Yogabilities™: Peace as a civil right

Doesn’t everyone deserve to be peaceful?

 

When I tell people that one of my occupations is teaching Yoga, there are some common responses.

Oh, I love Yoga! I take it at the gym/the cool studio in the upscale shopping center down the street
or
I can’t do Yoga, I’m not flexible enough.
                          or, perhaps
I read an article about how many NFL players do Yoga.

When I tell people that one of my specialties is teaching adapted Yoga classes for individuals with special needs, there’s also a common response, variably worded but along the lines of:

               Oh, that is so wonderful that you do that for them.

Translation: you must be a saint. You are so self-sacrificing. That must be so hard.

Insert audible sigh here. I know this territory. As mother of a young woman with special needs, I’ve heard things like it all her life.
1. I don’t know how you do it.
2.
You have the patience of a saint.
3.
God gives special children to special people.

Those are well meaning comments, I know. And sure, it can be really hard, and I do happen to have super-sized patience. I also believe that each incarnated soul is special, and God//Goddess/Universal Life Force has a way of putting the right souls together to help us learn and grow in the ways we most need to. In other words, everyone—parent and child, with or without extra needs— is special, so therefore # 3 applies universally.

When someone would roll out the old “How do you do it?” in the past, I was often too tired to answer, or too taken aback, or too caught up wondering how the hell this person knows what it is I actually do with my kid, given that they maybe just met me.

As my daughter and I grew older, I’d more frequently have the right snappy response, which is “ She’s a blessing.” Short, true, succinct. These days I’ve added on a few new handy lines, also true,” If this were your child you’d do anything you could for her, too. You’d rise to it. You probably have moved a few mountains for your own kids, right?”

So, back to the Yoga teaching. I’ve been teaching my adapted classes, which I call Yogabilities™, for about 11 years now. Like most things in life, I’ve learned as I went along. I’m not a saint, it isn’t a sacrifice, and Yoga is not some special privilege that only belongs to the, umm, …so-called typical folks.

In our times, everyone has stress, most people have anxiety, and I’ll drop and give you twenty push-ups right this minute if you can find someone in your daily life who does not contend with poor sleep patterns, inability to focus, lousy posture, stiffness, or difficulty with balance. Everyone can benefit from Yoga.

Further, people with special needs have more stress than many. Society often treats them like children all their lives, limiting access and choices and self-determination and robbing people of a very basic human right—dignity. So, if anyone is more amazing than anyone else, it is my Yogabilities™ students and their peers. They deal with challenges we can only half imagine, and many do it with humor, patience and grace.

I love working with these particular students because, cliché as it sounds, they teach me as much as I teach them. There is no pretense as we sit together and breathe, practice being present, and share strategies for coping with anxious and unpleasant feelings and situations. We all seem to accept each other rather unconditionally. My experience with my own daughter serves as a constant reminder to release any rigid agenda, meet each person as they are, and go with the flow. Moreover, these students and I seem to co-create an energetic space where each person can feel welcomed and safe. In that container, I’ve seen magic happen.

On those Yogabilities™ afternoons or evenings when I am particularly tired and would like to just stay home and catch up with laundry or check out with an HGTV home show, I cue up a mantra from my daily life and let it nudge me into place: I GET TO, as in

I get to be her mother
I get to go teach Yogabilities™.
I get to spend time with some of the most interesting people I know.

So yeah, I get to share my knowledge of Yoga with people with special needs. Some of them are saintly for putting up with the rest of us. I don’t know how they do it. God must have created the circumstances whereby they can teach me the stuff that really matters. It’s so wonderful that they do this for me.

–Melinda Coppola
www.SpectrumYoga.net

HOME

The past few days I’ve had home humming in my head and heart. Not my physical dwelling, but rather the whole concept of it: home. It’s a loaded word, to say the least. But I rarely say the least… at least not with pen to paper.

Recently, Super Guy and I visited an animal sanctuary. It’s a magical place with paths and paddocks, ponds and portals; little homes on posts, myriad small barns and shelters and cubbies and soft, warm sleep spots, bowls of food and bales of hay. It’s home to creatures of all sorts who were victims of the transposed violence and dark dysfunction that can live within the human psyche. These animals were mistreated by their previous owners, and the sanctuary provides a place they can heal and perhaps begin to trust again. To paraphrase an old, old song. I wondered as I wandered. What shifts, great and small, could occur that might eliminate or drastically reduce the need to rescue animals from human abuse and neglect?

Here, in this home in the woods, are cats, dogs, horses, donkeys, pigs, bunnies, llamas, goats, sheep, chickens, ducks, geese, doves, peacocks, and, variably, many other expressions of God. These creatures may be one-eyed or deaf, missing a leg or broken winged, living with chronic illness and/or suffering from post traumatic stress – more and than or–  from the inhumane treatment of their previous owners. And, in this place, they are finally welcomed home.

As I walked the paths of the sanctuary with my creature-loving partner ( oh, how I love this about him!), together we greeted the rescued residents, pet the ones that allowed it. I took in the smells and sounds and sights; colors and textures and strange juxtapositions that are foreign to me, to most of us—creatures so different, living together in apparent reasonable harmony. Possible, perhaps, because all are well-fed, well-housed, respected for their particular needs for space, freedom, and safety…places to burrow in? And I thought, too, of the larger world we, who speak this human language, call home. A world full of rules and laws, customs and traditions, that we have created for ourselves, and continue to create. Lately, we hear a lot about the unpleasant effects of some of those laws, rules, customs: strife and anger and injustice and poverty and violence perpetuated, human against human, with sad justifications like:

different
– not as s/he should be

not like me and mine.

Or, sadder still,
That’s just the way things are … .in the Middle East, in the inner city. In that culture, those religions.

And
-That’s what comes with being black, or brown, or female, or poor. That’s just the way it is.

That afternoon, at the animal sanctuary, I walked in step with a wondering that felt more urgent than sublime. What kind of world might it be if all people had a safe and comfortable place to call home? If all people were well-fed, well-housed, respected for their individual needs for space, and freedom, and safety? What might happen to the imbedded acceptance of those justifications for human-to-human violence and subjugation? And, how much might such a world reduce the need to rescue animals from abuse and neglect?

We are all connected. No matter how hard we may try to ignore this, personal action, positive or negative, ripples outward into families, communities, countries, and our larger home, Earth. What are we willing to give up, or change, or invest in, that can move us towards a time and place where Earth -our home– is a sanctuary for all?

-Melinda Coppola