Last night Danny the Lumberjack as I have named him in my head, did a handstand for the first time. There was nothing in the yoga textbooks, ever, about digging this deep. My heart broke open for Dan, the most unlikely of yogis. He lay on his back, after I helped him lower his legs to the floor and just beamed; like a large lighthouse, a man in touch with his heart center, maybe for the first time, the light shone out of him, shiny, incandescent, full of awe.
I told Wayne, Dan’s next door neighbor in the back row on the mat, tonight. Wayne, slightly more flexible, was incredulous. “I wouldn’t lie to you Wayne. You could do one too.” “Not tonight,” he said. And I realized it was because Dan wasn’t there. Two men, sweating, grunting and swearing their way into expansion, wanting to express their own vulnerability mutually; supporting , upholding, uplifting together.
My heart breaks open for Wayne as well as I thank him for carrying my big bags to the curb at the end of the class. “Why don’t you join Dan and I on Wednesday night for the Big 90 class.” He takes a flyer, and waves to me at the door, sweaty, happy, in touch with his heart, like Dan, and me: My Kula, community of the heart.