My absolutely favorite part of yoga is final savassana. The reward at the end of 90 minutes of torture. I crawl to it. I luxuriate in it.
Well, this morning I was just drifting into that delicious la-la-land place when I hear such moaning and groaning, huffing and puffing. Someone must have been rolling a boulder up a mountain, it was so loud.
Well, this morning I was just drifting into that delicious la-la-land place when I hear such moaning and groaning, huffing and puffing. Someone must have been rolling a boulder up a mountain, it was so loud.
I pull off my wash cloth/eye pillow and look to see what the heck is going on. Of course, it's "R" all the way across the room. "R" is getting up from his savassana. "R" is pulling his shirt on. That's all. Just "R." "R" who was reprimanded for checking text messages between postures the other day. "R" who can't do anything and still sets himself up in the front row. "R." "R" who has been pushing my buttons since he started coming to 6 am yoga class a few weeks ago.
First I just glared. Nothing. Of course, he has no awareness of anything but himself. Then I felt a roll of anger so red, so hot, that I had to get up. I went out and told the yoga instructor that she had to say something to him about how disruptive he is. She was a little startled because no one in yoga would guess that I could be angry – especially that angry. She smiled. I left.
And then of course he pulls up behind me at the first stop light. And he knows it's me that tattled on him. I refuse to look at him. And then he's next to me at the next stoplight. I refuse to look at him, but I just know he has this little kicked-puppy look.
By the time I got home I felt like such a jerk because obviously he just doesn't know any better. I felt so unkind in my judgment of him, in my refusal to look at him. And wondering why I let him push my buttons so.
First I just glared. Nothing. Of course, he has no awareness of anything but himself. Then I felt a roll of anger so red, so hot, that I had to get up. I went out and told the yoga instructor that she had to say something to him about how disruptive he is. She was a little startled because no one in yoga would guess that I could be angry – especially that angry. She smiled. I left.
And then of course he pulls up behind me at the first stop light. And he knows it's me that tattled on him. I refuse to look at him. And then he's next to me at the next stoplight. I refuse to look at him, but I just know he has this little kicked-puppy look.
By the time I got home I felt like such a jerk because obviously he just doesn't know any better. I felt so unkind in my judgment of him, in my refusal to look at him. And wondering why I let him push my buttons so.
The Declaration of the Letter Dd is, "The cause of any upset is never outside of myself." Obviously I need to write some Dd's today.
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