This one is honored to teach yoga in the psychiatric ward of a hospital not too far from my hometown (I also teach a class in a PTSD ward of the same hospital). Last week, one of my classes was composed entirely of people on walkers, mostly older gentlemen. So while we waited for the Therapeutic Recreation person to bring any others wanting to come to class from the other side of the same ward, I got ready to give some chair yoga classes. We were getting set when Lakshmi (names have been changed to protect the innocent) brought back our only student from the other side of the ward: an athletic-looking young man.
I have this compulsion to try and please everyone. I have discovered that (as ole Honest Abe had promised) this could rarely be done, and almost never to the degree that all are pleased. The guy seemed okay with doing chair yoga, and focused his intense ex-sniper gaze on me as I began. Keeping things easy and gentle, I focused on keeping the attention on the breath, and on being fully in the present. I stressed the fact that the physical portion of yoga is not the entire practice, nor is it the core of the practice.
We moved gently through practice, and I handed it over to my assistant instructor while I moved around the cramped area helping make adjustments or lending encouragement. Seated cat-cows resulted in a range of motions, from one nice fellow who was barely able to make discernable movements, to the youngest and fittest, who exhibited a wide range of motion. The degrees of physical ability and contact with their bodies varied as widely as did the range of mental connection to and control of their bodies.
In either case, these were incredibly brave people, and I acknowledged this fact and recognized its worth and beauty at the start and finish of class. To simply arrive here, when one could just stay in the room and read or wander and smoke cigarettes, is a feat worthy of note. To decide to go to yoga class, an unknown with potentially scary undertones and against the general populace of the ward must have taken immense courage. The resistance against that first step must have been incredible. And the more physical and mental challenges one experiences, the greater the exponential increase in difficulty. One guy had a broken and barely healed shoulder (scapula), yet he tried along with the rest. It was inspirational, to say the least.
While I was not a stellar instructor, nor were my students stellar performers (outside view, at least), the class went off smoothly, and before we knew it the other people ont he ward began banging on the door complaining about the coffee getting cold and lunch being ready (we were practicing in their dayroom/lunch room). So with some fast goodbyes, well-wishes, and see-you-agains, we cleared the room. One student hugged me and thanked me, while others told me how they felt better. They seemed sincere, and it warmed my heart. Leaving the ward, I felt a spring in my step and a smile on my face.
I hadn't changed the world, and it was doubtful I'd changed even a single life, but I had contributed, no matter how small the contribution. I felt great! No one had busted a sweat and there were no pretty girls in tights. No music had played, and we had not acvhieved any fancy postures or impressive results. Still, we had practiced yoga for those here that couldn't, had sent good intentions for ourselves and others into a place of pain (and healing). The ripples (however small) had been sent out to the world, in hopes of healing and transforming ourselves, but the entire planet and universe.
As I had reminded them, they had taken the hardest steps, and the hardest part of yoga was over: showing up. They had done the two hardest poses in yoga: standing ready (Samastihi) and corspe pose (Savasana). All the rest was downhill and easy. All we had to do now was fill ourselves with gratitude and acceptance for where we are Now. Just the simple idea of knowing it is okay is an incredibly huge step forward. Being able to conceptualize that change is possible, that a newer and better self can be manifested is huge, brobdingnagian, life-changing.
All has been done.
Nothing more to do ... until the next class, that is.
I am so thankful. I think I have finally found my true vocation; introducing yoga to those who cannot afford it, and to those who think they are incapable of it or ineligible for it. Jai!
AUM, Shanti, Shanti, Shantihiii
"You know that it's time for a cool change."
-Little River Band
I have this compulsion to try and please everyone. I have discovered that (as ole Honest Abe had promised) this could rarely be done, and almost never to the degree that all are pleased. The guy seemed okay with doing chair yoga, and focused his intense ex-sniper gaze on me as I began. Keeping things easy and gentle, I focused on keeping the attention on the breath, and on being fully in the present. I stressed the fact that the physical portion of yoga is not the entire practice, nor is it the core of the practice.
We moved gently through practice, and I handed it over to my assistant instructor while I moved around the cramped area helping make adjustments or lending encouragement. Seated cat-cows resulted in a range of motions, from one nice fellow who was barely able to make discernable movements, to the youngest and fittest, who exhibited a wide range of motion. The degrees of physical ability and contact with their bodies varied as widely as did the range of mental connection to and control of their bodies.
In either case, these were incredibly brave people, and I acknowledged this fact and recognized its worth and beauty at the start and finish of class. To simply arrive here, when one could just stay in the room and read or wander and smoke cigarettes, is a feat worthy of note. To decide to go to yoga class, an unknown with potentially scary undertones and against the general populace of the ward must have taken immense courage. The resistance against that first step must have been incredible. And the more physical and mental challenges one experiences, the greater the exponential increase in difficulty. One guy had a broken and barely healed shoulder (scapula), yet he tried along with the rest. It was inspirational, to say the least.
While I was not a stellar instructor, nor were my students stellar performers (outside view, at least), the class went off smoothly, and before we knew it the other people ont he ward began banging on the door complaining about the coffee getting cold and lunch being ready (we were practicing in their dayroom/lunch room). So with some fast goodbyes, well-wishes, and see-you-agains, we cleared the room. One student hugged me and thanked me, while others told me how they felt better. They seemed sincere, and it warmed my heart. Leaving the ward, I felt a spring in my step and a smile on my face.
I hadn't changed the world, and it was doubtful I'd changed even a single life, but I had contributed, no matter how small the contribution. I felt great! No one had busted a sweat and there were no pretty girls in tights. No music had played, and we had not acvhieved any fancy postures or impressive results. Still, we had practiced yoga for those here that couldn't, had sent good intentions for ourselves and others into a place of pain (and healing). The ripples (however small) had been sent out to the world, in hopes of healing and transforming ourselves, but the entire planet and universe.
As I had reminded them, they had taken the hardest steps, and the hardest part of yoga was over: showing up. They had done the two hardest poses in yoga: standing ready (Samastihi) and corspe pose (Savasana). All the rest was downhill and easy. All we had to do now was fill ourselves with gratitude and acceptance for where we are Now. Just the simple idea of knowing it is okay is an incredibly huge step forward. Being able to conceptualize that change is possible, that a newer and better self can be manifested is huge, brobdingnagian, life-changing.
All has been done.
Nothing more to do ... until the next class, that is.
I am so thankful. I think I have finally found my true vocation; introducing yoga to those who cannot afford it, and to those who think they are incapable of it or ineligible for it. Jai!
AUM, Shanti, Shanti, Shantihiii
"You know that it's time for a cool change."
-Little River Band
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