Being a Type A yogi (an oxymoron, if ever there was one) - I do have my favorite teachers.
There is S, who I can always rely on to bring my practice back to it's sacred source, to ground my in alignment and posture and breath as he reconnects my practice with the divine. There is N, who unwinds my back and never leaves my tender lumbar region tweaky, and makes me laugh as she takes me deep into myself. There is M, whose flirtations with fluid vinyasa and heart-opening anusara bring delight and poetry to my practice, as her strong practices harden my body. C, of course, my first teacher and a continuing source of nurturing and learning as I begin my own teaching career. And B, the master, who never fails to take me deep and draw some truth and some catharsis from this body that my spirit is experiencing and exploring.
And now, a new teacher. One of my fellow teacher trainees, in fact. I've taken two classes with her in recent days, and in both cases, was delighted to find myself challenged, intrigued, learning, falling deep into myself. At one point during tonight's practice I made a note to myself "remember this stuff, it's really good to incorporate into your own teaching", but by the end of practice I was so deep into myself and the moment, that mental notes and thinking about something as tenuous as the future were lost. It was yummy deep yoga goodness.
During savasana, I crawled under a blanket despite the internal heat and the warm room - my usual indication that a practice has crossed over from the everyday into the sublime.
One the way out, I commented to another teacher (who happened to be web-surfing on Netflix) - it's like discovering a new television series on DVD. So many delicious hours of experience as yet undiscovered, a brand new resource.
Pass the popcorn!