Exploring stillness and movement can be awkward, even painful, for a newcomer but it rewards those willing to take a risk
By Lucie K. Scheuer
I find myself, feet twisted behind me, head bowed, my left cheek pressed into the floor. I might be drooling. Oh heavens, what if I am? My left molar is beginning to ache.
This can’t be right, I think, twisting myself into a pretzel and then trying to breathe, all the time worrying I mustn’t break wind. It’s dark in here; maybe the other 14 participants won’t notice me.
I rise up, readjust myself on the mat. No one’s looking at me. Good. Because I would hate for someone to see me. Try the pose again. Nope. Too painful. My left hamstring is going to snap. Did I just let out a whimper? This is supposed to be yin yoga. It seems to me it might be the simplest yoga there is. If I can’t do this, what am I going to do? No one has explained what it is to me yet, so it could be yang yoga for all I know.
Finally, the instructor says the words I’ve been longing to hear, “Don’t push yourself. If you’re new to this, it may take you awhile to relax into it. Don’t make any moves that cause pain.” Too late. I am way beyond that. But I am happy in one respect: I have been given permission to just lie here. I close my eyes and allow myself to sink into another realm. The idea is to just breathe. Breathe and stretch and find that place in myself where the calm resides, where the judgmental voice has been quieted. To discover inner peace. The problem then becomes, how do I get up? I just lie here waiting for everyone to leave. The instructor lends me a hand, pulls me to my feet.
I’m not sure what I found that day, but I discovered I have a spoiled kid inside, who tends to give up on new things easily and who wants to look good all the time. But I also kept going because I knew I was on to something. Not just the unexpected discomfort but the spaces in between where there was just me, the silence and a place to shut off the constant chattering in my head.
The healing arts — i.e., meditation, tai chi, qigong, yoga — are geared toward helping us find balance in a world out of balance. A place to practice mindfulness. To connect through breath and movement with an inner source of healing that we all have within us. As a person who has tried several of these modalities over the years, I know that engaging in my own personal growth has been a process of unfolding patience and release. These practices have led me to so many good things: forgiveness of self and others, emotional sobriety, self-confidence and some badly needed coordination.
Healing arts are interesting because they meet you where you live. That day I was the spoiled kid — the “look good” adult — the scared beginner. I realized if I was going to be able to do any of the classes offered, I would have to humble myself, be willing to make some mistakes and take some risks. That I would have to accept myself, exactly the way I am. And, with time and practice, I am learning to do that.
I have been engaged in some of these classes for several months now. There are certainly other ways to find inner peace: gardening, dancing, painting, journaling, swimming — but exploring stillness and movement was important for me because the world is not going to get any less complicated. We all deserve a chance to unplug and unwind. To disconnect from the internet, social media, cell phone bombardment and TV. If we are going to live meaningful lives, it helps if we engage in meaningful pastimes. We are not just human “doings,” but human beings. Incorporating practices such as these help us remember who we are.
Lucie K. Scheuer is director and coordinator for two nonprofits in the Rogue Valley: Heart Rising, to aid Almeda Fire victims, and Uniting for Ukraine RV, to help Ukrainian refugees. She is also a nonprofit development consultant, journalist and credentialed substance abuse/dual-diagnosis counselor.
Want to contribute? Send 600- to 700-word articles on all aspects of inner peace to Richard Carey ([email protected]).
