I read somewhere, maybe five or six years ago, that not practicing yoga is just as much a part of the practice as practicing. I thought the person was making excuses for not being consistent. That was certainly not MY deal.
In 1994, I took my first Yoga class at Oregon State University. For the first time in I really-couldn’t-remember-when, I felt as if I were IN my body. I mean IN my body… not in my head, but solidly, peacefully, in my body~ radiating the pure goodness that’s in all of us. Of course, I was hooked!
I practiced diligently for many years which led me to meditation and the study of what was behind Yoga. I became certified to teach yoga in 2003 through Kripalu. I taught and practiced consistently, deepening and softening through the years. Even into my pregnancy, my Yoga and meditation practice was my touchstone.
Then my daughter was born. Like a tsunami, Clara washed into my world and left nothing but she and I clinging to the bare shoreline. As a new, first-time Mother, I was immersed in her and the absolute truth of bearing a child and loving someone with a fierceness that is frightening. My formal practice became fractured and infrequent. It was more often the case that I was working with my ability to stay present and bear witness to her, and our life together as a family.
But, oh, the goodness of formal practice. The sweetness of stepping onto the mat now that she is a bit older and I am not quite so exhausted. The absolute gratitude and gentleness I feel toward myself, breathing my body, feeling every minute adjustment and every little bit my body allows and opens into a pose. With full trust. Like a baby asleep on her Mother’s shoulder.
The being away from the mat has, in many ways, matured my practice in a way that I can barely comprehend. But here I am, back to the diligence of my practice. So I bow my head to the wisdom of whomever it was that fortold my future years ago and gave me permission to step off the mat for a time.
