After a yoga class one of my students once thanked me for bringing her back to life. The gratitude came from a woman I’d been helping recover from lung cancer.I don’t think she has any idea about how she brought me back to life. Tonight the same student cried during savasana because she was happy to be alive. And now the thought of that moment and all of the moments that led to tonight are causing tears to pour out of me.
I will admit, I used to be afraid of this student because she was a challenge. I was her first teacher, she had never done yoga, and she had been going through kemo when she first stepped onto the mat. She may have not had her breath or any knowledge of the practices, but she had commitment. Being in the room was always a battle for her. She was always freezing when others were sweating, she would get frustrated because she couldn’t breathe, and because of her surgery she could not really get into the flow because her injury was at the forefront of her mind. She had been off of work because of the kemo treatments so she came every morning to my yoga class in flatbush, brooklyn. Her breath used to be loud that I could hear her coming up the steps over the sounds of the morning traffic. I used to sink back a little because I was scared of her, I didn’t want to hurt her, and admittedly, I didn’t know exactly how to help her. The only thing I could do is keep my eyes open, encourage her, and listen.
Over time, we became very close and the fears drifted naturally. She became comfortable around me, and instead of being worried about her being in class, I looked forward to it. I went into the studio waiting for her to walk in with her orange jacket and smile…rain or shine. On her last day before she had to go back to work she thanked me for bringing her back to life. I remember getting on the bus that day drowning in tears. Happy ones.
Of course I have had that moment before with a yoga teacher. Many, many, yoga to the people teachers had seen me fall to pieces on the mat. Being faced with nobody but myself- sometimes it had to come out. In tough times, it came out every day. It became so natural that not crying was weird. Seriously. Before I started to teach on my own I had always admired my first teacher, hillaria. She is still my teacher but now also my friend- because she has a large enough heart to walk over to the anonymous girl balling on her yoga mat in half pigeon. I actually remember the day hillaria and I talked first. I had broken down into pieces, again, and after class she asked me to stay back. She asked what’s up, if I was okay. I told her yoga is the only thing that is helping me right now and that I loved the quotes she read after class. The poems were my therapy and the practice itself felt safe. I was embarrassed though. Of course she told me never to worry about that and offered her phone number so I could see when she was teaching and to ask for help when I was ready.
Ill never forget the feeling of belonging I had that day. In new york city, you can be sucked into the hustle and bustle so much that you forget that there are other people alive except for you. Especially when you’re going through some hard time, you are really the center of your world and the rest of the people are as noticeable as an ant on a blade of grass. The attention, and the kind words, made me feel connected to someone-to something. And I really felt joy. I remember wishing that I could one day offer that to someone else. And today, when mary was crying, I now knew how it felt to be on the other side. And really, I think this is the true joy in life.
George Bernard Shaw has a quote about this type of work being the true joy in life. “Being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one.” I think it continues: “the being thoroughly worn out” as a force of nature “instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining the world will not devote itself to making you happy. And as I left class tonight- that feeling of “YES” was so clear. That yes, this is the joy in life. This joy will not come out of a material thing, or while intoxicated, or while I’m isolating myself in my bedroom, or crying over someone or something that I’m trying to control in some way, and failing (because I’m meant to be). But moments like these that are just pure love- that’s real. And that’s a feeling and a lesson that I never want to forget. I hope I one day have the same feeling and courage mary had to stick with it when she was literally falling on her face. She survived cancer because she truly, loves and appreciates every moment. She is just as much my teacher as I am hers. I may have helped her breathe and got her into a warrior one, but she is teaching me how to live.
