Yoga Poet

 

Last week I met Leah. It was 7:45 in the evening.  It was a Tuesday.  After putting my littlest one down to sleep, I ran to the studio without looking back.  Although I had thought about not going to the class, once I got out the door, I was on a mission.  I climbed the stairs to the new studio.  I saw flowers and a familiar face and a mat on the floor that was calling my name ("here," it said, "come here.")  I listened and settled in. 

 

But back to Leah.  Leah is a Yoga Poet.  I have had the great fortune to meet a few yoga poets in my life, most of them at Kripalu, and it is like nothing else.  For me, it is the blending of these two forms of art/awareness that I love so fully.  Leah's language was concise and thoughtful and beautiful ("your shoulder should be plum over your hip," and "reach out through your radiant fingertips.")  But most of all, her words stemmed from a place of truth and confidence.  I could sense Leah's authenticity almost immediately; I trusted her completely without knowing her at all.

 

And this is when it dawned on me.  Again.  That realization that all that really matters is that I am myself in whatever it is that I am doing - teaching a yoga class, mothering a daughter, working on a grant, talking with my husband.  Authenticity is the only first step. 

 

I have already searched out more yoga classes taught by Leah for this simple, age-old message that we must be ourselves, well, it is good to have role models.  To hear others authenticity and to learn from them because "being ourself" must be practiced.  Like poetry.  Like yoga.