My sister called and invited me to a restorative yoga class and because “Namaste home ’cause I’m busy eating my kid’s Toblerone bar”, did not seem like a good enough excuse to not leave the house, off I went.
I had no idea what to expect of restorative yoga, I imagined all my rusty bits getting an undercoating, or someone sanding away at my bootie to uncover my 25 year old ass, maybe chopping my hair into a mushroom cut, restoring me to my original condition. But, no. It’s not that kinda restoration.
Just as we placed our mats down, wisely at the back of the class, a man walked in with a giant duffle bag and set up camp in front of me. He pulled out every piece of yoga equipment known to (wo)man, and some things I’m not certain were part of yoga at all. I looked on expectantly, waiting for him to pull out a puppy, or a small child. Then he constructed a wall of yoga items around himself on his mat. Another woman asked yoga man if we’d actually be needing all those things, and he was all “Oh yes, you’ll need props for this class. You’ll definitely need a belt.”
A what now?
I give my sister the “What the frig do we need a belt for? My yoga pants stay up just fine!?” look, and she gives me the “I have no freaking idea” look. Yes, we’re telepathic. We then give each other the “sweet baby Jesus” eyes for the 10 minutes before class started…but my mind was open…my body in need of restoration…
Then class began and I forgot all about duffle bag yoga man and I entered blissdom. Yep, that’s a thing. #Blissdom (Let’s start it trending).
Let me tell you about restorative yoga, people…there are eye masks; there are head rubbins; there are cozy blankets to be tucked into. COZY. FREAKING. BLANKETS.
There is BLISS. Dom. #Blissdom
The instructor was a phenomenal woman, with a beautiful, bold, blue mohawk. At one point, I was lying down under the blanket she kindly tucked me into (I mean, come on!), with an eye mask on, blanket rolled under my neck, a big comfy pillow tube thingy under my knees (why yes, that is the proper yoga term, just ask duffle bag yoga man), breathing….just breathing…feeling better than I have in a very long time…and then she asked a question.
Do you want peppermint oil?
And then – brace yourselves – the instructor rubbed the peppermint oil on her hands and then she rubbed it into my temples and my hair. And she gave me a freaking head massage! Only myveryfavoritethingintheentirefreakingworld!
We lay in this blissful position for a few more minutes until she told us to slowly sit up, and as I removed my eye mask, I discreetly glanced over at my sister. She appeared to have just seen heaven, and probably Ryan Reynolds was there, baking cupcakes. Her hair was all poufed out and crazy-like, and she obviously got the head rubbins too. A minor burst of hysterical laughter ensued.
The class continued on with one more blissful relaxing pose after another, until we ended with the most touching Celtic prayer I’ve ever heard, which we initially spoke, and then sang. The instructor’s voice was so beautiful that it made me cry. I couldn’t sing the prayer after I heard her sing, because her voice struck me to my deepest core, and all I could do was stand there with my hands in the heart position, as I let the tears stream down my face. I felt restored.
In the end, you sing the prayer to yourself, then to the others in the class, and lastly, you send it out to someone who needs healing. It was magnificent. I hope it reached you.
So, that’s where I’ll be once a week. Being restored. Mind, body, and soul. Because sometimes, you just have to put down the Toblerone bar, as delicious as that nougaty chocolate is, step out of your comfort zone, and step into the light.
Also, we didn’t need a belt.