I Swear…

Actually, I didn’t swear. The Cop did. I am dying to bring him to class, because he knows enough to get through either a led class or even a Mysore practice, and I think he’d really enjoy it. But geez, he’s going to have to cut back on the swearing during poses. It’s a riot to me, but perhaps not as amusing to the more yogic.

That said, we had a nice little practice this morning. Both of us are running on low, due to colds, but we made a good effort. It is lovely to practice with him: he does not ask a lot of questions, but just keeps an eye on what I’m doing and follows suit. And swears occasionally πŸ˜‰ Utthita hasta padanguthasana is a particular bane. I am eager to get him to class, in part because he needs to see how people like him (i.e., tall men with long legs and a higher center of gravity) do some of these poses. I’m a short gal with short legs and a low center of gravity. Obviously the mechanics are rather different.

In the meantime, My Gift and The Frenchman attended a basics class at The Juicy Studio where she works. When they got back, I asked what he thought of it. His reply? “Apparently I have very good toes.” His favorite pose? “That one at the end.” (Savasana.)

There’s something so cool about seeing people at the beginning of their practice. It inevitably transforms, but you never know how. It eludes ambition and desire and all expectations. Practice will always give you exactly what you need, and it will always be more than you could ever have wished for or even imagined. It’s the best. I swear πŸ˜‰

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