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Yes man, I see you. While I have my downstairs dog from the pedal, you are there, framed between my vibrating forearm and torso, and perfect off-cue.
The rest of us works through a late class flow, but not you. No, no, this Is handstand time. In fact, this whole hour has been handstand time. It is not the first class that something like that happened. In fact, we have slowly viewed your evolution over weeks – moving from modest, participating yogi to Muurhold revolutionary.
I am not entirely sure how or why you have become vertically radicalized, but I know one thing: it is distracting. I have a hard time finding my balance, but now I miss movements and off-color growling from the corner of the studio in your off-rhythm. Not today, guy. I just can’t.
Yoga class is a team effort – the breath connected, movement in common. If I miss a step, I look at my right or links for guidance, pleasantly pushed back into the yoga -slip stream. There is a penetrating calmness in this support system, something I started to trust to get me out of the gym and in my weekly lessons.
However, while you turn this holy space into a personal crossfit -sports school, my left eye pulls and my blood is starting to do weird, bubbling things. This is not where I should be – I know – but also not your legs, torso and general atmosphere. Let’s call it.
I fold in and close my eyes through a last Savasana. Finally the good things. I enjoy the silence, which proposes the Handstand Hero’s sudden slip and on -pardonic reversal from Grace. A great peace overwhelmes me when I propose a calf proposal, a full-sided cramp. Is this my daily zen? The last Namaste Echoot through the room and neighbors begin to roll mats. I hold out a little longer and postpone any form of contact after the class. When I finally open my eyes, I look back: an empty corner and the peace that I would look for all the time.
#series #backofclass #illuminated #distracting