Last night I went to an "Acro-Play" class at Inner Heat Yoga. It was taught by Scott Longwell, who has an institute called Whole Body Wisdom which sponsors may intriguing workshops about Releasing Feminine Fire and Something Masculine Something (you can see which one I paid attention to.)

When I first got there I was intimidated by some of the young, sleek, fit people that showed up, friendly and sweet as they were. Then some more people in my age bracket showed up, but I immediately assumed that they had been doing yoga for 1,000 years and were bionic. It seemed like a risk to put my middle-aged body out there, lifting and being lifted, but I did, and had a blast.

We did a lot of "flying,"--that old-fashined game, where one person lies on the floor and lifts another person by putting their feet on their hips. Whee! No hands! Then variations of that--the teachers could literally toss each other in the air, and land, like trapeze artists, or monkeys (one guy I swear, was part monkey.)

The last exercise of the night was to pair with two other people and ask for exactly what you wanted--in fact, we were encouraged to ask for something we thought the other people would say no to. I found myself in a group with two big guys, so I asked to be thrown around in the air and use the other person's body as a climbing structure. I've watched petite little women do that at Contact Improv jams and it always loked like so much fun, but I've always held back, because I felt too big and was afraid I'd hurt someone or myself.

One of the guys in my group had a bad back, but the other one wanted to do it. He encouraged me to leap up on him, legs around his waist, and then he flipped me over his shoulder, spun me around, and I had a fantastic time just climbing all over him. I squealed like a child and felt ecstatic.

Driving home, I felt warm, full, complete. My body glowed. I'm so grateful that I can still do this! After awhile, I became aware of some habitual thoughts starting, "Why hasn't so and so called me?" "What does it mean?" Brooding and obsessing over personal relationships, my favorite hobby.

I was able to make a conscious choice to turn my attention away from that and back towards the joy I had just had. It was an effort--my mind is more accustomed to going along the negative groove; it's a well-worn neural pathway. But I was physically tired and fulfilled enough to slow down and recognize my choice-point. A minor miracle.

I'm definitely going back.