Heart Full

I went back to Jivamukti this week. The venerable yoga studio, who’s price tag I feared would break the bank when I last reviewed them. My wallet did protest rustily as I paid for my class pack, but I’m eager to learn more about the studio that gave us vinyasa, its’ history, and the calm the teachers effortlessly exude.

The focus of the month at Jivamukti was “learning to be a master”, and although today’s class wasn’t the first class I’ve taken centered around this theme, none had resonated so deeply. The teacher asked if anyone was new to Jivamukti, a few hands; any students new to his class, mine along with other hands. He welcomed us with a smile. He asked us to think of a master, picture them in our mind, and consider why we admire them. A few candidates came to mind, my aunt for her compassion, Joshua for his dedication, Kristin for her fortitude, I couldn’t decide on one, so invariably they all whirled through my citta vritti (mind chatter).

Then he instructed us to press back, to downward facing dog. And as he described the pose, and our position, I heard Kristin. The terminology they used was oddly similar, even the sequence he was moving us through was reminiscent of my own teacher. He also punctuated his instructions with quiet “hmm hmm”. He was telling us to closely observe the master we had chosen, (or in my case it seemed the master that was chosen for me), and if we could practice as the master practices. Imitate their actions, so as to imbue some of their energy into our own. it would be both a form of respect, and part of our englightening journey. And I had it easy.

It was after all pretty easy to imitate Kristin, when the teacher in the very class seemed to be channeling her. Then i considered the mystical tangent I was in at that very moment. This was my first class with him, but it felt like home, I was even moving into the next poses before he called them.

After the class concluded, I made my way to the small crowd that had gathered around him. He was warm, welcoming. I thanked him for the class, and asked if he had ever had a student named Kristin. He couldn’t recall. I was disappointed. In an hour and a half I had somehow built up this moment to mythical proportions. There was no greater connection, I wasn’t “suppose” to be here by some divine intervention. Kristin had studied at Jivamukti, so it’s no great wonder that other Jivamukti teachers would have similarities in teaching. The divinity of it all was my over-active maya (illusion).