A Thank You for Iyengar

My morning routine pauses when I see the news headline: Yoga guru dies at 95.

Suddenly, the rush to get ready - to fold the laundry, text my friends, check facebook while putting on lipstick and blow drying my hair – disappears. The internal time clock to do!do!do! turns off.

The news of B.K.S. Iyengar’s passing brings me into the present. I become aware of my breath, of the soft song of birds, of my beating heart. I feel a deep well of gratitude for this man, this wise yogi whose inclusive approach to yoga opened the practice to anyone, not just the physically fit. His passion for sharing his teachings with others and the West made yoga accessible and soon widely popular in the US.

And somehow, his teachings rippled out to reach me: a scrawny, brace-faced, fifteen-year-old growing up in the Bluegrass state who just happened upon a Wednesday teen yoga class.  

My first yoga instructor, a spirited young woman named Madeline taught Iyengar based classes: focus on alignment, incorporating the use of props, such as blocks and straps, to assist in safely moving into and experiencing a yoga pose. Under the kind guidance of Madeline my love for yoga flourished and her ego-less, playful manner of teaching is something I hope to emulate when I teach my classes.

My first yoga home was in an Iyengar styled class, and so, in this moment I thank him. This seed of gratitude begins with Iyengar and then begins to grow. This sense of gratitude expands and stretches like the limbs of a tree as I think of Madeline and all the yoga instructors I’ve had the opportunity to learn from during this yoga journey. 

I am in awe of this family yoga tree. I envision a thread made of breath, knowledge and inspiration connecting me and my yoga instructors to Iyengar and teachers before him, ancient yogis who understood and marveled at the power of the breath and the beauty and strength of the human body.

Yoga reminds me to simply be: to be in my body, to be with my breath, to experience the moment. It was the first lesson I learned when I launched into a gangly downdog and it’s a lesson I am reminded of as I read, process and sit with the news of B.K.S. Iyengar’s death: Be here and live happily.

Purpose and Play

 I’m returning to the magical playground of my childhood in Montreat, North Carolina. The time I spent there a week or so ago is still grounding and nurturing me through this current transition.

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I venture through misty mountain roads and journey down through dark, quiet woods. I follow the luring sound of a bubbling creek meandering through a playground paradise of swings, playhouses built in trees and swirly slides. This is my secret garden, a home of pastel-colored memories and imaginative play. The playground has not aged and it still enchants and fills me with awe.

I choose my old favorite swing and push toward the sky. My feet flying toward the peak of a mountain rising in the near distance. I soar up and ripple back into space. Coming home to self.

Once again, I am in the company of my younger self. The eleven-year-old comes to mind – the imaginative one who played and daydreamed. The playground brought me such peace and such inspiration for stories. I felt so safe and secure here, so very introverted and at home.

Standing on the edge of the creek, I exist in the present and the past. I’m seeking wisdom from my younger self.

As I embark on this transition from my present job to the next life step, I’m curious to ask and ponder on my passions and life loves. As a child, what did I dream of becoming? What did I do naturally and spontaneously that lit up my heart and brought joy?

The memories and answers emerge in a soft light. I read, imagined and acted out stories. I was pulled toward writing and acting. Storytelling held the appeal.

I know writers in love with words and grammar rules are coded in their DNA. For me, that’s not what resonates. It’s the story. A story that can find expression in words, the stage, or maybe even dance and a yoga mat.

I also recall just how quiet I use to be and how at heart I am a true introvert, one who loves to listen and feels utterly alive when I am alone in the comfort of books and music. I do love people. I love sparkling up and sharing time with them, maybe offering a listening ear, but this pseudo-extrovert appearance has fooled even me. I’m deeply introverted and I need to honor that core need for stillness and peace. 

These are small, but significant epiphanies I carry away as I leave the tall, kind trees and this precious space of childhood play. This trip to the past has not left me heavy with nostalgia. This playtime in the mountains has empowered me and I leave grounded and inspired by the wisdom of my younger self.

Now I ask you: What insight and wisdom can you gain from your younger self? How can you honor those answers in your present life?