I am a Vinyasa gal. I love the flowing movements of salutations and the fluidity in transitioning from one pose to the next. It is my dance.
To reach up towards the skies and ask for grace,
bowing in prayer as my hands drop to surrender,
offering my heart forward, opening to the infinite possibilities,
to jump into a steady chaturangga,
where my shoulder blades serve as wings as I hover above my mat,
rolling my toes to up dog,
the strength of my thighs lifting,
sinking my pelvis towards my mat as my neck stretches to the heavens above,
to roll my toes again,
my belly pushing up towards my spine, arching to lift me into down dog,
five breaths allowing my muscles to relax and contract, pushing forward, pressing back,
lightly hopping back to the top,
my toes digging into the earth, relishing the intake of prana with a smile,
folding in uttanasana to release,
surrendering my thoughts towards the ground, my belly comforted by my thighs,
and in an ever so expansive drawing in of inspiration,
offering my hands in prayer again to the One above,
relaxing my shoulders, to rest my hands on my heart,
a sweet release of breath to stand tall in samasthiti,
bringing awareness to the tingling sensations running in my whole body,
I come back to my centre…
Yup! Dance with me on this any friggin time.
But I have been missing a big chunk of my practice and teaching that I somehow dropped during the past years since my initial training. I allowed myself to get swayed with what others think they need. Without much second thoughts, I flowed with the words from others and jumped in to their in-thing. It wasn’t even difficult to do so – the art of blending is a natural thing for me when I choose to. And my heart became quiet in my practices and teachings. Sure we still go crazy in class… but the link to where it all began for me almost turned into rust.
I reclaimed my heart’s yearning and began practicing Ashtanga again. And true to any muscle left un-stretched, the rust builds up.
And while some may become frustrated or angered by how much the body has seem to have shifted to an unknown alien, I am full of giggles and laughters as I attend my Ashtanga classes. There is so much for my body to relearn again, and each class has been bringing me joy. The slow progression as my body enters into the full pose, contorting my torso, my legs, and even my feet…
And there may be folks who find these contortions unreal, Ashtanga only defies such notions. It’s a very clever and artful practice – one that lures you to contort, cunning in perceptions brainwashing you to think you can. It is wiled to its very core unleashing your sacred inner fire.
Leaving you with an old vid, showing you how Ashtanga is simply wiled.