Falling in Love

Quite unexpectedly and at the ripe old age of middle age, I find myself falling in love. This is no ordinary lover, however, not a lover at all. Alas, I have come to love my yoga teacher and like a school girl in spring feel giddy, hopeful, and beautiful when I am near her.

The Buddhists say that when the student is ready the teacher appears and that has been the case with me. On a lark, last summer I signed up for a three day retreat and have been hooked ever since. In three short days, my teacher brought me deeper into myself than I had ever been. Yes, I was ready for this journey having practiced for over 15 years with more or less devotion depending on my whims, time, energy. I knew where my tailbone was, could spread my toes wide on the ground, had access to my thoracic spine. I could hold a five minute head stand, a one minute hand stand, and press up into back bend after back bend.

Still, I knew very little about the yoga sutras, has a disdain for pranayama and meditation, practiced with so much striving for perfection as to cause myself harm - physical, emotional, spiritual.

My teacher helped me to loosen up, lighten up, be very curious about my own body and how it moves (and how it doesn't). She helped me to make friends with the pain, plunge into dark and wounded parts, touch ever so lightly the unknown.

I have more resolve in my own practice now, am able to get down onto my mat daily even when I don't want to because it is her voice that I long to hear in my head.

"Come with me," she says with resolve and tenderness, "You can do this. Stay present, curious, find yourself." And she is there week after week after week showing us the way.