When it comes to yoga, I’m a cranker, a churner, a go-hard-or-go-home-er. When I am led by my teacher, especially, I will hold onto my edges in a pose with my teeth and my toenails until I feel myself practically ripped apart.
When I practice alone, I can’t drive myself to quite that level of intensity, but my home practice is intense. And it has always been this way for me with yoga.
I could never get into restorative yoga, and any classes labeled “gentle” are, for me, like the “pills that mother gives you, that don’t do anything at all.” I want my yoga to take me down that rabbit hole; to change my experience, to put me in an altered state, to make me high. That’s why I do it.
But today I pre-heated the yoga room to the usual, cozy 75 degrees, put Yoganand’s Meditative Posture Flow on the IPod and chose to cruise rather than crank, to coast rather than churn, to be a homesteader rather than an edge-dweller, and for once, to take it easy rather than go full-on, full-out.
The wind blew hard and cold outside as I disregarded the instruction on the Ipod to go “right to the edge” in a pose.
And the space heater ticked comfortingly as I settled into savasana with my eye bag and blanket.
Before I let my mind drift into nothingness, I thought of my students, especially the ones who are much wiser than I am, who know better than I do, that there is such a tender sweetness in a stable home, far away from the edge.