I Found Joy – As A Jellyfish (And Other Aquatic Animals)

Welcome,

And welcome to a good night's sleep.

Tonight's story is intended to bring a smile to your heart,

Give you peace of mind,

And sing a song to your spirit.

It's funny,

It's warm,

And it has important messages for our subconscious and our conscious mind.

Something to sleep on.

Let's get started with a deep breath in and a long breath out.

Settle in,

Get comfortable,

Find a position that gives you a gentle embrace,

And close your eyes.

I found joy as a jellyfish and other aquatic animals.

There were several occasions in the last three decades when I took a yoga class,

Four by my latest count.

Nothing stuck for more than 60 minutes or 80 minutes every decade or so.

Now I'm on the mat as we like to say four or five times a week.

Not sure what happened between decade three and four,

But here I am today actively seeking out a yoga flow class,

Searching YouTube for restorative practice,

And talking retreats with new found friends.

I have blocks,

Straps,

Pillows,

Bolsters,

Blankets,

And mats in many colors,

Designs,

And grips.

I even have a plastic frog in full lotus.

Truth is,

I have a yoga room.

I'm not an exercise person.

I have never had the desire to scale mountains,

Ski down mountains,

Or hike mountainous terrain.

I'm equally averse to water aerobics,

Surfing,

Paddling,

Polo.

Give it all the cool names you want,

Fin swimming,

Aqua jogging,

Wake skating,

And I'm still staying prone on terra firma.

Fact is,

I'd rather have an enema than exercise.

Actually,

That was the old me.

The new me would rather do a downward dog.

I'm not sure which came first,

Not being good at sports or not being interested in sports.

They are indelibly intertwined,

Like chicken and egg,

Or eagle arms and eagle legs,

Which I can do.

Regardless,

Here I am,

Sports unenthusiast.

I want to be healthy.

What I've never wanted is to work at being healthy because it's boring and hard,

So I had come to believe.

Yet,

Periodically,

I would propel myself to some gym,

Some piece of equipment,

Or even some yoga mat to get my body in shape.

In the case of yoga,

That lasted for a full 240 minutes over 30 years.

In the case of lifting weights,

Running on a treadmill,

Doing aqua signs,

The number is much,

Much lower.

Still,

I mustered up the energy every three or four years to try something new or to retry something from a previous decade.

The turning point in my yoga journey,

It turned out,

Was around the corner from where I live.

An instructor started renting studio space in a new building,

And my aunt and I decided to give it a try.

We liked it.

We really liked it.

I'm not sure why.

It may be the variety of poses we learned,

That each class was new and different,

That we got to know participants,

But I had all that before.

The reason,

I discovered,

Is not important.

The reality is.

At some point,

Actually several points,

My body responded in ways it never had before.

My feet touched the mat,

Both of them,

When I did a downward dog.

My hands,

Both of them,

Held each other doing a bound side angle.

I also noticed a marked improvement in my knee.

My doctor had diagnosed a tear in my meniscus and wished me well.

An instructor had recommended putting something between my knee and my bent leg,

Something like a sock.

It worked.

As I spent more time on the mat,

I used the sock less and less.

Today,

I can do cow face legs without any complaint from my knee,

And I use socks only for covering my feet.

It wasn't only my knee that got better.

My strength,

My balance,

My flexibility improved.

Perspective changes on the mat.

There is a common yoga pose called child's pose.

You put thighs on calves,

Buttocks on heels,

And fold yourself into a ball.

It's supposed to be a resting pose,

One you come to after the aquatic animals,

Seal,

Dolphin,

Fish,

Have offended you in ways you didn't know existed.

For most of us,

Child's pose is,

At first,

The farthest thing from a resting pose,

Primarily because there is a wide gap between our bottom and our heels.

Most of us accommodate,

As yoga teaches us.

We shove bolsters,

Blankets,

And blocks under our rear to close the gap.

Still,

A faint wisp of failure lingers.

I'm in an extended child's pose during one class and realize I'm enjoying this fetal shape.

I am relaxed,

Breathing deeply,

And feeling something new,

Contentment.

I tried to figure out what had shifted and realized,

In part,

The answer was physical.

My rear end was not pointed heavenward.

It was nestled on my feet.

I was a ball without the need of a bolster.

There are those poses that continue to confound.

My legs refuse to rearrange themselves into a lotus,

Although they are inch and closer to my upper thighs.

Crow pose eludes me.

Both feet refuse to come off the floor,

But one will,

So I'm making progress.

And there are those poses I have yet to attempt.

Their names will tell you why.

Formidable face pose.

And stand scorpion,

Destroyer of the universe.

Overall,

However,

I find a sense of peace and contentment in many poses and in my practice.

Indeed,

I find more than this.

Yoga has taught me that practice is about more than positioning the body.

It is about body,

Mind,

And spirit.

It is about connecting with yourself.

It is about finding balance.

It is about going to the edge,

But not over the cliff.

It is about acknowledging growth and recognizing limitations.

It is about joy.

The joy that comes from sitting on a mat with your heels stuffed into your bottom and your heart soaring.

Ultimately,

Yoga has taught me patience and acceptance.

The fundamental reality of any yoga practice is this,

Yoga teachers cannot count.

They put you in a pose,

Say warrior two,

Then they suggest you place your right shoulder against your inner thigh while extending your left arm toward the ceiling,

Bending your elbow,

Bringing your left arm behind you,

And clasping your right hand.

It's like scrubbing the floor while looking at mold growing on the ceiling.

I can actually do this and I can hear my yoga instructor saying,

Hold for three breaths just before launching into a tale about their morning drive to work.

Three minutes later,

Not three breaths,

We unbind and unbend.

All yoga teachers are trained to do this.

They must pass a course before they become certified.

Counting 101.

When instructors tell you to hold for five breaths,

A lifetime when your hips are squared,

Your shoulders flexed,

And your legs interwoven,

They're lying.

Admittedly,

They are well intended.

Some even come with timers,

Beacons of false hope.

In the end,

It doesn't matter.

I am on the mat,

Moving in sync with my breath,

Finding my body moving with me or against me,

And I'm okay with that.

I have learned those aquatic animals trying to thwart me and their terrestrial counterparts are friends.

We meet here on this rectangular piece of vinyl and I take pieces of them with me when I roll up my mat,

Put away my straps,

And head out the door.

The joy of having been for a time an aquatic animal infuses and informs.

It is so much more than legs splayed,

Ankles nestled,

Arms extended,

And holding for five delicious breaths.

Ish.

Good night.

Sleep well.