Sunday Morning Yoga-Church
Taught in Newton this morning; a bright, crisp start to the day. There’s something special about Sunday morning yoga-church. It rushed me back to five years of schweaty Sundays in Oakland, flowing and chanting with the Flying Studios fam.
Every Sunday morning on the way to teach, I’d ride the cable car from my flat on Lower Nob Hill up and over California Street, right past Grace Cathedral. I always felt a pang that my body couldn’t be in those two sanctuaries — Episcopalian cathedral and East Bay studio — at once. We were both doing the same thing, in different ways, with chanting and more/less incense and more/less nudity...weren’t we? Or maybe not.
When we left the Bay for Portland, my son was 18 months old, and I consciously stopped teaching Sundays. We wanted to get him in the rhythm of going to church. The same holds here in Boston; and though I do miss those Sunday morning classes (they were always my favorite — don’t tell!), I think we are doing the right thing, for us, right now.
The question of how we choose to spend our Sunday mornings is a complex one. I know I’m not the only parent to struggle with it. More on that to come.