And sometimes, just sometimes, that energy bursts forth and in one swift moment you feel the potential, the possibility in a single pose. You take the risk, the chance, no longer afraid to fall. In one swift moment you go for it.
All you can see is your yoga instructor squatting in front of you, a bemused look on her face. Only she's upside down because, hello, you are standing on your head. So, really, she's not upside down: you are. This realization, instead of freaking you out and making you lose balance, grounds you even more in the this exact moment.
From your position, blood rushing to your head, all you can do is laugh and tell her to stop because you're about ready to cry.
She says she's not doing anything, and she's not. She's just watching. With a look, a smile, that suggests she thinks you've been holding out on her. As though you do this in secret, like in all of those movies where the young protege practices on their own, just waiting for the chance to show up and wow their mentor.
Fact is, I hadn't had the chance to try in two weeks. Jessica was gone last week and we had a sub and while she was good, Ashtanga isn't her primary practice so some poses were skipped over, including the supported headstand. Maybe it was because I hadn't practiced the full primary Ashtanga series in two week, and, so, was excited and ready to take it to the mat, but body and soul aligned this morning and what was impossible three months ago was suddenly very, very possible. So well executed, done with such ease, it felt as though I've been doing it all along.
The phoenix has -- literally and figuratively -- risen.
Love from the ashes,