On the mat

I was introduced to Yoga at the age of 16. A teacher at my highschool used to hold classes at lunchtime for any students wishing to take part. He had long hair and wore Birkenstocks year round. I didn’t take it to seriously; at that age I could flow between poses seamlessly with pubescent flexibility enhanced by years of dance training. Little did I know after another 16 years of living I would silently struggle to wrap and contort my body into even the simplest asanas, feeling very nostalgic for those teens years.

Yesterday I attended my first Momma and Baby yoga class where it was obvious from the start babies are born yoginis. Reid rose up onto his belly lifting his legs and head in a very admiral display of a full locust pose. His baby cobras are helping to strengthen his spine allowing him to look out at the world from a new perspective. He continued to ebb and flow through various postures unaided inspiring his proud momma to lift her heart higher and feel stronger with every breath.

Surprisingly I felt a whisper of the floor below my heels during a vinyasa flow.  I had all but given up on the idea my heels would ever touch the floor during Downward Dog. So tight is the union in my hamstrings I figured no deal I ever made would break free the imprisoned fibers, until yesterday.

I’m not sure if it was the energy in the room full of wriggling babies, the fifteen block walk that helped to warm up my musclse and get me to class or the light shining from my heart toward the world but  there was a glimpse of past freedoms and hopefully many more to come.