Upside Down (and Backwards)

Wheel - Upward Bow

Urdhva Dhanurasana

When Vijai, my yoga teacher, heard about my quest to go upside down he was confused.  "I've taken you up into handstand before, haven't I?"  Yes, it's true, I said "but it doesn't count if you're hauling my legs up and holding my weight for me!"  

After 10 years of studying under Vijai, I trust him with my life.  Several times, he has taken me into Wheel Pose from standing up. This would be terrifying to me if I stopped to think about it - standing, reaching up, bending back, and blindly landing on my hands while praying I don't fall on my head and break my neck.  But with him supporting my upper back, I could pretty much close my eyes, let my mind go blank and have him do the work.  Ta da! 

Last night, he took me into Wheel Pose and I was clear-headed enough to take in everything he said.  "Ground your feet, feel your feet, drop the tailbone, lift the sternum, lift, lift, feel your legs, legs, legs, look up, reach up, sternum, sternum,  I've got you, I got you, I got you, Go for it!" and with that, I stretched out my arms and landed hands down.

"I've got you, I got you, I got you." In the flood of instruction the moment of trust.  Followed immediately by "Go for it!"  Now you're on your own.

To my surprise the pose grew from there. "Yes! Now lift the head, spread the muscles of the back, straight arms, tuck the tailbone, feel the stretch of the chest, beautiful!"  Strong and light at the same time. A sail full of air.

"I got you. Now go for it!" -  is there a better mantra for parenting, for teaching, for friendship? 

Thank you, Vijai, for knowing when to lift and when to let go.  For teaching me how to teach, how to learn, how to fly.   Namaste. 

P.S.  Vijai directs the Integral Yoga Upper West Side Center and teaches on Tuesday nights.  http://www.iynyc.com/sched.html

Sometimes, Moms are Wrong.

Exhibit A

The tide was in.  This was bad, bad news. Nine-year-old G had just heard all about how exciting the bay is when the tide is out - rocks, shells, crabs: beachcombing heaven.  But when we arrived after a long drive for a short visit to the water's edge, the tide was in.

"We might not be able to find very much," I said, wanting to prepare G.  Dealing with disappointment is hard for my crew, the whole day could be ruined. 

"I might be able to find something," said G, hoping.  "Maybe not as much, but maybe I'll still find some stuff, right?"

"Maybe you won't," I said (ugh? who brought me to this party??).  "But we can have fun playing in the water."

And we did have fun with our friends, splashing around, playing wiffleball, a brilliant summer day.  Then G discovers a foot-long horseshoe crab, the biggest find of her life, and wields it triumphantly: "LOOK AT THIS!"  It is a perfectly intact shell, a budding naturalist's dream.  We are very impressed, and G is glowing.

But on our way out, G clouds over, watching other kids fishing.  "Don't get any ideas," I say, trying to move us along.  "We don't have nets or rods, there's no way you can catch a fish this time.  Next time." 

G wades in anyway, and I worry this will not end well.  She is now fixated on fish, how am I going to get her out of the water without one?  The next thing I know she's splashing toward us with a fish she caught - in her bare hands.  Incredulous, admiring applause and laughter from all.  "You caught a fish with your bare hands?" I ask. 

"Yep," G says.  "That guy dumped his fish out of his bucket and when they landed in the water they were like, 'whoa!' and I scooped this one out really quick!"  

"What are you, a bear??" I joked.  And inside I thought, who are you, this indefatiguable explorer, whose fragile heart I always want to protect?  Why do I feel a need to warn you about all that could turn out wrong, when you have the power in your own little hands to create your own reality, to write your own endings, to live your own life?

G put the fish back in the water and hopped along happily "This has been a great day!" 

Later, we retell the story and I say "What did I know?  I thought you wouldn't find anything, I thought you wouldn't catch a fish, and you did!  What do you think that means?"

G gets to the point:  "That sometimes, moms are wrong." 

You're right, G.  As you would say, my bad!