I hear voices in my head telling me what to do, when to do it, how, and why. But don’t rush to cart me away to The Happy Farm: It’s only the voices of my yoga teachers. I invite them to take the floor in my brain. I like their telling me what to do.
I surrender my own voice for ninety minutes a day. I let yoga take charge and silence my chattering mind.
Think of it. Ninety minutes during when I don’t hear myself think, don’t have to endure my boring old stories and don’t have to recite my worries. Instead I hear marching orders, setting me a-march toward my own health.
That’s another virtue of those voices: They always know what is good for me, the next right move. Yes indeed, if I separate my hips in eagle, my knees will snuggle together just right with no strain. And if I pull my scapulae down in half moon, my ribs will indeed open and my lungs blossom.
The voices are tricksy, however, in one small way: They are apt to jump suddenly from the physical to the mental. First they might command that I grip my foot, then launch into a harangue about living a full life, as in, “How do you expect to hold on to what you love if you can’t hold on to your own foot?” Or, “Reach that arm to the mirror. Try to touch that determined you. That you ahead of you is your future you, stronger, determined to get what you want.”
Such instructions are, of course, problematic. But even if I can not follow them, I like hearing them. They are so different from the messages my brain delivers. I wish those voices were in my head all the time.