Last Saturday morning, despite the oppressive cage of fears and doubt, I showed up for my new, beginner yoga student ready & willing. Our lesson ran almost two hours. I reprimanded myself after the fact (as is my immediate instinct to almost any action I take) for the frequence of start-and-stop’s, start-and-stop’s. I forgive myself. She is hearing these Sanskrit terms and alignment instructions for the very first time. I am imparting them almost as if for the very first time; given my lengthy absence from teaching.
One of the most interesting & challenging facets to instructing beginners is adapting instruction to accomodate my student’s particular needs, limitations and strengths. It is as if I am unlocking a secret, the revelation that will help this person feel better inside her skin. As if walking in the dark, or swimming through mud, there really is no way to know for sure what you’ll discover along the journey.
After our lesson, I felt a surge of joy I haven’t felt in months. It felt like my first kiss. I was energized. I was optimistic. I was overcome with gratitude for the practice, for my mentors, for my own body, for my student’s willingness. It all made sense in that quarter of a day called the afternoon.
The mysterious pain, stiffness, dizziness and tinnitus that plagues me continues its wrath, though I knuckle my way through it with a positive attitude. It’s tough to push like this. I’ve even taken on a second private student. I stacked her lesson after my first on Saturday even though I know that my body is weak and limited, that I have but two days off to myself. I choose to be of service. I cling to that surge of energy and support I felt after last Saturday’s inaugrual lesson and I use that as my committment to serving these beginners so that they may be healed.
