Distill. Enlarge

Where did this begin?  One beginning was the garden.  I wandered there alone, which was a rarity, because there were only minutes before Sharon Gannon would offer a Jivamukti class in her home in Woodstock.  This is her & David Life's garden, entered through a wound wood spiral, drenched in sun, with a path that leads to a screened in garden bedroom.  Sleep, plants, crickets.

We are golden.  Another beginning.  Within the class Sharon invited us to sit for meditation by playing Joni Mitchell's "Woodstock."  Lured in, we stayed.

It kept beginning.  In the studio there was a round window to the meadow behind.  It was so clear.  When meditation felt dense I opened my eyes & could see small insects marching in light, leaves moving.  I saw what I heard: crickets, winds, leaves.  The window offered me a new vision each time my gaze reached up.

It began far earlier.  Kevin & I have an adventure this weekend.  He graduates from Goddard College, a place that has been so dear to him, & for which he already grieves the loss.  My hope is that it's not a loss, just punctuation.  

We knew we were journeying north to Vermont to witness his graduation.  We'd always wanted to join Sharon Gannon & David Life in their Woodstock home for an August Jivamukti vinyasa intensive.  We decided to leave for graduation a day early, take a Woodstock class, & stay the night in Albany with our dear friends Taina, Gaetano, Yabisi, & Caona.

As our eyes hazily opened after meditation we began again.  Began moving.  Sharon kept intoning that words have meaning.  Mean what we say, say what we mean.  She encouraged us to articulate our bodies as precisely.  She loosened instruction: "you know the suryas.  Do them."  Over the stereo came "Here comes the sun."  We all sang (loud!) while lifting to surya.  A gong rang.  A woman in front of me grabbed a book of poetry that Sharon had previously scattered throughout the room.  Clearly, strongly, with the same presence of pinca mayurasana, she shared the poem.  Sharon moved us to standing asana poses.  We sweat, breathed, the gong rang.  Kevin stood up tall & clearly recited Nazim Hikmet's poem, "It is this way."  Sharon looked at him quizzically-- it wasn't from a book.  She nodded as she understood it was memorized-- this is how dearly he (& I) hold this poem.

(We each encountered it in the introduction of David Gilbert's book, "No Surrender," the title taken from Hikmet's poem.  Hikmet, like Gilbert, was a political prisoner.)

We felt seen.  Our voices heard.  We submerged ourselves again in movement.  More readers offered voice when the gong rang.  Our voices quieted as our bodies moved.  Another song we all recognized came over the stereo & we sang.

I felt trembly with energy, sweat, breath, the garden, meditation, the communion in the room.  I reached for a book of poetry.  I remembered seeing a book of Patti Smith that interested me.  It had wandered away.  This was poetry by Julia Butterfly Hill.

Of course.  She sat in "Luna," the giant redwood, to prevent it's destruction.

I opened to a poem on political prisoners.  Sharon rang the gong & I rose.  I used to read poetry all the time.  It's probably been years since I've been vulnerable in this way.  I read Julia's words & they felt like my own. Julia shared her conviction that all political prisoners would come home from jail.  Jails would burn to ashes.  Ashes move to earth.  Over it all we will rise & move.  I felt myself shaking from the energy of my beliefs & the energy in my muscles, my breath, somewhere else.  

Afterwards Sharon opened herself to a Q & A.  I think we were all a little too dazed by the shared experience to be sufficiently forthcoming with questions.  David Life congratulated Sharon on such an artful class.  He asked her to speak more about the connections between yoga & poetry.  Paraphrasing, she responded that yoga asks us to distill our movement & be precise.  We edit our bodies to fill asana.  Poetry asks us to move to that point of clarity-- mean what we say, say what we mean.  Each medium must be intentional, with purpose.  

It began in all those places.  It continued to creep, anew, as Kevin & I wandered down the hill into the tall firs shading our car.  Our cheeks glowed as we both admitted to one another, "I love Sharon Gannon."  "No, me too.  No, I really love her."  We sat down across from one another over lentil soup & iced coffee & found the various pieces assembled so precisely.  Our limbs coordinating.  Our bodies in reference to those around us.  A piece of our spirit enlarged, inflamed.