Reverdie - Regreening

The word reverdie refers to a type of poetry common in the Middle Ages. The word literally means "re-greening." This literature was a celebration of the return of spring. It was important because 500 years ago, the life-expectancy was a good 4 decades lower than it is now. There was a greater chance that you wouldn't survive the harsh and unforgiving winter than that you would.

So, those who were still alive when the narcissus and crocus started blooming had enormous cause to celebrate. They had survived another bout of the Dark, and Life was coming back into the world! Reverdie.

It very much feels as if I am in the midst of a dark and painful winter. Albert Camus wrote, "It was there in the depths of winter that I discovered there was, within me, an invincible summer." I have discovered no such thing. But what better way to confront Life's challenges than by giving onself even more challenges?

It's been years since I moved to New York for the summer to face my fear of always being lost. And I already tried rock climbing to confront my fear of heights. So I decided to try hot yoga. Yes, even after reading this.

I drove to a new studio for class -- how convenient that it has the same owner and teachers! Otherwise, I would certainly have lost my nerve. How many Camelbaks would be sufficient? Three? I did not know the protocol for this. 

Sarah met me there, and we signed up for a class with Jade.

There were no clocks. I didn't know the sequence. This made time seem to expand in all directions as I began to slowly bake to death. I almost had 52 panic attacks. Even giving up and lying on my mat was a struggle because it didn't make things better! Hot yoga is equally as hard whether I was practicing poses OR lying still, which was a mindf*ck in and of itself.

At one point, Sarah and I both lay on our mats in agony.

"How much longer?" I mouthed, not sure I could make it without beginning to hyperventilate from the anxiety.

"I don't remember," she shook her head silently.

I reached out for her hand, and as the other 20 people kept contorting into poses around us, it was as if we were Jack and Rose at the end of Titanic and we knew only one of us could fit on that damn door. Or, you know, make it out of hot yoga alive. Because certainly there was not enough oxygen left in the room for this many people.

As time stretched on and on, I wondered what the thermostat was set at? Perhaps it should have been a red flag that I didn't get a straight answer when I asked? I wondered if I bought a raw chicken and put it in the oven at, say, 115 if it would eventually get cooked through? And if so, shouldn't that indicate that mortals were not supposed to be in oven-like settings? What if I was literally baking to death?!

"STOP!" I told my mind. "Jade is standing 2 feet away from you! You've known her for years. She would not put you in a dangerous situation! Just because it feels like you are in hell does not mean you are!"

This line of thinking gave way to John Milton's Paradise Lost and perhaps one of its most famous lines: "The mind is its own place and in itself makes a heaven of hell and a hell of heav'n." 

Mind over matter, Milton. I see you.

Somehow, after I had almost certainly become delirious from the heat, the class ended. Sarah and I stared at each other, willing each other to move our limbs and walk, crawl, or roll toward the door.

"How was it!?!?!?" Yoga Elsa texted me.

I did not know how to answer this. My body could actually DO all the poses, but my mind wouldn't let it! My mind overruled my body. It was one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had.

"Is the point to put yourself in a challenging situation intentionally so that when you are put in challenging situations unintentionally you can survive them?" I asked.

Her response was profound, and I kept thinking it over in my mind for days. It was basically this:

Everything about the experience is designed to make you deeply uncomfortable:

It is insanely hot, so your body is uncomfortable. Your mind is freaking out. It's a packed room and everyone is sweating profusely, so it smells bad. You are staring at yourself melting in a mirror, (looking like shit), so your vision is uncomfortable. 

Plus, you can't do all the poses because you're literally so covered in sweat that your binds keep slipping. There's nearly dead silence, which is deeply uncomfortable to most people in and of itself.

Bikram, who Yoga Elsa trained under, used to tell his students that if they could do this, they could do anything.

It seems to me that that must be true. Maybe if I can survive hot yoga without having a panic attack, if I can learn to move with my breath through such a deeply uncomfortable space, I can do other terribly uncomfortable things, too.

I can exist in the liminal space of being a teacher and yet having no school.

I can exist in the paradox of wanting to instruct and yet having no energy left.

I can find within me Camus' "invincible summer."

I have not been able to stop thinking about hot yoga. Maybe it's not hell. Maybe it's like a refinery, and when you're stripped to the core, you find out what you're made of.

I am beginning to think I may need to go back to hot yoga. Maybe even more than once.