An Ode to my Lineage
There is a lineage of yoga that saved my life.
An introduction that came more than once.
First it came through friendly offering—seemingly—
the practice came in solitude,
a trio of distribution,
but I resisted what I viewed as illusion.
Sister Renee, on her mission to save the day,
not letting anyone choose their own way.
In my grief,
when moving my feet too quickly caused
an earthquake of inner emotion,
I found silence at the Shakti.
“Smile,” Sam would say,
“it’s just yoga.”
But the path she opened wasn’t just anything.
It was ancient and profound,
it tied me to the ground,
it allowed me to be found.
When positioned to study formally,
I sat back, reclused, and declined—
rows of people in line
trying to escape the chaos of their individual mind,
with mantras rooted in ancient times.
It just wasn’t mine,
it didn’t rhyme
and kept standard time.
One January, I became a cliché.
I walked into a hot studio and decided to choose me.
I showed up fully to participate.
I was called out and met with confusion.
I stayed focused
and let them house unclarified delusions.
By that September I chose my way,
where I would show up every day.
I chose to follow through,
moving on an ancient undisclosed path—
markers telling you what to shed,
and when to engage.
It was there I let my heart
first out its cage,
tears running down
in a community of strangers—
and I only knew one name.
Jen M,
you sat with me and took me from hurray,
teaching me to pace worry.
I turned away from the pages
of teaching someone else had depicted.
I turned onto my mat,
where I knew wholly I could be forgiven.
I showed up seeking out alignment,
and I settled into the spaces I found it.
I breathed with men and women—
together we unwound our days,
and distorted ways.
Together we formed a cave.
Together we shed a cave.
And when I worked too hard,
letting the strength and tension of the practice
overlap the mindfulness of release—
it was Alison who came to transmute fascial pain,
tracing my pain with her thumb,
telling me
it's safe now to come undone.
When my mind and core needed strength,
I resonated to Vito—
to the wisdom he opened with,
the safety of the aligned structure he provided.
The routine of the participants in those classes—
the same people showed up.
We flocked to our own spaces on the floor.
Others would filter in and out,
but our flock was contained—
sometimes never engaging,
but signaling just the same.
The seasons changed.
The reasons remained.
The commitment to classes,
the commitment to change.
When I was finally done resonating with fault,
there opened the vault.
And on Tuesdays with Lisa,
I shook off a lot.
“Live your life on and off the mat,
take chances and risks,”
and I sure did.
And when party pose was offered,
I tackled them all—
refusing myself to sit out and play small.
I hope they all recall
the laughter that met each fall.