My husband and I went to Jesse's 6am class. Saturday insanity. When the alarm went off at 5:30, I briefly thought about shutting it off and going to the 3pm class instead, but I knew I'd a) feel amazing after class; b) be so glad to have my star on the chart and yoga done for the day; and c) run the risk of crazy Saturday life in this house throwing me off schedule if I procrastinated. So I got up and got going.
Jesse's a fabulous teacher. He really knows his yoga; he continues to take advanced classes in yoga physiology and is great at making that knowledge accessible to students. He insists on proper setup, and takes the time to explain exactly why. I've learned from every teacher, but Jesse combines depth of knowledge with humor and ease. Very excellent.
Oh, and I met Dana in person today. Hi, Dana! Thanks for reading!
It's always nice to have company in class, and Patrick felt like he had some breakthroughs in class. I was glad, because I had one, too.
I'm coming to terms with this 48-year-old body of mine. I accept and even love a lot of it, but I have still struggled with how much I don't love my stomach. I've heard yoga teachers talk about how different asanas release various emotions, and how people literally carry around stress and tension in different areas. I've wondered why certain postures--Camel and Rabbit--make me so uncomfortable.
Today during the floor series, I had a flash of inspiration. I'm carrying something (or somethings) in my midsection, something emotional, and the extra weight is cushioning that mysterious thing. Insulating it, protecting it. The image of a dung beetle, laboring along with that big ball of stuff, came into my mind.
I don't know what it is I'm carrying around, but I'm going to focus on releasing it. I have a feeling that if I am successful, the weight in that area will follow. From now on, I'm embracing Camel and how hard it is; I'm welcoming the panic I feel in Rabbit. I'll breathe and let it pass through me and be grateful for the signal that it is. We'll see what happens.