The day was not going well.
Riding the subway, I was already very cranky.
It was over a decade ago when I was still teaching yoga privately.
I had entered into a partnership with a 5-star hotel with residences where this was pretty much the view from the private apartments on the 55th floor.
I had been hired to teach a private lesson on a Saturday afternoon which meant an awkward shuffle back and forth before I taught my sold-out group class at 5pm.
I desperately needed the extra cash back then but the scheduling was really inconvenient, complicating an already full day.
Anyway, now I’m a hardcore Spotify fan, but back then on the journey uptown, I worked on my iTunes music for class.
Moments before the subway arrived at Columbus Circle, I stumbled on Mariah Carey’s celebrity-curated playlist.
I breezed through various dance tracks until I landed on a song she chose that stopped me dead in my tracks from the (new to me then) Gospel Great Hezekiah Walker.
(More on that later).
I had to stop listening since I was running down to the wire and couldn’t afford to be a minute late.
I got buzzed up to the residence.
Just so it’s clear, apartments in this building are currently in the $30-50 millon range.
For example, this is pretty much the bathroom where I washed my hands before meeting my students.
I met the person who hired me and she was lovely.
She was an avid yoga student who wanted to treat her visiting friend to a group lesson.
The friend, however, was quite weak since she was recovering from a successful round of chemotherapy.
Their compassion for each other was palpable.
I felt my resistance to being there instantly evaporate.
My annoyance about having to shift my schedule around seemed petty and trivial.
I learned that they were also celebrating the friend’s recovery that night with a large dinner in the apartment soon after our lesson.
Then I was informed that another one of the dinner guests would also be joining us: a super athletic guy with a litany of sports injuries who had never done yoga in his life and who warned me how stiff he was.
So…An experienced and super-flexible woman, a totally inflexible beginner with injuries, and someone recovering from a major illness.
This is going to be interesting, I thought…
I wondered if it was going to become TOO interesting, though, when Harlan, the 70-something southern gentleman who was clearly paying for everything, entered the room.
Harlan used some kind of crutches / braces that enabled him to walk, but just barely.
Things got simpler though, when Harlan announced that he’d be watching some sporting event in the next room instead of joining.
He wished us luck, reminding us that the caterers would be setting up quite soon, and he’d let them in.
And so the lesson began, complete with a $50 million view of Central Park.
It was a challenge but I was able to offer various options and modifications for this unique trio so that each got the experience that was right for them.
And then, when we were close to finishing, Harlan let the caterers in.
The head caterer caught my eye and pulled me aside.
If they were going to be ready for the night’s event, he politely insisted that they couldn’t wait twenty minutes more for me to finish.
They did promise to be as discrete as possible with the set-up.
And they were.
As my students were in their final forward bends, the sensitive, whispering catering crew began stacking tables and folding chairs in the corner.
The most incredible moment, however, was yet to come.
It happened during Savasana, or final rest in Corpse Pose.
The three physically mismatched friends were lying on their mats, eyes closed and appropriately dead to the world.
I sat in lotus pose, watching the movement going on around us.
And then, while my students were lying down, the caterers started moving several pieces of large furniture right over their heads and into the adjoining room.
I was the only witness as sofas and loveseats and coffee tables were carried over them one by one.
Fortunately, there were no missteps, and by the time the 12-minute Savasana was over, the room was completely emptied out.
When my students opened their eyes again after our final OM, it was as if they had been magically transported to an entirely different room then when they started.
Suddenly, we were in a completely open space, overlooking Central Park from the 55th floor.
For me, this has always been the embodiment of what meditation and the physical practice can do for us.
It allows us to clear our mental space.
In other words, it removes the clutter from our over-decorated minds.
Ironically, it often seems that our thoughts are often harder to get out of the way than lifting a four-piece 1,000-pound sectional over three people’s heads.
(For that, you only need four caterers.)
I never saw those three students again (or Harlan) but I think about them every time I listen to Hezekiah Walker via Mariah Carey’s playlist.
Traveling now to teach my class, that song felt like such an extraordinary synchronicity.
This is it:
I Need You To Survive HERE
I’ve often played it while teaching since then, usually as a guided visualization while I instruct the flow of breath.
Each time, I’m reminded how meditation, like the catering crew, can do wonders with metaphorical (and mystical) heavy-lifting, especially when everything seems impossible.
It’s all about realizing that maybe the thoughts in our heads are just furniture that we’re constantly rearranging.
(Lately, I’ve really needed to do some major redecorating.)
Or as the great Pema Chödrön reminds us:
“You are the sky.
The clouds are what happens,
what comes and goes.”
Once again, I invite you to enjoy the new Flow Meditation HERE, remembering that you are the sky from the 55th floor.
Namaste for Now,
