Practice

My alarm clock, thinking it was 6:30, rang out a loud cock-a-doodle-doo at 5:30. I was already awake and so was merely annoyed by the sound rather than surprised into consciousness. Apparently I'm a morning person. This works for me. As I wrote earlier, I salute the sun before the sun peeks over Rock Canyon. That is to say, I practice yoga. Early. Daily. This week the consistent effort paid off in fewer creaks and groans, less strain, more fluid movement on and off the mat. I want to say this week brought on greater mental clarity, but I'm not sure I've paid my dues for that, yet. Here we go again, though. I have a date with the short primary series tomorrow, 6 AM.

I was up and at 'em at 5:40. The cats were swarming around my legs, so I fed them a few spoonfuls of mashed up meat products, brewed up a pot of coffee (yes, I'm back on the java), and sat down to read Mark Stephens' Teaching Yoga hoping for a few tidbits to pass on to the yogis who would show up for my 10 AM class. I had in mind a beginner who has been coming to class and pushing herself beyond her limits. I noticed the strain on her face and the vocalization behind her ujjayi breathing indicating too much effort, not enough ease. I could tell she took pride in toughness, would be willing to hurt herself to prove she was still young and able-bodied. Modifications are for sissies. I noticed this, but didn't find right action as a teacher. I did not create a way for her to "experience a sense of abundance in (her) practice while honoring what is not readily there for (her)." No shit! So it seems you have to practice at being a teacher, too. I made plans this morning, then, to teach a class for this one student. I would spend ample time at the beginning working with the breath. We'd start with a three-part belly breath, moving into a smooth, easy ujjayi. I would call attention to the signs of distressed breathing. I would cue the gentlest form of each asana and leave it to the more practiced yogis to extend themselves further. It would'a been perfect but for one thing: this student didn't come to class today. The universe has a sense of humor.

The best we can do in practice, in life, as a teacher, as a student, as a human being is just show up with who we are and what we got in the moment. As luck would have it, there's a niyama, a personal observance, in traditional yoga philosophy that covers this: santosa. I love how Stephens puts it, "we become humble and content in the modesty of how things are." Ha! "Santosa opens us to happiness with who we are and what we presently have." It was a good class, and in the words of Regina Spektor, "good is better than perfect." I most likely missed some signals from the class to slow things down or heat them up, but I did step back to witness a little more than I might have done had I stuck to my plan regardless of who showed up for class. I watched.  I stepped in to spot a backbend, allowing that person to feel more open. I caught a kick up to a headstand, gradually released support until the woman was balancing on her own. I wondered if the shaking in navasana was excessive. I don't know if I got that right, but it might be better that I wonder than believe I know. In the end, a long, sweet savasana, followed by the sound and vibration of an om, brought on a good end to an imperfect offering.  We call it yoga practice, but practice for what? My guess is that we practice to be human in the best sense of the word.