I don’t know what the problem was.
I couldn’t focus.
My mood sagged. It wasn’t because of the teacher or the sequences. (In fact, the class had all the right elements, including a Mary Oliver poem during the first few minutes.)
I think it might have been the music.
This instructor chose silence as opposed to a personally curated playlist that so many (all?) the other instructors use.
But I can’t handle silence. I’m terrified of the quiet mind.
(I can’t fall asleep without a podcast in my headphones. I cook dinner and fold laundry with Nina Simone and Miles Davis. I turn on the television, so terrified of my quiet mind.)
My chest and my throat are tighter today than they are when I’m distracted. I fear my natural rhythm, my emotional inflation and deflation. I rise and fall like breath.
Except that my breath isn’t steady. I hyperventilate. And sometimes during difficult poses, I gasp. My spirit is reckless and unpredictable.
Even as I write this, I’m breathing deeply to dim the radiating sadness on my face.
I’m crying for no reason. Nothing happened. Yoga didn’t help me today.