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.
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.
