translucency

January 14, 2013

translucent

yesterday in yoga as i reached my left arm skyward, like a sun thirsty bamboo stalk, i felt so jubilant i practically glowed fluorescent. stridently transitioning from pose to pose, with protractor attention to form and rumi-like rapture on our spirits, this was not your “i whip my hair back and forth” yoga flow i typically choose to frequent. gone were my dramatic, momentous, and the nominees for best swan dive in a 10am class are, types of sequences. i had to rely on inside power. quiet strength. being strong while staying still. 

pop

this was especially challenging because i was still coming off a 45 minute dance party/spin class with one of my best friends. i’ve never been kicked out of a bar for public intoxication, but there were moments in spin where i feared we were going to be asked to leave for public obnoxious-ness….hello kelly clarkson mashup? buy a girl a drink first. 

balloons

that shift from fireball energy on the bike to a more contemplative, slower pace on the mat was-is-always a challenge for me. if i’m going to slow down, i want to slow down clad in pajamas, with a beast by my side. even though i knew this class was going to be challenging as hell, that sicko within me, the 9 year old who was told she was lazy, started to battle self-imposed and even, delusional outside judgements of not being worthy enough to take the class; like i should be on a treadmonster or downing some other cardio junkie elixir. 

heart

but with forehead to the mat, and joseph’s commanding authority encouraging us to work the dualities: use the earth as our prop in chaturanga dandasana, work our breath for more balance, find a stranger to cure our loneliness; pose by pose i was shocked to feel my, at first, very high, guarded up, protected self, go translucent.

there i was anxieties and all: my unwashed hair and twitchy eye. my propensity to apologize for stuff that isn’t mine, and make everyone feel uncomfortable. my flakiness. my tendency to go radio silent and hide. my death wish to please. 

it felt comfortable. not tight for once. the perfect shade of insecurity for my skin tone.

feet

this is me, here i am, and i feel invincible.

thank you joseph. i love you brian. here’s to translucency. 

  • Your writing is so wonderful Katie, I doubt there's not a yoga journal out there that wouldn't be salivating over this little poetic post.
    xo Mary Jo

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