The Great "Partnership"

It's not by chance that the word "Partner" is included in Restorative Partner Yoga; It's integral to the practice. From my earliest training, my mentor, Syl Carson, stressed the importance of mirroring the breath and finding the complementary yoga posture. What that looks like in action? Watching for the rising belly in your client, bringing in your own deep inhale simultaneously, then moving you and your partner into the posture when you see or feel the exhale. It's not enough to simply move someone around in a series of postures. That's Thai Massage. Restorative Partner Yoga happens when the person receiving the session is pulled into a heart-lifting cobra and the person giving the session releases the low back, lifts the heart, drops the shoulders and finds that sweet spot--a modified chair pose. All of this, mind you, at the same time. The roles, at some point, begin to merge. Who is giving? Who is receiving? That is the very heart and soul of this work--in order to give, meaningfully and effectively, you must be able to receive. Certainly this goes both ways. To receive the work, you must give it freely.

Never was this concept more powerfully illustrated for me than when I was wrapping up my certification hours. After twenty-eight hours of Giving, it was unavoidably time to Receive, for two hours of it were required before I could turn in my paperwork. One session. One beautiful, glorious, blissful session. That's when the understanding of reciprocity opened up within me. Had I forgotten what this work was all about? Had I realized how meaningful and deeply restorative this work truly was? I think I had. The secret to it all? Giving IS receiving.




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The Theory of Re-sensitivity

I've never had a huge tolerance for scary movies, and roller coasters have always seemed daunting and dangerous, but those realities were never enough to hold me back. I always managed to shush my common-sense, grit my teeth, bite off my nails and force myself to enjoy it. And then I would! That is, until recently. The strange phenomenon happened over seven years ago after the birth of my first child, a sweet, darling and somber daughter, which I mention as a side note. During the first few months of my postpartum I was emotional, volatile, and utterly useless. It was a rough adjustment, this thing called "motherhood". So when I sat down to watch a not-even-horror-level-but-mostly-just-morbid movie with my husband and I was haunted for weeks afterwards, I assumed it was just postpartum hormones. Then, several months later, when standing in the shadow of the park's tallest roller coaster, I knew there was no power strong enough on this Earth to make me ride that thing. What was wrong with people? Why was anyone riding it? Did they all have a death wish? No. No. And...no. Several children later, these experiences have been replaying themselves over and over again. I simply cannot do scary--not in the theatre, not in the amusement park. It completely overloads my system and I cannot separate reality from fiction, or thrills from near-death trauma. This is my conclusion: I have been re-sensitized. Children are this way, at first, anyway. It's only after years of exposure and repeated experiential training that children overcome their natural naivete, so to speak. We typically sum it by saying--they're desensitized. We're all desensitized! We can watch a show for the first time and have it shock and scandalize us, but by round two it's par for the course. But here I was, a grown woman, suddenly reverting back to my childlike ways. Something happened in me that undid all that hard work of growing callous and thick-skinned. I was raw and vulnerable. It's never been AS extreme as it was after my first baby, but it's still there. I've never reverted back to my pre-motherhood coaster-riding-scary-movie-watching-self.

So there it is, the theory of re-sensitivity...relatively speaking.

But it doesn't end there. I daresay, that was where it all began. What started as a growing sensitivity to "scary" has evolved into a growing sensitivity to "spirit". As a child, solely out of self-preservation, I consciously and willingly shut down. The method of abuse that my abuser chose to use on me, and my mom, and my sisters, and my girlfriends, and their moms, and the babysitter, and the secretary, etc. was the method of spiritual-ritualistic-manipulation. I don't actually know if such a thing technically exists, but it seems to do my childhood justice. I knew from a young age that God was not safe. If God spoke to men like my dad, then I didn't want Him to talking to me. So...I pulled in the antennae, I deferred to the memorized Mormon catechisms, and resolved to be a "good girl" with no help from anyone.

Then love came. And babies. Which brought more love, and awakening. And this wild dance of Earth and Sky took place in my heart, Shiva and Shakti shattered the glass. Mother Kundalini hissed her wrath and scorched her slithering trail of fury and redemption. Motherhood and Wifehood felt like an ill-fitted dress, or like the glass-slipper on the step-sisters foot...MY foot. But I danced the dance, I cried my buckets full, I let the forest fire burn off until the word sanctified flitted across my consciousness. And what was I left with? Sensitivity. It had been so long. But the work of motherhood and wifehood drew it up and out of me.

Still yet, the story deepens. From that sensitivity sprang up a call for God. I sought Him, finally. Yoga started me on the path of reconnecting to my physical body, because I had long since abandoned it. With that yoking stronger and surer ever day, it extends now to the mind and soul. It's no accident I felt led to RPY. With every session, I feel my antennae extending up and out, I feel the need to slow down and listen, I feel the urge to trust my instincts, I feel the subtle guidance and influence of "spirit". This is selfishly and whole-heartedly MY work, give it as I may.



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