As a reader and writer, I find solace in thoughtful prose. Good writing, no matter the form it comes in, has the power to sink into our minds, bodies, and spaces in between. I started thinking more about this idea of the way words land in our body when reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, who describes the role of writers and what happens when the reader receives the gift of words:
Think of those times you’ve read prose or poetry that is presented in such a way that you have a fleeting sense of being startled by beauty or insight, by a glimpse into someone’s soul. All of sudden everything seems to fit together or at least to have some meaning for a moment. This is our goal as writers, I think; to help others have this sense of—please forgive me—wonder, of seeing things anew, things that can catch us off guard, that break in our small, bordered worlds. When this happens, everything feels more spacious.
I agree; on a deeper level, the role of the writer is to help others experience expansion and spaciousness in the way they think and maybe even see the world. The choice in language, the placement of punctuation, and the order of the words, carefully selected by the writer. All of this is a reflection of the writer’s soul, waiting for you to absorb it and possibly even see things in a new light.
This passage also made me think yoga. Yoga is a layered practice. For many people, the path to yoga is through an asana (poses) practice. This is what we see at the local studio, fitness center, and on your social media feed. But through continued practice and study, it may become apparent that there’s more happening in a yoga class than a physical exercise.
On a physical level, practicing yoga poses creates spaciousness in our body. Here’s a common question from new students: Why sit on a block, blanket, or bolster at the start of class when the teacher suggests it? Because when we take the support of a prop, we enable ourselves to sit up taller, lengthen the spine, and find more space in our entire torso. We give our diaphragm and lungs space to expand and provide us with fuller breaths. In other words, it’s just easier to breathe.
While a home yoga practice is important, it’s really important to study with others. The best teachers I’ve had have helped me to feel the practice more deeply, beyond the stretch in my tight hamstrings. Over time, I discovered what it meant, how it felt to bring mind and body together on and off the mat; I discovered more space in the way I think, feel, and be in the world.
With dedicated practice, the mind’s chatter has a chance to dwindle to a whisper, a murmur. Not to say I am always successful at this but that’s why I keep showing up and yoga remains a big part of my life. I have faith in this practice that as I cultivate the possibility of space in mind and body, I will also take up more space in the world—an act of resistance at a time when many of us have been conditioned to do the very opposite.
With a dedicated and continued yoga practice, you realize more and more how paying attention to our alignment frees our mind and opens us up to new ways of seeing things—or maybe just noticing things that have been there all along. Somebody at my yoga training program the other night described a fleeting moment when she parked her car. She noticed the trees, the signs, and the sound of traffic on the road behind her. She said, “I thought to myself ‘life is just so rich!'” A beat. “And then it passed.” We all laughed in recognition of these fleeting moments of beauty that seem within and out of reach all at the same time.
But this level of presence and appreciation for the beauty of the most ordinary moment is possible when we really pay attention to the spaces within and around us, and everywhere in between. However you discover this spaciousness—whether it be reading poetry, practicing alignment-focused yoga postures, or taking a walk in nature—may you discover the spaciousness in both body and mind to be with the beauty that this moment has to offer.
Katie Kohlbeck 