something...cracked

I don't know whether I'd call this a breakthrough, but something broke loose this morning. Something important.

I recently started yoga practice again after two years' away. This morning was the second time I've been there, in a 75 minute ashtanga class, vinyasa flow--which means, essentially, a very powerful yoga, very intense with the breathing and the stretching and the holding. Downward facing dog, or adho mukha savasana, is the position we're in the most, and it is deceptively easy.


The teacher, Jodi, is someone I've known and liked for several years, and she has that core serenity that just inspires confidence--so when we went to the ashtanga series where a reverse downward dog could happen, several of us in the class tried it. I, immediately flashing back to the disaster that was gymnastics when I was small, opted to watch for just a moment and then do another pose altogether...except that one person, doing this little flip kind of move, managed the reverse dog so easily I said, surprised, "is that it?"

Jodi said, "Sure, that's all it is. If you can do Plough and your feet touch the floor, you can do the reverse down dog."

Well, I can touch the floor with my toes when I'm in Plough. I thought I could try the reverse downward dog. I got flat on my back, rolled up into a shoulder stand, extended my arms flat on the mat and slowly reached for the floor behind my head with my feet... and then froze. I could feel the tension on my upper shoulders, and I suddenly knew with great conviction that I did not want to roll completely over backward because my neck would break. I did not want the pressure on my skull. I knew I would hurt myself. Jodi got into position to help me, and I could feel her hands on my hips, and the upper body tension felt like it was growing. I mumbled, mostly to myself and into my chest, "I don't think so..." and then, "I want to wait to try this until next week" and then, clearly, "I don't think I want to do this." I was vaguely aware that some of the others in the class were watching.

And Jodi said, "I'm going to do it for you. Trust me." And with one quick sure tug of her strong hands, I rolled over in a reverse downward dog. I ended up on my hands and knees, not a perfect dog but close, startled to find myself there, wondering. The world had turned over.

It took a few minutes, during which we moved out of that series of poses and into the individual relaxation poses, before I felt it, but then, there they were: tears. I lay on my back in savasana and I could feel them gathering, and then one spilled over and traced a line into my hair and into my ear. Then another. I could feel my chest tightening up as I struggled to breathe, reached for calm, tried not to panic at the oncoming storm. Something large was trying to get out. I felt vulnerable and fragile and as if I were teetering on a high point. I felt as if I needed to be held. I really wanted a hug. I felt a little sad, but I mostly just felt. It was the first time in probably five years that I've felt that combination of emotions with so little sad mixed in. I trusted her just enough for her to help me do something that scared me. Small wonder it brought on tears. It's bringing on tears right now as I write this.

I had a safe experience with someone I trust. I was safe because I trusted her. I trusted her with me, and it was okay.

I am okay. I feel a bit sad still, but it isn't tinged with regret--it's flavored with surprise. I think I have been spending more energy than I knew keeping up my walls, and the exhaustion of the last year, and the pace and pressures of the last month, have reached the depth of my reserves. It's hard to not trust, harder than I knew. Maybe I'm at the point where it's harder to NOT trust than it is to simply trust.

I feel a little like a bird trying to get out of its shell. After a while, the baby bird is too big for the shell but the shell, being perfect in its thinness, needs a little crack to get started, so the baby bird uses its beak somehow, in its cramped position inside that shell, to tap a tiny crack. If it keeps tapping, the first crack becomes cracks, slivers of openness appear, and with persistence the shell will finally fall open. And inside is a new thing, delicate and fragile, damp with birth and exultation.

I am not born yet. I need more, more time and more careful attention and more willingness to try turning my world over with a partner I trust. I'm going to try that reverse downward dog again next Friday. Maybe this time I won't need Jodi--but if I do, it will be okay.