A yoga studio on a Sunday morning at 08h00 has an air of desperation to it. People who are here either fled an empty bed, a crowded house, or an overloaded breakfast table with too many carb temptations. Don't get me wrong, I am not judging or looking down on them. After all I am here as well, here for one of the same reasons. Whatever the reason we have fled onto our mats, knowing that this will be the one safe space that never judges and just is. A safe space that is shared yet quiet. A space to think. Or not. To move and stretch and try and dare. A place to cry and let it be alright. A space of no judgement, of questions resting, and answers surfacing.
I have recently stopped coming to a yoga class with any expectations. All of a sudden I realized that having expectations just frustrated me if they weren't fulfilled and while that is probably completely normal in every day life, it just didn't seem fair to my yoga practise. Now I just let it be what it is. I don't except to be energized or calmed, have my mind cleared or my butt tightened. I just come onto my mat, I practise, I breathe. And each and every time I am allowed to witness magic afterwards. The magical feeling of getting exactly what I needed. I don't expect anything, but I get everything. Usually it is something I didn't even even feel was top of my list of things needed. Something I didn't know I urged for till I got it. It is quite amazing. It makes me feel grateful.
It is the one thing I trust one hundred percent. Unconditionally. So I did this morning. Out of desperation I fled. Yet again...how wonderful to be surprised each and every time.