I assisted at a Family yoga class on the weekend in London’s Notting Hill. Yes, I’m a qualified yoga teacher for adults and children; for mindfulness too, but since qualifying I don’t feel I’ve been very mindful about my practice or my teaching. So, right now I have a small opportunity to be the observer, to assist, without leading the class. The children’s yoga teacher, Ayala, had unswerving faith in me and roped me in to help at a Sunday afternoon session. Two days later and what lingers in my mind and practice, is not so much Ayala, nor the other, more experienced assistant, but Ella, the 8-year-old yogi.
Ella chose the perfect moment to walk discreetly up to Ayala’s mat at the front of the class, sitting next to her, causing as little fuss as possible in the process. She whispered something to Ayala, who then announced to the whole class that Ella would like to show us something she had learnt. Ella then calmly led the class through a ‘how to’ on bakasana – the reasonably challenging crow pose, even for a seasoned practitioner.
I was astonished. Never before had it been explained so clearly. Never before had any teacher said to me so sweetly and so assuredly. “It’s very easy, you just have to practise”. Well, quite.
Returning to my flat that evening and rolling out my mat, I had an urge to try crow, a pose I have long struggled with despite extensive, intensive, not to mention expensive yoga retreats in far-flung destinations. That evening, for the first time attempting crow, I had something else. I had a smile on my face, thinking of Ella and how she had briefly led a class of nearly 30 adults and children, holding our attention fully and passing on an innocent and ancient wisdom.
That evening, I witnessed the best crow attempt I have ever done without a warm-up. The next morning I had the urge to try it again, and again I found myself smiling. And just now, this evening, I actually managed to keep both feet up for more than a second.
Ella, you are my new favourite teacher.
