My yoga class ends with Shavasana (shah-VAHS-anna), a Sanskrit word meaning corpse. The pose, the second to last of each class, is simple. I lie flat on my back, legs slightly apart, arms at my sides, palms up, as if I’m about to receive a gift from heaven. As if I’m ready to grab what I’m being offered. As if I’m stretched out, stone-cold on an autopsy table. Steph, the instructor, always introduces Shavasana as the hardest pose of the class. “Get ready for Shavasana. This will be the hardest pose of the class.”
That seems hard to believe after seventy minutes of Warrior ones, twos and threes. Seventy minutes of Downward and Upward Dogs, Goddesses, Side Angles, Triangles and Bound Angles. Seventy minutes of quad-burning postures that spring streams of sweat running down the center of my back even though I’m standing perfectly still. But here’s the deal, not only should my body look like a corpse, but my mind should function like one too, meaning not functioning at all. A blank mind. That’s what makes it tricky.
Note to the yogis who found this story by searching for one of the yoga-oriented words I’ve used to tag this post: I’m not going to argue with you over the proper goal of Shavasana. Steph tells me to clear my mind. For me, that means no brainwaves. Corpse pose, body and mind.
I have an active mind, an untrained mind, an immature mind, at least when it comes to meditation. I try to wipe it clean of thoughts, but they pop up unbidden and unwanted faster than I can irradicate them. My go-to strategy is to focus intently on the music that accompanies the class, the mystical pan flutes, wind chimes and synthesized gusting breezes that compose so many yoga CDs. This is cheating. My mind isn’t blank, but it’s not active either. It’s just riding a wave-crest of new age clichés.
In a surprising twist, Steph chose not to play any music in her class today. Because I’m self-centered, I assumed she did this because she’s on to me, she knows I’m not meditating, just listening to music. She spoke to us for a few minutes using a calm and relaxing voice. So calm and relaxed that I couldn’t hear what she was saying. But when she stopped talking, I knew it was time to start. And then my thoughts came, washing across my brain like so many PowerPoint slides. They washed in from my left brain, washed in from my right brain, and faded out and back in from my very soul.
Dammit, I wanted to get my arms comfortable before we started.
I can hear the basketball bouncing in the gym.
Focus, Jeff.
I should get a donut on the way home.
Breathe, listen to your breath.
Who keeps making that sound?
I wonder if Susan has this problem.
This is ridiculous.
I should write about this.
I should write about all these thoughts.
Great idea, Jeff. Think about that later.
FOCUS!
Clear your mind. Seriously, clear your mind.
It could be a humor piece.
LATER!
Jesus, how much longer is this going to last?
Steph’s right. Shavasana is hard. At least it doesn’t hurt. After we wrap up Shavasana, we sit crisscross applesauce on our yoga mat. Each participant holds their hands together as if in prayer, bows forward and says Namaste, a Sanskrit word meaning I bow reverentially to you, or in some interpretations, the sacred in me bows to the sacred in you. I haven’t done this. In the four months since I restarted yoga after a decade-long break, I haven’t said Namaste at the end of class. It seemed like praying in a religion I don’t fully understand.
At the end of today’s class, a session that by all accounts went poorly for me—I lost balance twice and nearly crashed to the floor, and of course I failed miserably at Shavasana—I was moved to participate in the Namaste salutation.
Steph: “Namaste.”
Me (and everyone else): “Namaste.” It just felt natural.
Getting in the car to drive home, Susan wasn’t crazy about my donut idea. I had eggs instead.
The Other Stuff 
Amazing! You’ve described the difficulty of emptying the mind of those rogue thoughts just as I have experienced it. I learned transcendental meditation as a teenager. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi calls that point where we are alive but have no thoughts as “pure awareness.” I think I’ve made it to pure awareness a couple of times in the decades that I’ve been doing TM. But mostly it’s a cascade of thoughts that lead me off into more thoughts.
My beloved yoga teacher, who used to wrap me in lavender scented scarves to ease my anxiety, moved to France a few years ago. I miss her, and I miss having a yoga class to attend.
I love your ending.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m happy I’ve restarted yoga, but I find it hard to believe I’ll ever have any real passion for it. I sort of see it as necessary physical therapy so I can continue to run and bike. I just took a couple of weeks off because of work commitments, writing commitments and vacation and I badly strained my back. Not a coincidence. I think those muscles need to stay plied or I’m in for a quick dose of trouble. I’ve lucked out with this teacher. She’s excellent and at the same fitness center where I go to spin classes, so I get both activities for “one low price.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Namaste, Jeff! Beautiful piece!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Wynne
LikeLiked by 1 person
I guess it’s similar thoughts and feelings (to ones you describe so well) that make me wonder if there is a spiritual intelligence quotient.
Maybe that’s just the speculation of one who doesn’t get it and who assumes others do.
But at the same time I wonder if your humility in relation to finally saying namaste is somehow meaningful.
A good piece.
Thanks
DD
LikeLiked by 1 person
I harbor an opinion that if I don’t work hard enough at a spiritual practice, I’m not allowed to claim the label. This happened with Christianity when I was a young adult and Buddhism as I hit midlife. Now I’ve pretty much formed my own spiritual beliefs, so no one can ever call me out on not being ‘enough’. Probably an area for me to give some attention. Obviously some insecurities in there somewhere.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Perhaps what I was reading into that namaste was a letting go of those insecurities. And maybe there is something significant in that.
~
Anyway, that reminds me I’ve neglected Stillness meditation for too long.
Be well and do good
DD
LikeLike
You perfectly illustrated why Shavasana was the hardest. Yes all the poses should help you clear your mind but during shavasana it should be empty.😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
I need fine-tuning on most of my poses, but Shavasana is easily the one that needs the most work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Jeff, what a brilliantly worded observation: “My mind isn’t blank, but it’s not active either. It’s just riding a wave-crest of new age clichés.” Nailed it : )
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. It’s easily my favorite line too.
LikeLiked by 2 people
You had me at Namaste 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤣
LikeLike
Nice and interesting post, thank you for sharing
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for dropping by.
LikeLike
Oh, Jeff, I’m so tired of feeling and thinking it’s my “fault” that my body is broken, my mind so busy, and stress so ever-present. And I’m tired of thinking the same about others. When my friend ends up in the ER with chest pains, my 1st thought is, what did she do? or not do? Not enough yoga? too much yoga? doesn’t meditate? I need to write about this too. Thanks for the prompt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always helps to write it out. I’ve done so much damage to myself with reckless activities over the years, it’s really hard not to blame myself when something hurts. But I’m also starting to learn that dwelling in my self-sorrow makes things worse not better. I’m definitely getting better at regrouping and trying again. I’m looking forward to your essay on the topic.
LikeLike