downward dogs in all the wrong places
Walking down the hall of my bland institution today, this hall to be exact, I was overcome by the sudden desire to do a downward facing dog. I paused there, considered my options, and was on the verge of shifting into the Vinyasa flow sequence: high to low pushup, up-dog to down-dog, and then just hanging out with my ass in the air for awhile. The hall is wide enough for such activities, and I figured everyone could just walk around me.
It may be obvious from my sudden and unexpected yogic compulsions that I’ve continued to attend the power lunchtime class, during which we must do about twenty downward facing dogs every session. I’ve noticed that I’m getting stronger. I’ve noticed that where before it was a struggle to maintain that pose, that it took everything I had and even then I often collapsed down into child’s pose for my rest and respite, that now I not only can handle the downward dog, but it is my best friend. I look forward to it, and it is the spot where I find my breathing, my still space, my centering -- with my arms outstretched & pressed into the floor and my ass in the air. Somehow, hanging out in the hard part of it all has become something to relish. I’d like to think that’s a good sign of something or another.
I paused in the hallway, considering my options, when around the corner came VERY FAMOUS older professor who I’ve often thought that, given the chance, I’d be quite pleased to devour in one sitting. I’m not sure that many would agree with me about the fact that this particular rather rumpled and graying man simply oozes sex, but I tell ya... He was, once, actually my professor. That was almost twenty years ago and only for one class during which I did not stand out or impress in any manner. I thought he was sexy then, too, but was myself rather unformed and more or less uninitiated to the possibilities of devouration, so the attraction remained not much more than an occasional distraction, and the particular menu of forms and variations that might present themselves in such an act of abandon were murky. But, twenty years changes all that, yes indeed, and the imagination can now serve up a fine banquet in flavorful detail.
It was an odd moment, that passing between us, me stopped in mid-stride and ready to, as the power yoga teachers are fond of saying, find my flow. Perhaps it was merely my perception, but it seemed that a look was exchanged, and a glance lingered for shades of a moment longer than usual, before we both went our separate ways.
It may be obvious from my sudden and unexpected yogic compulsions that I’ve continued to attend the power lunchtime class, during which we must do about twenty downward facing dogs every session. I’ve noticed that I’m getting stronger. I’ve noticed that where before it was a struggle to maintain that pose, that it took everything I had and even then I often collapsed down into child’s pose for my rest and respite, that now I not only can handle the downward dog, but it is my best friend. I look forward to it, and it is the spot where I find my breathing, my still space, my centering -- with my arms outstretched & pressed into the floor and my ass in the air. Somehow, hanging out in the hard part of it all has become something to relish. I’d like to think that’s a good sign of something or another.
I paused in the hallway, considering my options, when around the corner came VERY FAMOUS older professor who I’ve often thought that, given the chance, I’d be quite pleased to devour in one sitting. I’m not sure that many would agree with me about the fact that this particular rather rumpled and graying man simply oozes sex, but I tell ya... He was, once, actually my professor. That was almost twenty years ago and only for one class during which I did not stand out or impress in any manner. I thought he was sexy then, too, but was myself rather unformed and more or less uninitiated to the possibilities of devouration, so the attraction remained not much more than an occasional distraction, and the particular menu of forms and variations that might present themselves in such an act of abandon were murky. But, twenty years changes all that, yes indeed, and the imagination can now serve up a fine banquet in flavorful detail.
It was an odd moment, that passing between us, me stopped in mid-stride and ready to, as the power yoga teachers are fond of saying, find my flow. Perhaps it was merely my perception, but it seemed that a look was exchanged, and a glance lingered for shades of a moment longer than usual, before we both went our separate ways.