Standing Like a Flamingo

Here I am at the beach doing tree pose.  This is standard tree pose and not one of the many variations such as Holy Fig Tree pose or Swaying Palm Tree pose.  Holy Fig Tree Pose?  In Sanskrit, the word for tree pose is Virksasana.  Another word I will never pronounce correctly.  Tree pose is classified as a basic yoga pose.  But not everybody can lift their foot into their groin area while standing on the other leg like a flamingo.  And then shoot their hands up over their head.  Stresses folks out.  Especially in class where it seems like everybody else pops into the pose with a smile.  To my own surprise, I can do a perfect tree pose most days.  My husband, not so much.  Once a yoga teacher said of his two students, my husband and me, "You are a yoga teacher's nightmare.  You,"  he pointed to me, "are Gumby."  I smiled although my mother could twist her hands out of handcuffs.  I was born this flexible way.  He nodded to my husband, "And, you appear to have no ability to bend.  Like, at all."  Here at the beach with an iPhone in hand my foot isn't up as high as it should go and my hands are...busy taking a photo and not looking like I am praying or waving my branches in the wind.  Maybe I'll call this Beach Tree With iPhone Pose?  Most of us can stand tall on one leg and place the other foot kickstand-like up against the ankle of the standing leg.  Clasp your hands in front of your chest as though you're praying to the yoga gods for stability or place one hand on the wall.  That's tree pose. Do that leaning up against the wall for support, like my husband sometimes does.  That's tree pose.  Lay flat down in this configuration and you are in tree pose.  Maybe we'll call that one Sleepy Tree Pose?  My husband sits in a chair like a sturdy maple, with his leafy hands reaching skyward.  That'd be Sturdy Leafy Maple Pose.  For me, yoga is like a projective on the mat, in the chair, on the beach.  If I observe how I move with thought and focus, I see who I am.  Do I stop doing yoga because my arms are tight and I can't twist them back up and over my head? Nope. I just go with it and bend less or use a yoga block.  Sometimes it's an ego battle.  And yet, when I breathe in and observe myself moving, breathing and slowing down, hopefully I summon the grace to go with the flow and feel the joy of a deep stretch.  Sometimes I cry.  Or have a laugh.  It's always good to laugh.  And cry.