Sitting in an quaint yet buzzing cafe located at the base of the most commercialized street in Boston, I exist on a different plane. Free from the anxiety and worries that fill our minds, each thought insignificant, but stacked heavily on our shoulders causing our backs to crunch over in the weight of our mental state.
“I am aware, I am alive.”
This is what Scott, my yoga teacher had us chant in our heads for an hour straight as he pulled apart our bodies with each long holding stretch. Unlike vinyasa yoga, restorative yoga is calm and cooling, focused on the joints rather than the muscles. The workout goes through a series of deep stretches, allowing you to reach deep within and heal your longing aches that accompany you home on the subway after a long day of crunching numbers and client presentations.
“Birth, death.”
Scott reminded us that life is finite and to appreciate our bodies and our ability to participate in this practice. We will all get old, but we have the power to determine how quickly our bodies tighten, like week long leftovers wrapped in saran.
In the last few minutes, Scott asked us to bring our palms to heart center and think of someone we would like to dedicate our hour of practice to. Immediately my mind fluttered to my beloved grandmother, who will be undergoing heart surgery in a couple weeks. Perhaps distracted by the bustling thoughts that crowded my mind, I haven’t taken the time to realize how scared I am for her, how scared she must be. How instead of looking years ahead, she only thinks in terms of seasons, or months. Maybe she’s fortunate enough to have unlocked the power to think just for today, like the taoist mindset asks of.
Everything seems so insignificant floating out of a restorative yoga class. My patience expands beyond the blinking orange hand that tells me I have three seconds to cross the street. My eyes have expanded wider than my stomach, and sitting in this cafe in a room full of other beings just feels so right. Yes, my emotional state extends deeper than the hazelnut infused macchiato that weaves through the young man who is seated next to me.
“Namaste.”
Smoothie Slayer 