yep, i sing in class.

it happens like this…i’m in a vinyasa class. maybe i’m teaching, maybe i’m a student. the flow is in full force, the heat is happening. there’s a break in the music, and then…i hear it. a sound so mesmerizing, so thoroughly entrancing…no, it’s not the breath. and it’s not the silence. it’s the song. that song, whichever one it might be on that day. you know the one. the one you can’t resist, you can’t hold back, no matter how intense your ujjayi or stern your teacher…you have to sing along.

if you’ve never taught a class set to music, you might not be aware of the meticulous work that goes into creating a playlist. continuity of rhythm, sounds that grow and ebb with the structure of the practice, and lyrics that add to the flow of positive energy are all taken into consideration when compiling a soundtrack that encourages movement and breath. and there’s always the big question: to connect or not to connect? do i use songs my students are probably familiar with, songs that may stir memories or emotion? or do i choose to put together an obscure tapestry of sounds that roll across the room without creating that wave effect? isn’t our asana practice supposed to help us progress toward meditation, the highest form of yoga? how can we do that with sarah mclachlan distracting us? and who is to know what another person will associate with, anyway? the teachers i love are the ones who love yoga and teaching and everything they allow in their lives. and they create great playlists.

laughter is one of the most transformative functions of human existence. the way i see it, singing is like laughing to music. it’s joyful. it’s exuberant. it’s a celebration. what better place for joy than within the joyously sacred walls of our yoga room? it’s the third of the four immeasurables: love, compassion, joy, and equanimity; each of which we should possess in immeasurable quantities if we are to eliminate desire and ego on our path to samadhi. sympathetic joy (which is really what the immeasurables refer to) begins with personal joy. delight in the goodwill of others finds no place in someone who isn’t delighted with the will they’ve created for themselves. that’s why love and compassion come before.

whether intended or not, there is almost always sure to be something a student will relate to in a soundscape. songs have been known to cause students to laugh, cry, and even leave class with their nose wrinkled up and their fingers in their ears. sometimes a soundtrack I don’t relate to (read: like) even becomes my edge for a practice, external “chatter” prompting me to find the ability to observe the “noise” without reacting. but sometimes, just sometimes, the overwhelming sense of joy in a song compels me to belt it out, to celebrate, exuberate…and even...yes, meditate.

thanksgiving...

so you have this practice, this practice that you call your own, and if you truly engage in this practice, one day it decides to let you in on a little secret: that it’s not yours at all. it tells you that it belongs to no one, that you’ve merely borrowed it for 60 or 90 minutes or however long it is, and that you didn’t even get it all to yourself…that you had to share it with countless thousands of people you don’t even know in places you’ve never even heard of who all borrowed it at exactly the same time.

now, your selfish “ego-less” being is at first maybe a tad bit shocked, even offended, at this revelation. it’s your practice, after all! who decided just anyone could have it whenever they want? yoga is for certain people. like you.

when you finally exhale, you, the perfectly equanimous yogi, reflect upon the immense joy and loving kindness you experience with the knowledge that the gift of yoga is so globally accessible, no matter what other resources a person may lack. you give thanks to your bodily manifestation, your guru celebrity teacher, your $100 yoga mat, and lululemon for carrying the yoga torch out into the world and brightening the light of the universe. and then you give thanks to yourself for being the enlightened creature you are.  ;)

dippin' dots

last week the big dipper was so prevalent in the night sky it looked like it could dip down and scoop up the entire earth. tonight, i can't even distinguish it among the layers of symbiotic stars blanketing the planet's dark ceiling. each star reminds me that it wants to be a planet, that our little earth isn't necessarily as unique as we're inclined to think.