Rise

“Come with me. Leave yesterday behind and take a giant step outside your mind.” ~ Take a Giant Step, The Monkees

It’s been a long day.

I arrive home from work and grab a quick bite and am about to go upstairs to my room in order to change into my yoga clothes for my evening practice.

But to leave the kitchen and get to the steps, I have to pass the most comfortable chair in the house. It’s big and soft and green, and it fits me perfectly. I often sit with my feet propped up on its matching hassock, or, more often, I sit sideways with my shoulders propped up on one side and my legs hanging over the other.

Needless to say, I don’t quite make it to the steps. I sit down in the chair instead and cover myself with a quilt, thinking I still have a few minutes to watch a little television.

I get good ideas when I sit in this chair, and, immediately, one comes to mind. I think what a good idea it would be to whip up some mashed potatoes! This dish has been my vice since I was a little girl, and, for all the healthy eating I do, I always keep a stash of instant mash in my cupboard. 

I return to the kitchen and pour some flakes into a bowl and then stir in some hot water, butter, salt and pepper and zap it all in the microwave. And then I carry it back to the green chair, where I settle back under the quilt and flip through some channels.

It’s going to be hard to leave for practice. With each bite, I think of all the reasons why I should stay home tonight. The practice is far. It’s dark and I’m tired. Besides, I don’t want to get back in the car.

But I have to admit that I’ve gone through all this before, and from past experience I know that staying home will feel good for about an hour, by which time I’ll be rested and wishing I’d made it to practice. In fact, by the time I’d be wishing that, I could already be at the studio and on my mat.

And so I rise from the chair, climb the steps, change my clothes and leave the house. The drive is never as bad as I think it will be. I turn on my music and talk on the phone, and, before I know it, I’m parked and at the studio.  

The instructor calls us to the tops of our mats for the start of the practice. Here we always start with some Sun A’s and then with some Sun B’s. It’s a gentle beginning that slowly builds heat, and I’m always glad for it, especially on nights like these, when it’s taken all I’ve got to get here.

Still tired, I pull myself through the Sun A’s, moving into a Low Plank, or Chaturanga, and then pulling myself through to an Upward Facing Dog and then pushing myself back to a Downward Facing Dog. And then I hold for five breaths. The music fills the room, and I do this again and again, until the flow gets easier, and my day falls away.

And then it’s on to the Sun B’s, where I take my first step forward into Warrior One.

“Rise with grace!” the instructor says.

I rise from my Downward Dog, stepping my right foot through my hands and lifting my torso up and pressing my palms overhead. And then I hold here for a few breaths before lowering back down and moving through another vinyasa.

I do this again and again, too, until we’re at the end of our Sun B’s, and that’s when it suddenly hits me that every step we take is another chance to rise with grace. All it takes is just one step forward, and that’s something we do all the time in yoga. In fact, that’s what keeps me coming back, because it takes faith to rise with grace, and that’s a practice in itself. 

I’ve come to believe that there is something Divine in any kind of forward motion. For me, every step forward leaves a footprint of faith, and this is especially true of those I take when I’m not sure where I’m headed but choose to step forward, anyway. 

And even the small ones count. These steps don’t always have to be big ones into Warrior One. Getting up from the green chair counts. So does practicing on too many mashed potatoes. Anything counts as long as I’m taking the next step, which for me can sometimes be as simple as getting a good night’s sleep or having something nourishing to eat.

At one point, the next step for me was practicing with an instructor who was a young man of very deep faith. He taught power yoga in the heat, and his faith was so much a part of him that his instruction would take us to church. We’d flow through our Sun A’s and then into our Sun B’s, where we’d take our first steps forward into Warrior One. I’d rise from my Downward Dog and step my right foot through my hands, lifting my torso up and pressing my palms overhead.

Religiously moving us through the flows without even a mention of religion, this instructor instilled in us the value of faith and even told us his secret to rising with grace.

“Every day I wake up and put my feet over the edge of the bed,” he said. “And then I put all ten toes down on the floor.”

I’m a pretty visual person, and his words painted an immediate picture in my head. I could actually see his feet touching down on the ground in a conscious effort to step forward into his day. And this hopeful image has stayed with me, and I’ve actually conjured it at times when I’ve found myself headed toward destinations unknown. 

I had no idea where I was headed when I first signed up for yoga. Back then, it had been a long time since I had signed up for anything, and my faith had long since faltered. But I had decided it was time to exercise and get fit.

As soon as I started practicing, something hooked me. And so I kept coming back, because I wanted more of whatever that was. At the time, I didn’t know that I was practicing my faith and learning how to rise with grace. All I knew was that practicing made me feel as if I were on my way somewhere, and it got me out of my green chair.

And now several years later I’m still at it. And just the other day I was on my mat at the same place where I had signed up for that first class. Earlier that morning, in a déjà vu of sorts, I found myself cozy in the green chair with a cup of coffee, contemplating whether or not to practice. 

With each sip, I thought of all the reasons why I should stay home. It was early. I was tired. I could practice later. But having gone through this sort of thing before, I knew that soon I’d be rested and missing practice, and so I rose from the chair, climbed the steps, changed my clothes and left the house.

This studio is close by and in minutes I’m there. I roll out my mat and faithfully walk from its front to its back. And then I pace up and down a bit like that, because what’s a few more footprints of faith on my mat? And then the instructor walks in and turns on the music and calls us to attention. 

Here we don’t always start with the Sun A’s and Sun B’s, but ultimately we always step forward into Warrior One. I rise from my Downward Dog and step my right foot through my hands, lifting my torso up and pressing my palms overhead. We do this now and again and move in a flow that only the instructor knows, and by the end I’ve taken lots of steps with all my ten toes. 

And after, when we lie back to rest, the instructor has a little something to say about all of our steps. He says that when we step forward, we don’t always know what we’ll get, and that sometimes we’ll get what we don’t expect.

“We come to yoga because of something we want,” he says, “but the practice gives us what we need.”

I guess that means I’ve needed some faith. And maybe it’s working, because when I get up, I rise with grace.

Anne is the author of Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook.and Twitter.

Goodness

 Baby Jordyn

“In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep from the mountains of faith to a river so deep.” ~ River of Dreams, Billy Joel

I’ve had so much energy these days that I don’t know what to do with myself.

And so I’m doing what I know to do when I don’t know what to do. I’m practicing lots of yoga.

Each night I’m on my mat, trying to expend the energy that I’ve captured in my body. It’s not that I’m not happy to have it; it’s just that it needs someplace to go. Who knows how it got there, but I think it happens while I’m sleeping. I seem to wake up with it, sometimes even in the middle of the night!

“I’m here because I need to melt,” I tell the instructor. It’s as good an explanation as any, and I ready myself to practice in 100 degree heat.

I change into my yoga clothes and open the door to the practice room. Rolling out my mat, I look down at my outfit. My top doesn’t really match my bottom, but I don’t care because the fabrics feel good, and I know that makes for a good practice. It also makes for a good memory. I think back to when my son dressed himself for nursery school. He arrived for class one day with stripes going this and that way.

His teacher was gracious. “I see someone dressed himself today!” she had said while nodding her head.

I still don’t know how all this energy found its way inside of me, but I do know that it didn’t happen overnight. In fact, I think it’s been building for a while. The instructor puts us in Down Dog, and I am glad for this pose, because it sends my energy in three different directions. We have to press down into our feet and also press down into our hands, and then we have to hike up our hips. 

There was a time when I had no energy at all. Back then it was everything I could do in order to do everything I needed to do. It was a time when I lost my spirit, when I couldn’t imagine ever finding it again. This doesn’t make for a good memory, but I still think it’s good to remember. It makes me even more grateful for where I am now and for the abundance of energy that’s been gifted to me.

The instructor takes us through a bunch of Sun A’s and Sun B’s, and I move through them seamlessly. And later I take him up on his offer for deeper expressions, because my energy still needs more places to go. And so I stand on my hands and on my forearms, too, and I also balance in Side Crow.

I say that my energy’s been gifted to me, because it truly feels as if it’s been bestowed. These days I’m especially aware of all the blessings surrounding me, and there seem to be so many! And since I’m someone who processes things visually, what I picture is a river of goodness flowing down through me.

I don’t know how this came to be. It’s not as if it’s been smooth sailing. This year, personally, there’s been such great loss, and our days are still sprinkled with tears. And on a global scale for a long time now, and especially more recently, the world seems sprinkled with fears.    

At work, our CEO spoke about the gift of energy and asked us to put ours to good use. The office had just sat down to its early Thanksgiving meal, and he stood up to remind us about how fortunate we are. He spoke about the power of goodness in times that aren’t. 

“People can still do good,” he said, “even in a world where bad things happen.”

The instructor asks us to stand on our knees in the middle of our mats. It’s time for Camel, the first pose of the back bending series. I place my hands at my heart and lean back until I’m so far back that I reach up and land them behind me. I rise into a back bend and stay for a count of five.

I used to hate the heart opening poses, but tonight I can’t seem to get enough of them. We move through another Camel, and then through a few Locusts and Bow poses, back bending on our abdomens. After, we jump through our hands for some back bends on our backs, rising up into a few Bridges and several Wheels, too. This is the peak of the practice, and for me it’s always the hardest part.

The heart opening poses take so much work! But it occurs to me that maybe they're the reason so much energy has found its way inside of me. Maybe after so long my heart is finally more open! Maybe that’s why I’m so energized.

This is why I consider energy as a gift bestowed, because suddenly I can see so much of what’s around me. I see blessings and love and even peace. And, who knows, maybe all of that was always there, even when my energy wasn’t.

If that’s the case, then it’s surely cause for faith, which is sometimes an even harder exercise than a heart opener. But while I would never be one to profess to know the key to an open heart, I would think that faith has got to have something do with it.

How else is it possible to have hope in the face of loss or even joy in the face of pain? Somehow I’ve had both, which I figure is evidence that our energy is capable of flowing in all directions, whether or not we are suffering. At the very least, it explains how goodness is still possible when bad things happen.  

It’s time to go upside down, and I stand on my head in the middle of my mat. I like this part of the practice. I find it relaxing to stand on my head, and I like how it feels to pull up through my core and lift my feet toward the heavens. This upward pull is called celestial energy.  

Just this past year, a little girl was born in the wake of our loss. She was named for the young man whom we are mourning. She is called Jordyn, and at her naming her parents spoke of the River Jordan, a river that flows with goodness, just like the one that I picture when I sense a gift has been bestowed.

With open hearts, they explained that they gave this child her name so that the goodness of this young man would flow down through her. And I think their plan is working, for she shares the same engaging energy, and we can’t help but love her. She is the hope that arrived in the face of loss; she is the joy in the face of pain.

And when we hold her we can feel her celestial energy, and this brings a certain peace.

The practice is over, and I lie back on my mat for Savasana, or final resting pose. The heat has done its job. It’s taken an hour and a half, but I am finally melted. For the moment, my energy has settled, and the instructor allows us to stay like that for a while before closing the practice with three Oms.

The room begins to empty out, but I want to go upside down again. I wait until almost everyone has left, and then I press into my hands and lift one leg and then the other. My hips stack over my shoulders, I pull in my core, and I hoist myself to the ceiling.

I catch the balance on the first try, and so I plant myself there in a meeting with the sky. My hands are rooted into the mat, and I straighten my arms and stretch my body higher, and then still higher. 

And I’m able to stay like this at length, because the energy is making its way back into me. It flows down through my body like a river of goodness, and I float for as long as I can. 

Anne is the author of Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook and Twitter.