A Day of Thai and Fly -- London, England

I leave Francesco's at 8:30 most mornings, giving myself an ample hour and fifteen minutes to walk through Kensington Gardens and down Oxford road to Triyoga studio in Soho. I notice the joggers, bikers, dogs and dying daffodils. I cheerfully sing an improvised ditty and catch the quizzical glances of people passing by.

You'd be singing too if you were walking to six hours of getting loved on and being upside down. 

I arrive at King's Court with fifteen minutes to use the toilet and then stand awkwardly in the reception (looking at clothing I have no intention of buying) as I wait for the doors to open and the instructors to invite fifty-odd yogis to thunder inside like a herd of half-asleep rhinos.

The space is too small for this many people. It's worse than my Vinyasa teacher training in Spain back in 2011. Oof. I didn't expect this at all. I suppose it's a good sign though, right? means it's a well-known program and that people are interested in learning this style of yoga.

With great creativity, infinite patience and an impressive lack of personal boundaries (verging on Italian), we arrange our mats to accommodate the eager crowd all chomping at the bit (look at us being horses, Italians and rhinos) to get ourselves upside-down (which leads to bizarre images of large inverted, pasta eating quadrupeds). 

I chat with a few of the students as our rhino dust cloud settles in the form of purple yoga mats on the wooden floor. I'm inspired and intimidated by the skill of the practitioners around me.

Look at that fellow just floating straight up into a handstand, easy as you please. I can hardly even hold a forearm balance. And goodness, this lady has been practicing acro for HOW many years? Aww... the hips. The gorgeous, open, free hips. 

I glare down at mine and indulge in a bout of pout.

Stupid bone on bone compression. Genes are the worst. 

I chat with a few other students as we roll onto our sticky mats and massage out our spines. I'm inspired and intimidated by the amount of traveling some have done.

She's been going for two years now? She supports herself entirely off of what she makes and sells at festivals? How? What? Ahh!

I think about my fear of having to grow money-making roots somewhere and I indulge in the game of shame.

Why am I still afraid that what I have to offer isn't enough to keep me going? I've felt plenty of love and support from those around me and know that the gifts I give are valuable... why am I still holding onto this fear? 

Then Jason calls us to the front and center of the room with a soft chime he's playfully dubbed "the ice cream bell".

"Make sure you're comfortable. We'll be sitting her for a while."

Our instructor takes out his ukelele and breaks down the day's mantra for us. I'm reminded of the definition of "gentlemen" I learned whilst volunteering in Germany.

"A gentleman is a man who knows how to play a ukelele... and doesn't."

Jason is not a gentleman. But I don't mind.

As a group, we close our eyes and repeat after the nimble Mexican/American co-founder of acro-yoga. Thoughts of my inadequacies as a teacher and traveler fade away as I lose and find myself in the collective sound of fifty-odd rhinos (suddenly turned nightingales with the random squawking seagull). We call and repeat, teachers then students, sending our energy back and forth through the space -- filling every nook and cranny with the resonance of our voices. 

We slip into silence, room reverberating with the melody of our music. Except for the sounds of drills and hammers and shouts from the builders working just outside Triyoga, of course.

Oh well, I thought as I refused to get bitter about the construction interruption. Just makes it more like real life. Life is always going to have a few loose screws that need some loud adjustment. Anyone can find stillness in peace. Finding stillness in chaos is the tricky bit. Drill away, my obnoxious friends. Drill away.

Meditation takes ages. My mind drifts from teaching in Croatia, to whether or not I emptied the kettle at Giovanni's apartment, to worrying about my dad's insomnia, to not judging myself for worrying about my dad's insomnia during meditation.

Don't beat yourself up for having thoughts. Don't follow the thoughts down the rabbit hole. Acknowledge their presence and let them go. 

When the meditation bell (an app on Jason's iPhone) finally ethereally chimes, we all bring out hands to heart center and draw our awareness back into London, Soho, Triyoga studios, the purple mats, our quiet bodies.

Thai massage/therapeutic flying warmup commence. We rub our hands together to generate healing heat and then place them gently on a body part that's crying for attention. After a few moments of directing thoughts, hands, heart at this point of pain, we caress, bless our whole bodies in three sweeping movements.

Then we lunge. And massage the ground. And lunge some more. We Thai squat, Russian dance, lizard pose our way around the room and clock (which I look at far too often). After our bodies are sufficiently stretchy and the polished floor has received an adequate massage (you could almost hear it moaning, groaning under our one hundred-odd hands), we gather again in the center of the room to watch Erica and Jason demonstrate a Thai massage routine.

They move slowly. Mindfully. Gracefully. Gratefully. Treasuring each touch as a gift they give and a gift they receive. Exploring muscles, breath, weight, emotions. Letting go of mind and embracing intuition.

This is... this is a new medium through which I can express love. Watercolor allowed me to take painting on the road. Thai massage and therapeutic flying could allow me to experience the joy of a loving connection without needing months to develop rapport. I don't need to know someone to love them. I need to listen to love. With my hands. With my feet (yes, we use feet in Thai). With my heart (I just spent 30 hours training with yogis. New age cheese will be a large component of my vocabulary for the next few weeks). 

We rearrange the mats (an epic endeavor. Rhino chaos resumes) to face Jason and Erica, choose a partner and spend up to an hour following our intuitive instructors as they palm press, heel press, hip circle, shake, shake, wiggle, wiggle up and down their partner's body. I feel clumsy in my feet as I step on Sarah's thighs. I feel out of sync with breath when I press down on her shoulders and draw back to lengthen her neck. I close my eyes and try to reconnect with my mantra.

Perhaps all that delectable bacon is clogging up my third eye. 

At 12:30, we slip into our socks and shoes and take our lunch break. As everywhere in London is bank-breaking expensive and the weather has been unusually lovely, I just buy some cheese and chocolate and fruit and have myself a picnic in a nearby park (followed by a short, Thai massage induced nap).

We fly when we return. Jason and Erica demonstrate. We copy. Like the mantra chanting at the beginning of the practice. Call and response. We fly, we fall, we cuddle it out.

There are just so many things I love about this practice. The trust it cultivates between three people -- flyer, spotter and base. The communication we feel through our bodies. The need to mix softness with firmness when placing feet and hands. Deliberate slowness with graceful speed during transitions. The knowledge that if we fall, it will probably just result in a love fest below and a bit of bonus cuddling. The flyer is not perfect. The spotter is not perfect. The base is not perfect. But as a flyer, if I don't relax my body and trust the base to hold me, I'll be too stiff to move. As a spotter, if I don't learn to focus on what's in front of me, I won't be there to offer my support when the practitioners totter. As a base, if I'm too afraid of dropping my flyer, I won't learn how to heal them. LIFE LESSONS. Trust, confidence and mindfulness in the face of life's imperfections. Things are bound to not work out from time to time (especially since I'm always busting out new moves), but if I've learned to move with trust, confidence and mindfulness, falling out of my "perfect" plans will probably just result in a delicious cuddle fest.

Feeling melted, happy, loved on and inspired, I once again slip into my socks and shoes and walk back home to Francesco's. I notice the difference between the level of awareness during my morning walk and my evening walk.

I don't sing. I seamlessly flow through the crowds, feeling the firmness beneath my feet, absorbing the snapshots of the lives I pass.