Disruption and the Quell

Last night I experienced my first encounter with a disruptive student while teaching yoga. As the class settled into easy pose with eyes closed and turned their awareness inward and toward their breath, the door swung open and a carbon copy of John Coffee from The Green Mile poked his head in.

“This yoga?” he boomed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I do it?”

“Of course you may.”

He thanked me and disappeared back into the weight room. I turned back to the class, and fourteen pairs of wide eyes and furrowed brows met my gaze. I don’t know why the sudden presence of the man flustered us so, but I knew I’d just lost the opportunity to help the room center. So I made a joke about everyone now being wide awake and swung everyone around into child’s pose. A few minutes later the man returned and took a place in the back of the room. Bless his heart, he was dedicated and pushed himself through every sequence, and the whole room knew it. His grunts and huffs were consistent enough to provide a play list for the class, and he’d accent his breathy melody with a “shit” or “damn” whenever his arms tired from holding Warrior Two for an extra few breaths.

I didn’t bother me too much, and at times I found it humorous, but then again I wasn’t practicing and trying to find my center. Had I been a student, I’d have been just as irritated as the rest of my budding yogis looked. It was probably a golden opportunity to wax poetic about how there is no judgment in yoga and what is it about your own ego that makes you find fault or become irritated with others, but I’m not slick enough to pull that off without being totally obvious. There was an elephant in the room, and I would have been pointing right at it.

So I did the only other thing I could think of. I had them hold poses for several long breaths and cued them to cultivate stillness and quiet. And you know what? For a few brief moments it worked, and the energy of the stillness of fourteen unique bodies astonished me. Just from my simple words and the keen ears and dedication of the students we created overwhelming power cloaked in stillness and quiet. When it came time for Savasana, the final resting pose, the man continued his concert, squirming and flinging droplets of sweat onto neighboring bodies. I went over and firmly pressed his massive shoulders and anchored them into the mat. Within a matter of seconds his breath slowed and deepened, his muscles relaxed, and his clenched jaw released. His rhino grunts transformed to a kitten purr. Again I was astonished. I have magic hands! Ok, ok. I am not that self-centered! But I was amazed at the power a simple touch possessed.

This is what yoga continuously teaches me: that the simplest of things—breath, touch, plain words—have the ability to radically transform a person, from the way they hold their bodies, to the thoughts they think, to the emotions they feel. These things harness a greater energy than I’ve ever before experienced.

It’s always the little things in life, isn’t it?   

Namaste, loves.