Mirrored by Kathryn Merrifield

The yoga teacher today at Bikram distracts me.  The characature of him, that is:  Martin Short impersonating a gay, Latin man, with Duran Duran hair sans Aquanet and with rosey cheeks. 

But, here’s the deal.  I laid my mat on that Flotex floor, grasped my hands together under my chin to start the first round of two sets of breathing.  Three quarters of the interior walls are covered floor to ceiling with mirrors and I opted for the front row where anyone whose attended a few classes can, um, perch (I later executed a Bird of Paradise that the last person in the room, said, “Wow.”  His name was Julio.  I told him that my anatomy and practice allows for that, and that is a function of focus more than anything, which is why I life the sweaty mess of this yoga).

I digress…  Well, there’s something new.

(sigh)

So, I’m thinking about the mirror in front of me.  How I have to look myself in the eye for every posture of the entire class.  My mind is scattered so I try to skip over the second set of breathing into a side bend, hands together to form an arrow, index fingers pointed and arms precisely straight.  My eyes are red.  Mostly, because I’ve been sad and discouraged of late, despite the goodness of one door closing and others swinging open as if by magic.

On that particular day, I didn’t want this particular yoga instructor.  I wanted to hear what Jean had to say.  I wanted to get what I needed.  Assurance in her words that come with a fresh class every day despite what could be monotony after something like ten years of ownership.  The same class but different every day.  Do you know how difficult that is?

Very.

So, that’s what I wanted.  But, I got Latin Martin Short.

But, by the time we arrived well into the floor series, the second half of the class, our instructor began talking about Kung Foo Panda and the postures of the class - the way he says it, it sounds like “posters” and it took me a while to understand what he was saying…  Now I consider that my problem, not his.

He talked about how the evil tiger finally snatched away the sacred scroll.  When he finally got it, he unrolled the scroll to find no words – just a mirrored, empty but for the reflection of his face, scroll.

The message was that the power of the dragon warrior is to be found inside. 

It’s where transformation begins.  I stayed another thirty minutes after class in that room with its near silence, using the heat to ply my body to do what my mind needed to do, if anything, to know I tried, and that I could do something.  Right now, any self care – yoga, running, swimming… - is the easiest thing I do all day, even when it feels like the most difficult, it shows me that I can show up and do something.