I practiced last night for the 3rd day in a row. I didn't eat enough yesterday..I was running out of steam about halfway through. It was a high octane practice—the first pose was handstands. Bunny hops, piking up, tripod into chaturanga…intense. I could feel my energy slipping away. It’s been a hard week for me, lots of anxiety. Worries about housing, path, work, relationships. People I love are suffering. Energy leaks. Jus before class I had looked at a piece of crap house. Beyond shitty. There was a dead pumpkin on the porch. I could almost see the keg in the back yard...the solo cups on the counter. The sad little stove stood by itself against an empty wall. Poor house.
I knew I needed that practice. Get out of my front brain. Pattabi Jois. Practice, all is coming.
We got to the wind down. Rebecca’s son Emmett (7) quietly walked into the studio, he’d been at jiu jitsu next door. He walked among the students touching hands, we were doing something where everyone had a hand stretched out, I don’t remember. Down on the floor in paschimottanasana, I stretched forward. Emmett and Rebecca came toward me. He put his little hand on my back..his mom telling him how to give an adjustment. He was barely touching me. My head suddenly peacefully sank right into my knees…I folded up like a blanket. I felt that feeling that we talk about. I broke through that layer. I was no longer breathing. I was being breathed.
Why we practice.