It happens every year: a few days of false spring, which itself gives me a weird feeling, followed by some snow, and by cold, though not frigid weather, which makes me feel really weird. It happened today, and I\’m feeling all at sixes and sevens, confused about what to wear (a thick sweater? layers?), confused about what to do (should I take the dogs out now, or later when it warms up…if it does?).
But now I\’m going to yoga, and everything will be o.k. I will spread out my mat, breathe out, breathe in, and feel my \”back body\” on the earth, as instructed. I will mindfully stretch my leg up to the ceiling. I will flex and point my foot. I won\’t think about anything except pointing and flexing my foot. I will hear the familiar Japanese flute music playing in the background.
Slowly, mindfully, we will progress to more active poses, some of which I enjoy (forward bends of any kind–I love laying my cheek on my outstretched leg) and some of which I enjoy less (cobra: my feet keep trying to fly apart). I\’ve been practicing these same moves for ten years, and somehow I, who get tired of things really fast, haven\’t gotten tired of them. There must be something to this yoga stuff after all.
Afterwards, I will drive home in the spring dusk, feeling settled and, ahem, centered somehow, as if I had listened to Bach for a long time.