Zach reaching with almost perfect alignment.
Nineteen people sit in a circle on the floor. They are yoga teachers from all around the US and one from Nova Scotia, Canada. They are attending our Level II adaptive yoga teacher training. On the far side of the room, Cristina is eating some yellow sliced fruit with a fork. “Eating while we work?” I ask. She nods. “Is that mango?” I ask. On a sensual exhale, “Yes,” she says. A truly content smile comes across her face and she continues to eat.
Our adaptive student Zach has entered our circle. We will be exploring activation and the inner body with his help. Zach is twenty-nine years old, lives with cerebral palsy, and is amazingly articulate about what he experiences with yoga. He is here to help the attendees deepen their yogic realization. With his condition, every physical movement is a struggle, for example, moving forward on his sitting bones or extending his arms either out to the side or over his head. Because of this, Zach has been forced to master ‘moving inwardly’ while he moves outwardly. If he does not, his muscles throughout his body fire asymmetrically and he spasms unequally. As we work together (see photo above), Zach’s movements become smoother and smoother and his actions more and more effective. The energy of combining the inner with the outer in the midst of such intense physical struggle is profound to behold. It travels through us all like a wave. Welling tears of amazement flood the room. We have been changed.
Measuring the effects of adaptive yoga has been challenging, especially in a way that satisfies both the medical professions and institutional funders for our program. They like metrics like reductions in falls, fewer times receiving medical treatment, or increased earning potential. Zach was born with cerebral palsy; and the fact is, they stopped measuring his progress a long, long time ago. And yet, as we sit there, we know something profound has transpired before our eyes. Zach off-handedly says with a big grin, “I can grab the water glass after I brush my teeth, that is, if my personal care attendant remembers to set in on the left side of the sink.”
I am stuck by the complexity of Zach’s everyday life and his utter dependence on people following through on the little things. Ache and sadness rise up in my chest and throat. I am sure that I am not the only one. Zach saves us all. He continues with extra joy, “Since yoga, I can even grab a glass of juice out of my refrigerator without spilling it!” I am touched and relieved and smiling now. “You’re kidding me,” I say, “What kind of juice?” “Mango juice,” Zach says with an inwardly sensuous smile, “It’s a good thing I know longer spill it. That stuff is expensive!” A roar of laughter fills the room.
An amazing adaptive yoga student, a roomful of teachers ready to learn, and a glass of mango juice. These are the stories of Mind Body Solutions, of shared humanity, and of a revolution for people living with trauma, loss, and disability. We will learn to measure it. We will get more people to pay attention. You can count on it