Friday, February 3, 2012

Om again, Om again

I had been nervous about being at yoga camp, afraid I’d be either bored or lonely. The boredom part has been assuaged by a gentle sense of newness. Stepping off the boat onto the dock felt like coming home, but coming home after my cleaning lady has just left after subtly rearranging things as she worked. Last time I was here, the bedding was dingy and flattened. This time, the mattresses have a little (a very little) bounce! And the old ratty, rough towels have been replaced with ones that feel hotel luxe. Last time the toilets were often stopped up. This time they may stop up eventually, but the shower looks newly tiled. Last time I paid for my half of a double and had to share it (which was a disappointment but turned out o.k. because my young roommate was a delight). This time I paid for my half of a double and ended up with it all to myself, at least for the first six nights.

The conviviality I remembered from previous visits remains. I had feared that no one would want to sit next to the gray-haired lady. But gray-haired ladies predominate, at least until tomorrow, when a new class of teacher trainees arrives.

One thing I had forgotten. At almost any given moment, someone somewhere is chanting Om. And even if there’s a momentary lapse in the constant Oming, the ocean breeze soughs an Omish song. It can get confusing. In Sivananda yoga, you take a little rest, called savasana, or corpse pose, between sequences. To rouse you from your relaxation, the teacher Oms. Yesterday I couldn’t distinguished the teacher’s Om from the wind’s Om., and was constantly jumping up. I didn’t get a lot of rest. Today I put myself right at the front of the class, where I could tell the difference. 

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