Namaste

I recently started back to yoga, so it makes me way happy that Eden  has a new installment posted at Yogabeans. So funny.

I'm doing Pilates also, in which the teacher instructs us, while lying on our backs, to "engage our powerhouse", which it turns out is the "abdominal quadrant" (I'm all, "Four sides? Of what? Sorry. My Chicken McNugget habit has shot my quadrant to hell"), and then, to "SHINE our flashlight to the ceiling". This involves doing exactly what it sounds like it might. I can only be grateful that I'm in the class alone, without anyone I can look at and lose my shit entirely, because as it was I was having a hard time not LOL'ing and WTF'ing all by myself. You know, cause I love to speak and laugh in acronyms. Ergo, IBID, op cit, and all that jazz.

Anyway, the instructor tells us to shine our flashlight, though, in that earnest instructor tone that indicates it is a completely normal turn of phrase that no one should laugh at, and that it totally makes sense to refer to one's pelvic region as one's flashlight. So I'm fine with it. So fine, in fact, that I raced back to my office to share this discovery with my coworkers, one of whom indicated that her flashlight had burned out long ago, and another of my dearest friends who currently sings "This Little Light of Mine" frequently when he sees me coming down the hall. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine - and give Pilates a try. I'm glad I did.