This Sunday morning, I finally managed to make it to the yoga practice. It has been more than four years, since before my Tetti was born and I had the C-section. I’ve always done yoga since I started recovering and my wound turned into a fearless scar, but at home, in a mellow mode, always forgetting to do the least favorite (and probably more challenging) poses.
But today it was different. I’ve finally got myself to the studio, at YogaTree, to take a 1 hour and 45 minutes long Hatta Flow level 2-3 (ouch!) with my all times favorite teacher/writer/cutie pie Darren Main. I’ve taken a lot of brakes and I sweat as if I was running to catch the 571 bus (Gloria-Leblon) in Rio de Janeiro’s humid summer (sorry about the inside joke for cariocas). Anyway, I was sweating like the prodigal pig I am: 4 years without showing up in a Yoga class? And what I was thinking, jumping right in such a challenging level? Everyone around me was doing way better and looking way cooler. But I didn’t care; at least I was there. And guess what? Darren even recognized me! “I haven’t seen you in a while…”
I felt so blessed to have been able to show up, even though I did not do all the poses. How they say, a long road starts with one step…
But afterwards was when I had the BIG EXPERIENCE OF THE DAY. I came back home walking empty headed, in my old usual (but almost forgotten) post-yoga “I am walking through Jell-o” mode. I decided to stop in Birite before heading home to get some collard greens and fruits. As I stepped into the grocery store, a festival of smells invaded me. Everything exhaled such a rich perfume. It was like the bread smelled luscious, the greens more alive and crisp then ever, the cheeses had a creamier tone, the spices were sultry, and, oh, the cherries. I hand picked each one until filling up a bag. Everything felt so intense, the food sending invitations “Eat me. Devour me”.
I could not understand; why everything had a more intense flavor and smell? The only time I have felt kind of like that I was nine years old and my mom and I went to pick up my first ever correction glasses (I am short sighted). As I walked down the streets wearing them, the world seemed new. The colors looked brighter and more saturated. Everything was sharper, shapely, and clear. As I recalled that childhood experience, it hit me: it was like I was wearing glasses for my nose and palate. Could it have been the yoga? But of course. The yoga gave me the “nose glasses” by enabling me to take the world around me more deeply, opening me wider to receive it. It was exhilarating.
I have never eaten such delicious cherries, ever in my life, but they were, indeed, the cherries that I always buy, every other day. Birite sources them always from the same organic farm. It was I the different one, not the cherries. As I savored them, thanking God for such a delight, such intense and subtle sweetness, I remembered something I’ve read the night before. I’ve opened a random page in Darren’s Yoga and the path of the urban mystic, and browsed the chapter about Pranayama – the breath of life. I’ve read this before, but only this morning, eating my heaven sent cherries, I’ve got it.
