Yoga Tales from Rural Maine: What is peaceful

The work I do at Acadia Hospital is hard. Any work where you have to face the suffering of children is hard. Any work where you have to face the suffering of children and try to make a difference in 45-minutes every two weeks with large groups of multi-age kids with a full spectrum of special needs is *hard*. I'm telling you. Hard.

The end of class with the "littles" is especially hard. It's meant to be peaceful, quiet resting, safe, gentle, still...and today it was especially bonkers. I really felt I'd let them down. I kept thinking that I haven't unlocked this puzzle and I should have by now. But how *do* you get TEN little boys ages 6 - 10 (and two little girls) with hyperactivity, attention deficit, autism, trauma, and other social and mood disorders to rest in stillness? Agh. The thing I tried today worked for four kids (deeply peaceful, resting, yes, success!) but the others? It was like being inside a popcorn popper. A popcorn popper filled with little boys in their stocking feet!

So I'm thinking...damn. I've failed. Again. They're gonna fire me. How do I fix this? What can I do next time, so they get what I'm hoping they'll get? So that they'll have some peace and rest and understand how to help themselves feel better--and feel *loved* and worth loving...and a little more okay...

And then...amidst the chaos, this little one came up to me. It was his first yoga class at the hospital. He's six. He just lost one of his baby teeth. He didn't sit still the entire time. But he came up to me, as I was cleaning up crayons and helping to tie shoes and repeating the instructions for what to do with your yoga mat...he came up to me, this tiny little thing with his missing-toothed-kindergarten-smile and he stood *still* right in front of me and he said, "I like you."

"Oh, my darling (I said his name), I like YOU, too!" I exclaimed. And I stopped what I was doing, so he could have all of me for a moment.

"Can I hug you?" he asked.

I wasn't sure if hugging was allowed. I thought maybe it wasn't? So I asked the occupational therapist in charge. She nodded yes.

"Yes, yes--we can hug!" I said, and I bent down and he wrapped his sweet little arms around me and sighed.

Here's part of why this matters:

During our sharing time at the start of class, I had asked everyone to share something that made them feel peaceful. When it was his turn, this little boy held onto our little blue bear, Share Bear, and he started talking. The words just poured out of him.

"'Peaceful' makes me think of crying," he said in his little voice. "I cry because I lost my dad. My father. My dad...he's never coming back. My dad. And I'm so sad...this is me, crying to be peaceful, because when your dad dies, it's really sad. And crying...peaceful."

I said his name and I said, with deep, gentle kindness, "Thank you for sharing that your heart is sad and that when you think of 'peaceful' you think of your dad and of crying. Namaste..."

And then it was the next kid's turn. And this little one handed over Share Bear so the next boy could share.

So at the end of class, I was troubled because this little one was among those who had rolled himself up in his yoga mat (as I had instructed--be a burrito!), but instead of feeling swaddled and peaceful and still, he went rolling all around the room in his burrito (as did most of the kids). And I thought this meant that I hadn't given him (or them) what was needed.

But really? If you're six. And you have lost your dad. And you are spending your days in a mental hospital. Then maybe what you need is someone to listen to you, someone safe. Maybe you need a bear to hold onto and lots of smiles...and the chance to roll around in a gymnasium wrapped up in a bright blue yoga mat like you are some kind of a Smurfy mobile burrito...followed by ...a hug.

What I learned today is that "peaceful" doesn't always look like what I, as a yoga teacher, might intend or expect peaceful to look like. Especially for these children, "peaceful" and the path to "peaceful" are going to diverge from the thing I now realize I was rigidly working for.

But just because it doesn't look what I expected or intended it to...it doesn't mean we didn't find it.

Om shanti, my friends; peace.