Afternoon Thunderstorms and The Untouchables

Photo Via SunSinger's Flickr Photostream.

Last night was a beautiful practice. My body needed the heat, so I hustled over to the studio after work and got there just in time to secure a spot in the second row, set up camp in the humidity, and proceed with some pre-class backbends, hip-joint cracks, and slow neck rolls.

It never ceases to amuse me how we all have different warm-up routines at Bikram. Some of us stretch out like we’re about to run a race, strongly pulling our muscles and staring at the mirror with stern, serious looks on our faces. Some of us settle into a relaxing child’s pose, or simply sit cross-legged with our eyes closed, connecting with our breath and body. Often beginners or newbies can be found glancing around the room, trying to get a sense of what to do and why people aren’t running out of the room.

And then of course, the rest of the room usually unwinds in savasana with their heels together, toes open, palms up like champions of the hot nap.

So there we all are, a mixed bag of yogis sprawled out and sweating, calmed in the heat, preparing for the next ninety minutes. We are the beginning.

Meanwhile, outside, cue torrential downpour! Through the little windows I can see a monsoon of rain, the sweep of forceful winds, and a darkened, charcoal-colored sky. The thunder booms.

The teacher enters the room. “Stand up, please! Alright, this is Bikram. Stay in the room. Hands and feet together at the gray line in the middle of your mat…”

Outside, flashes of lightning flicker and the resounding thunder roars again.

Yes, yes, yes! I’m thinking. I love thunderstorms. And I love yoga. And I love meditations where I can be wrapped up in the moment, safe in my hot room space, concentrating on nothing but my body moving and finding a way to fully occupy stillness.

There’s nothing better than a summer afternoon thunderstorm, and the way the rumbles and bellows rise and grow and explode in the distance like faraway cannons. Like God’s own fireworks.

With every pose, the storm wore on but it could not touch us in our shelter of the hot room, our refuge, our calm harbor.

Outside, the world was ending and the sky was crashing down and the wind was whipping around the streets and sidewalks… but inside the heat was on and we were safe, our Bikram bodies holding us up like warrior statues, the yoga making changes in us.

Outside the world was ending, but inside the hot room we moved as one and could not be touched.

A couple hours after class, the sky erupted in a beautiful expansive rainbow and I stared at it off the porch, so grateful for my practice and such a stunning reminder of the wonder of stillness. This was the end: the calm after the storm.

Thanks to photographers over at The Chicago Tribune for capturing THE exact rainbow I saw yesterday after yoga!