June 1, what feels good

A day I awaited with so much anticipation and yet a day which did not start well. By 6 in the morning, Ben was barking his 'I am bored' bark. 'I want you to come down' bark. 'I have something to show you.' 'I have done something I am not sure about.' 'On the one paw I might have done something wrong, on the other, I am super excited  because what I have done will certainly elicit a rise of you guys.'
 

I came wobbling down the stairs and took a comprehensive look at the lower ground. This one was about shoes. Or rather, slippers. The last ones Ben has halved were John's, Colin's father. We offered temporary replacement. John was a good sport about it. Right now the situation a bit icy. Colin loves his clogs. They're one item he cares about and should put away at night before going to bed, given past experiences with objects of all kinds: feather pillows (3), blankets (2), oranges, bread, just finished and ready to eat salads, pens, pins, screws, cushion buttons, rugs, pet brushes, plastic bags, plastic containers, pretty much anything that happens to be near his nose while he's waiting for us to appear from the upper floors where we please to hide at night, behind the dog metal gate which, of course, has been chewed on too.

Colin was not too upset. On the bright side it was maybe time for a new pair of such comfortable, foot imprint-on-the-insole kind of clogs. While making the second round of lattes, I realized that Ben's bark had awakened me from a dream where I was trying on a couple of exquisite summer, walk-on-the-water sandals, from the store a friend had just opened, or, rather, was trying to open soon.

By the time we got to the yoga factory the day had declared itself, soft and humid. In the driveway three poppies in full bloom said a cheerful hello, while the lilacs, already loosing the grapes of their youth, were sleeping in.

We carried our respective mats, a bit thicker and softer than yoga asceticism would require. Mine having been laid a few more times than Colin's, which is brand new. We have bought his in Montreal, a few months ago, when, after visiting with friends, we happened to stop by the Forum, on our way out of the city. Looking for pastries, as I usually am when we leave any city at all. We had decided to do yoga together at home. And what a good omen, that that yoga mat should come from a place Colin worshipped as a child. Since not much is left of that universe, but a bronze statue in the midst of what looks like a void waiting to be filled, derelict and sad.

The session, two hours long; the asanas responded to my description of Colin's more present and pressing aura of need: he is the one who carries three men on his shoulders, three male colleagues, who, irrespective of their material weight, may at times weigh quite heavy on his sleepless nights.

In spite of that, it was the figure of the child which played in my mind during our practice together. Within that space, I am usually in the presence of women. And since I do not know them, I try to be discreet and look in their direction as little as possible. It is a kind of privacy I appreciate in this group practice. With Colin though, of course, it felt very different. It is exhilarating to be doing something we had never done together before. Couples who have lived together for a long time know what I am speaking of. It is one of the secrets of a lasting couple, to invent new things to do, and, of course, new things to talk about. Not always easy. And I am not speaking of high degrees of danger, exoticism or eccentricity either. I know of women who would love to have their partners partake in their yoga practice. For the men, it is close to impossible to accede to this simple yet so meaningful demand. I do not pretend to know what makes it difficult for them. But I will admit it was with an extreme and grateful surprise that I heard Colin say yes. 'Do you accede to your spouse's demand, that you shall go with her once a week,  to practice yoga, in illness and in health? Yes, I do.' That's pretty much how it felt.

Of course I realized quite early that I would not be able to direct him in his practice at home, let alone both of us. Those are skills I would have yet to acquire.

Going back to the figure which playfully occupied me during this first session, the figure of the child. It appeared to me that this practice, at least in its beginning stages, has a lot to do with how children employ their bodies, manner which they are forced to renounce as they
become adults. And I doubt it is only a question of easy transposition. Making the names of the asanas accessible in English, as they say. The fact is, in yoga, one is brought to recall many of the positions one practiced naturally as a child. As Karen, our instructor, puts it so well, and often: whatever feels good, whatever feels right. It feels good to lay on your back and take hold of your feet, or toes, while bringing your knees close to your chest. It is rightfully called 'happy child', even if in translation or transposition only. It feels good to lay on your knees, face down, cheek on the mat, arms by the sides of your head, bum up. This bum up, face down, which we so rarely do just for fun, when not searching for an earring lost under the bed, where do you go to practice as a way of freeing yourself of whatever you carry on your shoulders? Where do you dare thread one arm under the other, while laying on your face and knees, bum up? Both our dogs, on the other paw, know all about it.

Children, dogs, cats, warriors, trees, bows and arrows, bridges, and yes, the corpse, all come to brighten your day. And there, in the aptly called yoga factory, you are allowed to make of the bum up, head down, arms hanging loose whichever way feels good, a purpose in itself. It was, of course, a special delight to have Colin there with me. His wide hockey player shoulders turning, slowly, to the left and then to the right, long, straight arms perfectly parallel to the ceiling, or to the sky, torso gracefully sustaining a lighter head, for once only attentive to the unhurried rhythm of his breath. Spine long, eyes gazing softly, stealing a glance in my direction now and then, like school children amused by their secret plan to shyly behave. 

And then we laid down for the last asana, that of the Shava. While Karen's voice was reciting all the places, along the body, which our breath should visit, embrace and release, a bird, maybe a robin, was chanting her own privilege outside. Clear and distinct bird calls addressed to the fortunate day. We answered Namaste in return. Somehow, it felt utterly right to do yoga in the country: barefooted, and attentive to our dog's early example of doing what feels good. Oh! that trustworthy destroyer of all those worldly, comfortable, material things!