Wild Yoga

yoga and thought from Theo Wildcroft

Wild Yoga Vinyasa 3: Aging (Dis)Gracefully

Wild Yoga Experiment Vinyasa 3: 01/04/15

  • 20m: Intro
    • Welcome + energy levels
      • So, then, the questions we are asking are:
        • How do we find our own practice? How do we share what we find? How do we go deeper? What are we looking to find?
      • (Namaste … we welcome your …)
      • Signs: jazz hands; tap for assist; act suggestions
    • Prayers: (join hands)
      • Spirits of place
      • With great respect and love…
    • Theme: Aging (Dis)Gracefully
      • When do we slow down? How do we balance staying wild with taking care of ourselves?
  • 15m: Open
    • Start timer
    • Follow and adapt PMA seated > standing
  • 15m: Flow
    • Take turns to lead around the circle; no more chatter
    • Change
    • Surrender Flow w/ variations
  • 15m: Wild
    • Theme repeat
    • Be inspired by your body; be inspired by others; don’t be afraid to be still
    • No pushing, no rush, no holding back
    • Be safe, be held, be free, step up
    • Come to stillness in your own time
  • 15m: Bhakti
    • Deep into the Earth I go…
    • Poems
    • Join hands, give thanks:
      • I give thanks for…
      • In this place, at this time, I discover …
      • We swear by peace and love to stand …
  • 15m: Still
    • Mini YN – Aging (Dis)gracefully:
      • First and last breath
  • 10m: Return (Prasad)

Lake and Maple, Jane Hirshfield

I want to give myself
utterly as this maple
that burned and burned
for three days without stinting
and then in two more
dropped off every leaf;
as this lake that,
no matter what comes
to its green-blue depths,
both takes and returns it.
In the still heart,
that refuses nothing,
the world is twice-born—
two earths wheeling,
two heavens,
two egrets reaching
down into subtraction;
even the fish
for an instant doubled, before it is gone.
I want the fish.
I want the losing it all
when it rains and I want
the returning transparence.
I want the place
by the edge-flowers where
the shallow sand is deceptive,
where whatever
steps in must plunge,
and I want that plunging.
I want the ones
who come in secret to drink
only in early darkness,
and I want the ones
who are swallowed.
I want the way
the water sees without eyes,
hears without ears,
shivers without will or fear
at the gentlest touch.
I want the way it
accepts the cold moonlight
and lets it pass,
the way it lets all of it pass
without judgment or comment.
There is a lake,
Lalla Ded sang, no larger
than one seed of mustard,
that all things return to.
O heart, if you will not, cannot, give me the lake
then give me the song.  

The Layers by Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.  

Warning by Jenny Joseph

When I Am Old.
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me,
And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals,
and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired,
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells,
And run my stick along the public railings,
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens,
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat,
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
Or only bread and pickle for a week,
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats
and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
And pay our rent and not swear in the street,
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised,
When suddenly I am old
and start to wear purple!