For ten or eleven years, I’ve been practicing yoga.
I could probably count on one hand the number of times that I have ended in savasana.
I generally close in a forward bend, a favorite being baddha konasana, but I rarely roll backward, flip my palms up, and breathe in corpse. I guess that, when I’m crunched for time, it just doesn’t become a priority. I lie on my back when I sleep (sometimes). I don’t see the need to do that when I’m awake, and there are sweet potatoes roasting in the oven, and a load of laundry I forgot about in the washer, and I feel like I’ve done enough if I managed to get into monkey or maybe some kind of modified pigeon.
I was thinking about this earlier, when I was plotting my afternoon in my mind, and thinking about how long I would have to practice yoga, and which postures I should do, and mentally writing off corpse.
I don’t know how to meditate.
Isn’t that terrible? I practice yoga, and I follow Jesus. Yoga leads toward meditation (or, at least, from what I’ve studied, it seems like that is what the asanas are designed to do). The Scriptures call us to be still. To meditate. To know. And yet I never do that; I don’t even know how. I could blame it on our fast-paced culture, I suppose, or the Christian tendency to shy away from meditation. But there are no excuses.
I have not learned how to be still.
You know why? I think I know why.
I think, deep down, I am terribly lazy.
Meditation is not mere stillness. It’s an intention, a focus, a deliberation. It does not come naturally, and it does not come easy. And I know very little of it. I practice yoga, but I stop before I have to stay for too many long minutes in savasana. I read the Bible, and I pray, but I do not wait in silence for a response. I am chronically lazy in my mind and in my spirit.
I think that, today, I may just start there. In savasana. Not at the end, but the beginning. And maybe I can learn something of repose.