the sacred symbol om
This morning my friend H and I drove to Kohler for a yoga class at Yoga-on-the-Lake, a new studio overlooking a small-ish lake. We walked into the studio, a large, warm open room, and immediately felt cozy and calm; it is heated to 85 degrees, via radiant heating--ahhh, bliss. The bathrooms are gorgeous, with curvilinear modern Kohler fixtures. As I settled my mat on the heated floor, I watched fat snowflakes drift to the ground before I was swept up in an intense vinyasa flow class.
Although I've practiced yoga for eight years, I've mostly practiced on my own, using CDs or DVDs as my teachers. Whenever I actually take a class, I'm curious and a little apprehensive about the teacher's style. Today's class challenged me, not through new poses, for the most part, but to reach within myself for edges that I often don't press. I felt my soul fly in half moon (ardha chandrasana), my favorite pose, and felt my heart wide open in camel (ustrasana), my least favorite pose. By the end of the class, my cheeks flushed and my whole being toasty and expanded, I felt...purified.
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