It's been almost two weeks since my return from the annual trip to yoga Mecca-- Wanderlust at Squaw Valley. It's stewed and simmered, and finally settled into another lovely melange of memory: music, yoga, friends, nature, food and inspiration. I have added to my 'bag of tricks', metaphorically speaking. I have blended one of the hottest post-WL playlists ever. The clearly outstanding bits have taken hold-- pranayama with Rod Stryker; meditation and asana with John Friend and cohorts; poolside at High Camp; frenetic dancing at MC Yogi and Michael Franti. But what really sticks me with are conversations over the course of the weekend on all manner of topics, some yoga-related, some not; the subtler nuances of thoughtful discussions and lectures by renowned teachers in our field; the very essence of what this practice is really about: love, compassion and community. Did I buy the tee-shirt? You bet your ass I did. Sue me, I'm a nostalgic American, after all.
What I really came home with however, was altogether unexpected, and not quite adequately expressed here. For all my years-- nearly 20-- of passionately pursuing this practice, I am completely humbled by how little I have scratched the surface of things. Sure, I can name most poses in sanskrit, have practiced and trained with some amazing teachers, perfected the Art of the Playlist-- but what I have now discovered is that this is truly a journey of self-discovery and process, not merely a commercial opportunity to self-promote on Facebook, or in a blog (!), or how well-geared up I am in certain brands of yoga apparel.
As well, I took note on several occasions during Wanderlust this year, at the demographic around me. Sure, there were tons of noodly hula-hooping, rock climbing, barbie-bending young yogis up there. But what I was really struck by was the overwhelming amount of 40ish to 50ish ladies, like myself, who are aging into a practice that is largely steered towards the urban youth hell-bent on becoming the 'next big rockstar'. 15 years ago I was one of them. Now a mother of 3, trying to support myself off this thing I hold in such high regard--yoga--I sometimes struggle with where I fit into this grand puzzle, long term. My particular voice, the fact that I still adore hot, sweaty, music-infused vinyasa has lately caused me to wonder what else is there for me that gives me the same exhilaration, inspiration and affirmation, THAT MAKES ME WANT TO DANCE. Regardless of age, injury and life experience (or maybe in spite of), I am still that rocker girl at heart, who wants to bring it.
I have decided that just because one aspect of the practice-- namely, spicy hot vinyasa-- was my doorway into this magical mystical world, it need not be one-dimensional forevermore . At Squaw I was fascinated by an entire workshop on pranayama, and inspired by another, more restorative approach. The underlying implication that unless yoga is 'kicking ass' then it's not yoga, is increasingly conflicting to me. Listening to Christophers' Tompkins and Wallis fascinating talk on shiva, compassion, and visualization, I was completely transported into another realm of possibility regarding spirit, and what 'yoga' really engenders. It's so vast that it can't be named. And so I continue to walk the path, with eyes open wider, heart more full, and, as John Friend so beautifully put, 'practicing with the heart of a beginner'. Can't wait til next year to see what new layer gets peeled back.
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