In savasana, I am the worst.
At a recent yin yoga session, as we rolled up our mats and put away blocks and blankets, our instructor said, “Much better. I can feel the vibration in here is less chaotic.”
My main character energy (flaw) assumed I was the chaos. I was certainly feeeeeling it before class.
I’m not partial to a yin flow (designed to be slow, with long-held poses) and this class was exactly that.
I’m challenged by any practice that begins in stillness. Internally I’m pleading: “Please let us move into down dog. Let me add wild thing at the end.”
Still, I understand the value of doing the thing you resist. Starting slow. Having patience.
In savasana, I mentally fidget. I try not to, because I know what it feels like to really rest in that pose. When the teacher tells you to wiggle your fingers and toes, and the feeling of aliveness returns. It’s the full weight of your practice settling in and it reminds you how beautiful it is to move and then rest.
It’s rewarding and addictive and lovely.
I’ve learned a trick. In savasana, I close my eyes and picture my shoes carrying me through the winding streets of Rome. I recall Via dei Banchi Vecchi or “Street of the Old Benches.”
There aren’t many benches, but there are plenty of più vecchio perched on stools or chairs outside their shops and flats, looking quietly regal in their age. Their clothes drip with effortless, casual refinement. Their faces softened by the kind of rest that only comes from never rushing, never allowing stress to be anything but the good kind. No one’s looking down at their phone, waiting for a nota d’amore. They’re too (un)busy living it.
Somehow, in corpse pose, I’m there. Walking the dark gray cobblestone paths, listening to the echo of my own steps. I study every door and window. I remember my favorite entrance to a wine bar: Il Goccetto—“the little drop.” It’s a massive cherry-colored wooden frame, doors open, with “VINO” and “OLIO” painted above in burnt orange, all caps, Helvetica. That open door may as well have had a magnet inside it.
The walk is meditative and I relax into myself.
And even though I haven’t been overseas in what feels like forever, when I open my eyes, I feel
alive.
(Daily Writing 023)
