Yoga summer camp slides into week two. I've got the Portland contingent posted up in my living room---Casey and Sheenon have thankfully left the Oregon rain behind, and San Diego appears headed into summer.
We hammered through first series last week---sub-zero temps in the gym at 7 AM forced me to tuck socks in the pocket (Why not on my feet? Flip-flops or death!) for the pre-practice sit-around session.
Second series commenced this week; Sheenon was feeling out of sorts, so he sat out for today. After class, Casey and I grabbed food and coffee and returned to watch first series. The room was positively steaming hot. It was a magnificent sight. You could see an angled forest of diagonal legs or a sea of upturned faces.
We watched people sweating and straining, either trembling or floating, and listened to the deep, rhythmic breathing, ebbing and flowing like a slow, loud wave.
I whispered to Casey, "Yoga is so hard!"
Sometimes after a led-class savasana, Tim will say to the class, "That was a valiant effort." The sheer size of this morning's class compounded that feeling: 200 people gave up their Easter morning to practice together and pay their respects to this man whose teachings have meant so much.
Guruji, Sharat and Tim hosted the best conference I've ever been to last Wednesday night. They held it at the shala, and it was quite moving. I've never seen Guruji that engaged, rested, and excited. And then there was a reception for Guruji last night. But more on all this nonsense later.
As I mentioned, it's been yoga summer camp: yoga, coffees, breakfasts, lunches, dinners, get-togethers. Jesus Christ, has it been social. And fucking great. I can't lie. It's nice to get together with like-minded, passionate people.
Okay, we're playing lap-top wars in the living room, and I've got a date with a hot-tub.