t in the studio, it’s in you.
All you can see is your yoga instructor squatting in front of you, a bemused look on her face. Only she’s upside down because, hello, you are standing on your head. So, really, she’s not upside down: you are. This realization, instead of freaking you out and making you lose balance, grounds you even more in the this exact moment.
From your position, blood rushing to your head, all you can do is laugh and tell her to stop because you’re about ready to cry.
She says she’s not doing anything, and she’s not. She’s just watching. With a look, a smile, that suggests she thinks you’ve been holding out on her. As though you do this in secret, like in all of those movies where the young protege practices on their own, just waiting for the chance to show up and wow their mentor.
Fact is, I hadn’t had the chance to try in two weeks. Jessica was gone last week and we had a sub and while she was good, Ashtanga isn’t her primary practice so some poses were skipped over, including the supported headstand. Maybe it was because I hadn’t practiced the full primary Ashtanga series in two week, and, so, was excited and ready to take it to the mat, but body and soul aligned this morning and what was impossible three months ago was suddenly very, very possible. So well executed, done with such ease, it felt as though I’ve been doing it all along.
The phoenix has — literally and figuratively — risen.
Love from the ashes,