“Now you can stop efforting,” the teacher said as she began the two-minute mid-class rest. That long savasana evokes my elementary school, where we were ordered to rest after lunch. We placed our heads on our desks, within our folded arms. Commanding a child to rest makes about as much sense as commanding a cat to fetch.
In Bikram yoga, I enjoy the enforced rest. I now make my spine as long as possible for it: I stretch my shoulders away from my waist as I lay down vertebrae by vertebrae, do a pelvic tilt to lengthen my lower back, and finally, point each foot so as to pull open long even more.
Sometimes, a deep sigh escapes me, helping to expel fatigue. If I have had a difficult class, I just sink on to the mat gratefully. On a strong day, the rest is an exaltation. But no matter how my practice was, the tick-tock of my throbbing heart is hypnotic. Sometimes, I lose the sense of the floor beneath me and feel I am floating. That is the best.
On the mat, effort and reward are married. If I push harder, I go farther. My muscles and tissues obey my will (injuries excepted). And so with effort over time my knees regained the stretch needed to fold in hero. If I grip my spine ever harder–”Pull in those abs!”, my balancing stick will get more serene. If I push my hips far far sideways, my half-moon will soon bring my upper arm parallel to the ceiling. Effort is effective in yoga, if not always in life.
And effort is what makes the rest period wonderful: I deserve it. If hunger is the best sauce then effort makes for the best relaxation. So I keep efforting when it is time to effort. I love the rest.
Namaste,
Yoga Lily
