On stingrays, wellbeing and Love & Rockets

Since my musical concluded, I've been going to yoga class religiously. I schlep into town and do my thingy there. The class is nice and quiet. The teacher seems a placid soul and the atmosphere is calming. I love the way my upper back pops when I do a forward bend. Generally, I think of this class as part and parcel of my well-being as I navigate the choppy waters of school and work. Before class Wednesday night, a handful of women were talking about the fact that the teacher is leaving, moving away, and the studio will close upon her departure. I felt saddened by the news. I've been going to yoga very regularly and am seeing a marked improvement on my posture, how I feel and my general outlook, but for the studio to close would mean a personal setback, I thought. On Wednesdays, a guitarist comes in and plays music-- usually Villa-Lobos and the like-- to the class as we pose. Wednesday night, though, I could never seem to banish monkey-mind. Thoughts were swirling about what I would do, now that I'm finally on track with a fitness/wellness routine, now that beloved yoga instructor is folding up her mat and running off to infinitely more attractive San Francisco. I'll miss her. What'll I do? Then the guitarist did the most unlikely thing: he played Saudade from Love & Rockets' debut album. I was in some supine pretzelian distortion and I fancied I heard something familiar. I heard the first few tones and doubted my senses. Could this be? Is he playing one of my favorite guitar tracks? No! Surely not! I remembered hearing that this band was releasing an album and going to the record store to pre-order a copy, and they called me when it arrived, about 1985. Love & Rockets. Saudade. When Metamorphosis records called and told me my record had arrived, I shot off like a bullet to collect my prize. Back home, I reverently peeled the cellophane from the (vinyl!) album's dustjacket and slid the disk onto my cheap record player to give it its maiden listen. Such placid joy sprang forth. Hearing Saudade in the class Wednesday so hot on the heels of news of such great impediment to my tranquility, I knew nonetheless all would be well, all would sort itself out. Things don't always work themselves out in a way that we would most prefer, but one way or another, they do work out. I don't have the distance to sense the order to this elaborate, brocade wallpaper, but I know there is some order at work there, and this is a comfort. Here's to keeping soft knees and going with the flow. All is well.