STUCK ON YOU
by Sandra Bark
Attachment, says the Dalai Lama, is the root of suffering. And who wants to suffer? Not me. So I practice yoga and I practice paying attention, transubstantiating the physical into the emotional, trying to balance on that tightrope between loving and needing, between feeling and drowning, between holding close and asphyxiating.
Just ninety minutes of breath and asana, and I can start to see where I am stuck so that I can gently tug away, freeing myself from the filaments of story, from the shackles of regret, from the layers of glued-together connective tissue that keep me from finding alignment inside and out.
But last week, I went to yoga, and the teacher that I was expecting was not there.
Instead, there was Somebody Else. Somebody Different.
And there it was, evidence that the place where I go to unstick is also a space where I can get stuck.
Take my mat. I mean—don’t. Honestly, I don’t really want you to take my mat. You may certainly borrow it for a moment to demonstrate, but then you must give it back.
I’m used to it. I need it.
Or take the place in the room where I put my mat. I mean, please, don’t. I like it. I’m accustomed to it. Sure, I could practice in a different spot. Why couldn’t I? Of course I could.
I just don’t want to.
Or take my teacher. No, seriously, don’t. Leave her right there where she is supposed to be, teaching this class at this time.
If she isn’t there, how am I supposed to practice being unattached?