The other night I woke up wide awake at 1:07. Insomnia plagues me these days, and I never again sleep on these nights. As I face that usual, suddenly one of those yoga geek thoughts sparked: Why not practice a little?

I took liberties, I hope you’ll forgive me. I began with a slow, only-half-trying half-moon sequence. As always when I practice without heat, I go less deep but have better form. Both these components relaxed me: Not going deep means no sweating, no dizziness. Better form means more beauty, more integrity; these too are calming. They matched the quiet of the night.

With the awkward chair series, I aimed for minimal poses held steadily. In eagle, my ligaments allow a full twist of my arms and legs, and the pose felt like a loving hug.

After a gentle standing-head-to-knee, I had the kind of standing-bow I wish for every day I practice. I managed to align my front fingers, my front shoulder, chin, spine, and that back hand-and-foot combo, and I centered that line right on the fulcrum of my coccyx bone. And I pivoted like that proverbial seesaw. It’s an amazing feeling to sense staying in balance in so precarious a movement. It’s a moment of safety of some kind when I land my pelvis on the horizontal plane. And I exited in balance too.

When I eventually headed to bed and lay down, my skin began to tingle, every cell vibrating. I was completely engulfed in this tingle, embraced as thoroughly as by the cool waters of a deep lake. And I had no feeling of the bed either. Then, soon, I felt the weight of my body settling back down, the way a teacher will say, “Let the floor receive you. It’s there to hold you.”

I did not fall asleep, alas, but I did give my body the gift of yoga, a consolation in the dark hours.

Namasate,
Yoga Lily