Something that yoga people often talk about is "beginner's mind," which refers to the idea that even when you are a teacher, or a seasoned practicioner, every time you come to your mat your practice has something new to offer you. Even when you think you know what you are getting into, even when you think, "This is old hat," or "This teacher isn't giving me what I need," (perhaps especially if your mind is telling you those things) it is a good time to step back from your ego and say, "This is a new experience." Every moment is a new experience. Even when you think you know what is going to happen, you don't.
Last night I attended a yoga class I don't usually go to, with a teacher I am not as familiar with. In the beginning of this class, I realized it was a Hatha class, not a Vinyasa or Flow, which is my preferred style of practice. (Hatha tends to be a more slow-paced class, suitable for beginners AND those who have been practicing for a while. More time is spent in each pose, without the use of a chaturanga dandasana flow to move between poses.) And with that realization a familiar annoyance crept up. The one where I thought, "I wanted a Vinyasa class, why didn't I pay more attention to the schedule?" Perhaps due to my rushing through the day, not really looking at what I was doing carefully? Ego-check number one.
The other annoyance that crept in was annoyance at the teacher, for not being my familiar teacher, for not saying the things I wished she would say (that which I am familiar with) and because she was standing at the back of class, where I could not see her, and naming the poses with their Sansrit names, not all of which are immediately recognizable to me...So I found myself in a beginner's mindset, not by choice, but forced there by circumstance. I had to look around class and few times and see what other people were doing, before moving into my version of the intended pose. Me! Who is a teacher! Who teaches her VERY OWN CLASS! Every single Saturday! (Ego! Ego! Ego!)
It's easy to fall into a mindset where we think we know all we need to know about our practice. In that mindset, practice becomes rote, we are just going through the motions, and this is no longer yoga. (Remember that yoga is the union between mind and body.)
In yoga we are striving (or maybe not striving, striving sounds like we are working too hard-) we are allowing ourselves the opportunity to listen to the body's own intuition, to the inner healer that resides within each of us. With every practice, every time we step onto our mat, we are given a unique opportunity to learn something about our Ego, and something about our True Self (Or higher self, the Ishavara Pranidhana we seek on our mats is the surrender to God/Higher Self/Source/Universe.) If we can open up that door in our heart space enough to be present, and listen for it. It is there. It whispers to us through the words of our teachers, as we close our eyes and focus our dristi, our gaze, to a centered point.
Something I did in this class to help myself along this journey was to say the words to myself, when I found my Ego being bothered that this teacher wasn't "doing things right."
"This teacher is good teacher. She, as every human, has something
to offer me. I allow myself this opportunity to learn from this person."
Before I knew it I was having an amazing release on my mat. Which is to say, I found myself crying in a pose. It was a simple pose, one that is not hard for me to do at all, but which I do not practice often. I moved into it with ease and then tears sprang to my eyes. They were tears of release, of working through something that is coming up for me in my life, not related to the practice itself, but actually inherently intertwined with it. This is the practice. To know thyself.
My intention that I had set for that practice was "Accept." I try to choose simple, one-word intentions, and usually go with the first word that pops into my head when I sit down on my mat in meditation before class, when I open my heart to listen to what it needs that day. What I found was a greater acceptance than I could have hoped for.
By the end of class I was crying once again in Savasana. The teacher came over to me and offered me some silent Reiki. Or at least I think she did. My eyes were covered, but I felt her presence, standing over me, holding her hands at my heart space, clearing the way for me to breathe more freely, to feel what I was feeling, to allow it to clear from my body, from my heart and from my soul. After class she came up to hug me and asked if I was doing okay. I told her simply that I was "going through some things" and hugged her gratefully.
"Work it out on the mat, girl, work it out on the mat," was her only response, which could not have been more perfect. She squeezed my shoulder and moved on to greet her next student.
Work it out on the mat, indeed.
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