yoga Archives | Jeanette LeBlanc

Over and over and over again

Jeanette LeBlanc — Sun, 21 Jan 2018 02:22:30 +0000

I set the alarm last night thinking I probably wouldn’t to it. Up too late writing wild. Too tired. I don’t usually follow through. The alarm was a half-assed thought, really. Another way, maybe, to feel badly about myself for not doing what I say I will do.

But when it was time, and the alarm sounded – 5:15 am, full on darkness. I did it. I got up. and I got dressed. and I found my way to the car and to the studio and to the mat while most of the city slept.

tadasana, urdhva hastasana, uttanasana,
anjaneyasana, plank, chaturanga dandasana,
urdhva mukha svanasana, adho mukha svanasana.

over and over again.

The room was warm enough to calm the chill in my bones, and the music was soothing and alive, and the message with true.

Flow with me here. Right to the edge of you. When you reach the point where you want to give up -surrender. On your exhale, leave behind all that is not needed.

And we moved through asana in near darkness, as the light rose outside and within.

tadasana, urdhva hastasana, uttanasana,
anjaneyasana, plank, chaturanga dandasana,
urdhva mukha svanasana, adho mukha svanasana.

over and over again.

Grounding down and rising in warrior and twisting and lengthening and growing into self. Balancing and focusing and rising. Vertebrae on top of vertebrae. Fold. Rise. Let go. Inhale to lengthen, exhale to twist or fold or go deeper.

If the breath is lost, no matter how perfect the pose – you’ve lost your way.

Ujai pranayama. Opening my throat and becoming one with the sound of the ocean that unceasingly calls me home.

Rest now. Go to the mat. Breathe your way back.

No matter what, you can always go back to the mat.

tadasana, urdhva hastasana, uttanasana,
anjaneyasana, plank, chaturanga dandasana,
urdhva mukha svanasana, adho mukha svanasana.

over and over again.

Two years it has been. Two years away. Two years without bending and stretching and connecting to breath. Two years commuting in traffic. Two years at a desk, in a cubical, separated from purpose and self. Two years of contraction. As I find my way back to mat, I find my way back to self.

The flexibility and strength will take a while, but my body remembers. Our bodies always remember – it is only our minds that forget. With yoga, it’s never been about pushing my body to do what it cannot do, but rather giving myself the space and the grace to allow it to do what it can.

Sometimes, I think, this is the embodiment of freedom. Familiar sanskrit fills my ears, muscles move into poses without conscious thought. Not as elegant or powerful as before. But elegant and powerful and comparison to past have never been the point of practice.

The point of practice is now.

tadasana, urdhva hastasana, uttanasana,
anjaneyasana, plank, chaturanga dandasana,
urdhva mukha svanasana, adho mukha svanasana.

over and over again.

Lay down in savasana, now. There is nothing more to do. Legs fall open, Palms up. Eyes closed.

Continue that same breath. It is what connects you to all things.

There is nowhere else to be but here.

Open your eyes. see how the sky has turned the deep blue of beginnings?

This day is yours.

om.

The class is silent, but I still hear it. Inside of me. The sound of the universe. The sound eternal. The vibration rises and rings. Three times, rolling through. Bones hum. Energy is gathered. Do you feel it?

om shanti, shanti shanti.

The light has risen. My body has settled into itself, and now I begin.

Honor the divine.

In me. In you. In the day ahead.

Hands to heart center. Bow deep.

Namaste.

(originally written in February, 2016)

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The View From Savasana: Whispers from Yoga Class

Jeanette LeBlanc — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 05:09:33 +0000

The mind says ‘mistake. regret. punishment’.
The heart speaks ‘long. ache. grieve’
The body pulses ‘want. want. want’ 

Yoga answers ‘you are nothing but your breath. exhale’ 

The legs scream ‘go. run. escape’
The ceiling fan whispers ‘you are still here. be present’

The critic declares ‘not enough. do more’
The practice replies ‘exactly right. infinitely curious. eternally gentle’

The hips protest ‘no. I can’t’
Yoga says ‘release the stories. they do not serve’

The hands grasp ‘hold tight. don’t let go’
The pose demands ‘loosen. relinquish. release’

The tension says ‘do not move’
The breath says ‘you are free’

The habit pushes ‘control’
The mantra answers ‘surrender’ 

The spirit cries ‘scared. so scared’.
The music sings ‘every little thing’s gonna be alright’ 

The head whispers ‘afraid of shadows’
Yoga answers ‘you are nothing but light’  

The muscles complain ‘so tired’
Savasana responds ‘rest now. be still.’ 

The fear says ‘ordinary’
Nameste reminds ‘divine. divine. divine’ 

The self says ‘I am here’
Yoga says ‘yes. yes, you are’

om shanti shanti shanti om

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a particular kind of worship

Jeanette LeBlanc — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 21:24:41 +0000

Chaturanga dandasana. Uttanasana. Tadasana. Savasana.

My body has developed muscle memories and attached them to the rise and flow of these Sanskrit words. I bend and straighten, lift and lengthen in response. I don’t often look to the screen anymore – just the sound of the words and the rhythm of my breath guide me in a practice dedicated daily to love.

Yoga is unlocking me.

I long resisted the mysterious otherness of this practice. Yoga belonged to people who were not like me, who were more than me. I negated my ability to release that fully into anything, not just bending and twisting into pretzelesque shapes, but giving myself over to something so far beyond physical. Despite being surrounded by teachers who could have brought me here years ago, I held back. I was not ready.

Now I respond to an inner call to move deeper. Into the otherness inside me, into my physical body, into the depths of my heart. Yoga called me.

So I bought a mat and began.

Cobra. Warrior. Triangle Pose. Standing Forward Bend. Downward Facing Dog.

My body twists and bends. My legs ground and steady. My heart lifts and soars. Muscles soften and strengthen. I root into the earth and stretch toward heaven. My mantra – open, open, stay open – never more necessary than during my time on the mat. Losing my way requires only a return to breath.

My throat releases in the ocean sound of pranayama and I am free.

I feel the tearing of my right hamstring, an old dancing injury that will never fully recover. I am aware of every bone of my back, the tightness of my legs. I sense the tension in my hips, the way my limbs attach to my torso. But my heart craves this as much as my body. My increase in strength and flexibility seem irrelevant compared to the work this is doing on my soul.

There is no judgment here on the mat, only mindfulness. Growth does not always require insistence and force, sometimes we must merely learn to soften and release. I am beginning to understand what it is to be infinite.

There is a point where my practice shifts into a particular kind of worship. There is holiness here; a scared power in the zone where body meets heart and they move as one. I am near tears and I feel myself opening from the inside out and expanding from the outside in. Strength and vulnerability mingle with a sweetness that makes me fully aware of my own divinity.

Life has a way of bringing me back, over and over, to the mat. I begin to grasp that all of life is practice, and that this practice is all of life.

Yes, yoga is unlocking me.

Nameste

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