Raffi and the Jelly Fish

I love Raffi. Love him...something about the Baby Beluga album. Every single song gives me the snuggles, makes me want to sing him animatedly to my daughter as we listen. I don't know who crafted the arrangement of songs on that record, but it is perfect, perfect. I sing him on our walk to school: "Gonna look both ways when I cross the street: Leeeeeeeft....Riiiiiiight." She thinks this is hilarious.

And I am still chuckling inside after Sunday's practice. A hard morning, for some reason. The time is short on Sundays, and we rush to fit in the full length of our practice, and we don't always make it — I will find the economy in time, I think. I had to rush through the finishing sequence, and then hurry home to find my way into headstand — I have learned that I need headstand at the end of the practice. None of this is the funny part. What is funny is that I listened to this Raffi album with my daughter before practice on Sunday. So, there I was at the shala, dragging through the poses and unable to find the lightness. All along I should have been listening to the song in my head: "Biscuits in the oven, gonna watch them rise. Right before my very eyes, hey hey." If I had been able to let go of the drag and listen to Raffi, I think practice might have been a bit easier. If I had listened to his words, maybe I could have extracted the point and surfed it.

It's about slowing down, I think, and finding the lightness. And, boy, I am getting there (last night I watched my bread toast — I haven't done this in years, and I used to do it all of the time when I was small). I am amazed by my relatively new ability to laugh at myself — sometimes out loud. Not in a cruel way, but in an "Oh, Bec..." kind of way. And even though I couldn't see my way to finding the weightlessness and the groundedness of Raffi's song, I could look back and see that the song was there.

And then the day took a wee turn. Later on, I attended a beginner's Ashtanga workshop, led my teacher. I had so been looking forward to these four hours — I savor any opportunity to drink in the practice and philosophy. I was sore from the morning ("Biscuits in the oven, gonna watch them rise...), but there were places to go. Tears came at one point... And it was beautiful to just listen to my teacher's wisdom — the practice articulated from his experience, his perspective — especially when Mysore class is so quiet, so few words exchanged. My teacher told us all that the beginner's workshop for the veteran Ashtangi is actually an advanced workshop, and he was so right. For four hours I was plugging in to the sushumna nadi, to my femur bones, to my scapula, to my breath...it was raw, organic, slow and steady attention on the body. I learned to see my breath like a jelly fish...and how wonderful. I think jelly fish are just awesome.

And last night, with sore legs and hips, I thought I would never make it to practice this morning. Lying in bed, I felt completely disconnected from getting out of it, from the bus ride, from the entry to the shala. But I hushed my worry and moved slowly from bed to the warm, sweet practice room that I go to almost every day. I promised myself at the beginning of practice — like I always do — to soften and receive and go gently. I listened to my breath, and I tried to imagine that the earth and I were energizing one another (my teacher's post yesterday was tremendous), and I tried to soften my face and my jaw. And I fear my drop-backs always...especially when the Marichyasana sequence starts and the spine is so challenged. But I tried to keep softening — even in Navasana, I tried to be a gently floating boat, maybe steered by a gentle wise jelly fish. Whew!

And my drop-backs were painless. Without pain. I have never experienced anything like that, and I cannot quite explain it. I don't know why the pain wasn't there today. I don't know if the pain will come back tomorrow — there is, after all, often a back-and-forth of energy and days in practice.

But I will try to be a jelly fish again tomorrow. And if Raffi comes back into my head, I will send him down to my heart.