No Hurry, No Deadline: We Are in Shavasana.
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Near the end of every yoga class, there is a delicious moment every yogi I know relishes. It’s called Shavasana.
It is the moment we rest in supine body pose, all cozy and cared for, with a bolster under our knees, a folded blanket under our heads and maybe another blanket covering us. My yoga teacher, who is also my friend, anoints my head with Tranquility Oil as I float away on my mat in this cherished time, after working so hard in yoga. I am ready to be still, I require nothing else, just to be at rest.
Soft sounds of the Dali Lama’s chant, “Om Mani Padme Hum,” play in the background. Bliss.
Shavasana means corpse or death pose in Sanskrit. That may be why yogis refer to it by the Sanskrit name, Shavasana. We, in the West, are not comfortable with talk of death or dying, although it is a part of life and hopefully a natural peaceful ending for us all after many happy years on earth. Our final Shavasana, as we move to another plane where peace prevails. A lovely thought, yes?
A wise woman I spoke with recently called what is happening now to all of us Shavasana. An interruption of our life poses, because this deadly pandemic has stopped us in our tracks. We are forced to be still.
No working out in the normally busy world, no connection with everyone we usually have in our lives, no public studios to row or cycle or do barre or qi gong, no Meetup groups for wellness and addictions, no park playgroups or handball court activity, no places to worship the gods and goddesses of our choice, no weekly dinners with cherished friends and family. We are all at a distance, on hold, indefinitely.
In Shavasana.
In yoga practice, my teacher asks, “Where are you?” We reply, “Here.” That’s fine in yoga, but can we apply that concept to our lives? The sitting still isn’t sitting well with some. We want answers and solutions and back-to-normal. This is too long to be inside or alone without touching and hugging and dancing and loving one another.
As a collective, we were meant to be together, touching. Having up close and personal conversations. Now all we get to do is be. Our monkey mind gets in the way, that happens even on the mat. In this forced Shavasana, our minds are so very activated. We’re only human, after all, however spiritual we are inside. We have questions and complaints.
“How long will this last? When can I go see my friends? I’m tired of being cooped up. Will my job be there when I can go back to it? How do I pay my bills? I don’t like being alone. Should I shower or just change pajamas? I’m sad. I’m afraid.” And we resist, and fear arises stronger and more urgent.
“I am not going to be told to stay home anymore. My rights are being violated. This is only an exaggeration of a flu virus. Why can’t everyone listen?” On it goes… the opposite of stillness. The chatter won’t stop and the wheel of busyness in our minds spins twenty-four seven.
Social media keeps hitting our sensibility and anxiety buttons, as it endlessly spits out memes and death ratios and opinions and scary facts and misinformation. In the search for truth, the frustration and fear is ramped up to unhealthy levels. We attack each other for having a different opinion. Where is the love and humanity? In Shavasana.
What happens eventually is surrender, when we must let go of our hold on the small stuff and the outcome. We might reflect while we wait, noticing nature and animals responding in a positive way. We can quietly wonder about the harm we have caused our natural world by greedily using her gifts like spoiled children given too many sweets.
When we embrace something different, like a much needed collective rest, our consciousness rises. We are affected, changed. Once upon a time, we imagined this harmony for the country and world. People seemed more reasonable and less vicious, less judgy, less distracted by electronics that didn’t exist yet. They were more willing to not only listen, but actually hear the other.
When we let go of our extremely un-bending ways, we can be surprised and delighted when a collective creativity is born. There’s less harmful byproducts in that scenario. Perhaps we are designing in this forced process a more productive society, one based on less empty consumerism and more sustainability? A shared existence rather than us versus them?
I hope so. But I don’t know the answers, I’m still learning so much even at sixty-two. I do know one sure thing, we have no choice but to surrender. We are not in control. And we weren’t paying attention. We left it up to our leaders to run the show, and they let us down.
It is now up to us, to unite for the good in all of us. Patience and time in our homes and within our souls was the clarion call, a deadly virus was the trumpet. The demanding addictive vice on our minds and our penchant for busyness was released. Suddenly our hearts responded like a window thrown open to fresh air. We can breathe.
When we’re uncertain, anxious, sad or angry, we have to remember to inhale and exhale, not hold our breath. We might try doing some conscious breathing: fill the belly with air for four beats, hold for four beats, let it out for four beats.
Shavasana is a time to take care of ourselves. Maybe for the first time in our lives. Now is the time for contemplation and inner connection. Seeing ourselves and through that mirror, seeing the world with new eyes. We are more aware, maybe even kinder and more tolerant. In Shavasana, anything can happen, because nothing needs to happen. There is no hurry, no deadline.
No one needs us, so we take this time for ourselves. Like sucking air from an oxygen mask in an emergency, go ahead and gulp it. Say to yourself: “I am breathing now. I can help no one, I can be present for no one, of service to no one. I am showing up for myself.”
We teach others by being the example. This is a good thing to spread around, this gentle caring for yourself. This will nourish us, not poison us, not frighten us, only help us and guide us. We love ourselves so we may then love others.
Give yourself a moment of peace. Like the one our mothers used to complain about never having. “Give me a minute of peace, children, would you please?” they cried, all harried and overwhelmed. They needed Shavasana. When we retreat, finally allowing and understanding what we need, that moment of peace we desire and deserve as human beings comes. It is a godsend, like manna, it is ambrosia for the soul.
We come out of our Shavasana, replenished, calm, open to life again. In the time it took to have some quiet, we are born anew for the rest of the day or night.
We may choose to thumb through a magazine, read a few pages of a book, have a nice cup of tea, listen to a song or two, stare at a bird making a nest, color a picture, write a short poem or a few sentences in a journal, say a prayer, or just close our eyes and float away.
We’re already breathing differently at the end of it. Our pulse is steady and easy. After Shavasana, our creative juices are flowing, we are ready to play, focus, do some work, bake a cake, cook a meal, or compose a song, begin a conversation, or stay at rest if that is what we need most. You’ll know because you will have clarity. Your eyes will be clearer.
You’ll notice the shape of a cloud, a breeze will hit your face more noticeably, or someone you hadn’t really seen shows up in your awareness. Who had the time before?
Shavasana refreshes us. It stops the internal clock and lets us rest. Our jaws are not tense and we are holding no urgency or resistance in our cells. Dreams may come, we let them. We are open, love washes over us.
Imagine the collective power, peace and creative functioning of a global Shavasana. I am imagining the world anew. A world at peace, in harmony, in health, taking a rest, gestating a new way. In Shavasana.
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Nanci LaGarenne is a freelance writer from the East End of Long Island. She is working on herself, and two new books. One is a sequel to her murder mystery novel set in Montauk, Cheap Fish, and the other, a non-fiction book about marriage sabbaticals. As a long-married, she has much to say on the subject of marriage, particularly how women navigate within it.
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