I go to two yoga classes each week. One class inhabits change; the routines, postures, and on occasion even the teachers. The other is steadfast; familiar, regular, consistent. Blue water rafting versus canoeing down a glass surfaced lake. Two sides of the same coin, disparate yet interchangeable. Both have their place.
Today’s (adventurous) class started as the teacher took us through 10 minutes of what she called body and mind readiness. Readying the body for more demanding poses and “melting” the mind into the now, away from where it had been. “We are yoginis,” she said. “What’s a yogingi?” a student asks. “The feminine form of yogi.” Really? I’d never heard the term.
Her class is an orchestration in one action at a time moving toward the symphony of seamless human melody. It is beautiful to behold. And it’s all about the self (while in relation to others). It’s not a competition, it’s not about what the person on your right or left is doing, it’s not about the instructor. It’s about seeing what your body and mind can pull off today.
For me, there is little in a morning routine as enduring as a yoga class. It’s humbling, invigorating, and one of the best set ups I’ve found for facing a new day.