Grace under fire

Notes from Zoom yoga in the Los Angeles firestorm

Photo by Jay Castor on Unsplash

Most weekday mornings around ten, I’m on the mat. Since the early months of Covid, this has been the routine: I’m in my house, everyone else is in theirs, and we meet on the screen, like George Jetson, and we practice as if we are in the same room. It’s the magic of Zoom, but really it’s the magic of Maud that brings us together, day after day, year after year.

Belly, ribs, arms. Move your chest back.

We are scattered about the country, but several folks, including Maud, are in and near Los Angeles. In the few minutes before she presses the “record” button, when folks are logging on and saying good morning, you can see the community that she’s created, the sharing of big-tent topics like the dismantling of democracy or something more personal like upcoming surgery or retirement. We commiserate, we hold space, and then Maud says: “Okay, here we go.”

But over the past week, as Los Angeles went up in flames, those precious pre-class moments have struck a more somber tone. Who’s able to shelter in place, who’s under an evacuation order, who still has power. This is a roll call. For many, including our teacher, this is cutting dangerously close to the bone.

On Thursday, the power at Maud’s place, which had shut off in the night, had been restored moments before class. By this point, infernos in every direction, Palisades and Altadena burned to the ground, winds mercurial, rain an impossible dream. And our Maud, who probably didn’t sleep that night, she puts on a brave face and decides that class must go on. She leads the way with down dogs and cheers us on as we go upside down like it’s any other day. But there is nothing ordinary about this moment, and there is everything extraordinary about this woman who carries inside of her the most amazing grace.

A grace that inspires to pay it forward. A grace that ripples like a stream. A grace that keeps us keeping on.

Stay right here and breathe.