"Yoga is almost like music in a way; there's no end to it."
- Sting
Occasionally, yoga carries a Bob Marley beat. Other times it sings like a drift of sand. Most often, I feel simple rhythms of breath and body.
I've taken in three yin practices in the past two weeks. I'm smitten.
The first two were at Yoga Toes Studio in Point Reyes, CA. The teachers walked us through postures, all held for 2 to thee minutes. I felt heart beat and breath. I felt calm. Yogis in the room moved with ease and grace. They were - every one of them - older and practiced. The space was warm. The space was welcoming. I felt heart beat and breath - not just mine, but the collective beat of 15 hearts and breath of the entire room. I left each of those practices with a sense of calm that carried through the day.
The last one was at the Yoga Mat in Amarillo, TX. The teacher, who's name escapes me now, was a sub. She lead us through a gentle flow into a yin practice. A few sun salutations. A few moving asanas. Several long restorative poses. Savasana. The space, in a strip shopping center just off Civic Center Drive in Amarillo, is nothing special from the outside. Once inside, it's a small safe haven. Six yogis showed up. Six yogis moved in concert. Six yogis offered a steady beat of heart and breath. I left the practice with a renewed calm, after a day of non-stop stress.
I've long enjoyed a restorative practice. I tried my first year of daily practice to claim at least one day each week for restoration -gathering blocks and blankets, Bolsters and straps. I now plan to insist on at least two restorative classes each week, maybe three. It's essential, I think, to slow down and listen for the music, to absorb the beat, to speak and hear the sound of om.
If there is no end to yoga - and I hope that's true - I'll soak in its music till my last.