Savasana
My left foot always takes longer to descend than my right. Although they still never feel at equal height I’ve stopped lifting my head to check. My shoulders sigh down to the mat, certain of where they’ll fall, sure of being caught. My fingers gently curl. Then nothing. I feel nothing. Nothing hurts, nothing pulls at me; this is my most valiant meditation success.
Savasana.
It’s taken me a little while to warm up to Savasana. I was always pleased to reach it, and mightily resentful when it was offered and taken away in almost the same instruction, but for a long time it was simply a momentary relief at the end of class. An opportunity to lie down is not to be sniffed at. Ever. Except as much as I heard my teachers’ words inviting me to come back to my breath, to surrender, they always sounded increasingly further away, jostling for space as my mind whizzed ahead, thinking of what I had to do, where I had to go, who I had to be.
Somewhere along the way though, as is always the case with my yoga, something clicked and now we’re old friends. I welcome that minute or two, sometimes more, sometimes less, at the end of class with open arms and a genuine inside-my-head-smile-that-reaches-my-eyes. Now, already, my body is relaxing down into the earth, I am coming back to my breath, my mind is still.
That short window of time is utterly precious, even if ultimately irrelevant as to when it occurs. Seconds given up to simply breathing, letting my body and mind rest, can change the course of my mind-set, my day, my whole outlook on, well, everything. Not to overstate it or anything but EVERYTHING.
I wonder about it sometimes when a day goes sideways and nothing is fitting as it should. Lists upon lists are extended and everyone I meet is singing the same song, all of us slightly obsessed with what we achieve within our allotted time. We talk about it a lot as we check our phones, our watches, our lives. As adults we seem resolutely set to fast forward, all the while bemoaning what we’ve just lost.
Add to that a strong message out there that somehow we’re supposed to make every single moment significant. We’re meant to be in it, experiencing it, embracing it. That’s quite a responsibility. Sometimes I find myself going into damage control, passing time like I’m scooping water out of a sand moat. The sense of urgency only because I want to end this day, unfulfilled by all the overwhelming possibilities, to start again in the morning. I’ll start fresh, I think, make it really count.
As a child, time moved to a whole different beat. I remember heavy, heavy eyes on summer afternoons as I willed forward the achingly slow big hand on the school clock to reach three o’clock. I remember too, how unfair it was that my pre-bedtime of 30 minutes was always less than my brothers’ 30 minutes. Always!
What I don’t remember though is ever questioning the time frame on moments of happy. Memories of what was probably a 20-minute game of bullrush are captioned in my mental photograph album as Hours of Endless Fun. What happened before the game, what might happen afterward wasn’t a consideration when we were playing. (Unless the big boys joined in. Then I suddenly realised I’d better get home.)
It’s probably not that big a leap to work out that Savasana really is the most important pose of the class. We hear it all the time but I didn’t buy it before. Now I do*. And every fibre of my being appreciates it.
I wonder if my teachers know I carry their voices telling me I don’t have to be anywhere else at this exact time. I wonder if they realise that by slowly, ever so slowly, suggesting I let my limbs soften, let my head get heavy, I hear them and I trust them.
They guide me to peace and for those few delicious minutes I’m safe, exactly where I should be.
Namaste.
– Jane
*Yes, I am a slow learner.
What does Savasana mean to you? Have you ever fallen asleep? I have once or twice, following some beautiful, lengthy Yin classes. It must have been for seconds but it was deep enough to dream! Leave a comment below xx
© The Yoga Connection 2016