On the yoga mat, though, it's a different story all together.
When the asanas get tough, the yogi keeps breathing.
Many years ago, when I was new to yoga, I bent my body into beautiful, strong postures...and that was it. All that there was to my practice.
Class was about ego. I channeled my willpower into mastering alignment. Pushing to the most advanced variation. Holding things longer than I should.
It felt good, being so accomplished. Getting praise. Compliments.
Before I started teacher training, I met up with a new acquaintance at Acropolis, a little Greek restaurant in Ybor City. We sat outside at a little café table, steaming bread, kebabs and orzo in front of us. Waitresses dancing Zorba's Dance around us. Napkins fluttering down through the air.
I told her I was drawn to yoga, that I was planning to become a teacher. She looked up, her eyes looking right into mine, and said, "I'm one too."
"You are!?" I exclaimed, taking in her calm, light aura and thinking, awed, "Of course she is."
"What's it like? What's it...about?"
"The breath," she replied.
And that was it. Her entire answer.
Breath. Prana. Life force. The heart and soul of yoga.
Missing from my practice.
I looked like a yogi. A good yogi. But I hadn't even begun. Couldn't even accomplish the most fundamental piece. Embarrassment crept up from my feet and flushed my face. I felt uncertain. Regretful. Empty.
There was only one thing to do: Start breathing.
It was hard. Prana is subtle, internal. It does not get us any attention. Compliments. Praise. Envious looks for talent or a job well done.
It is...ego-less. Motionless. And the benefits seem...impossibly simple to our complex and doing-driven bodies and minds.
But there are benefits. And it does change things. It quiets the mind. Gives us a refuge. what it offers is far more valuable than applause – or anything external.
Sooner or later, prana becomes a place to go. In a store, restaurant or with or without whenever asana is available. Prana becomes home.
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