The word I chose to meditate on was strength and boy did I need it. Through many rounds of inversions I felt dizzy and I had to take frequent breaks, heading into the familiar territory of child’s pose. It wasn't until we played with the “geography of the feet”--rocking from the outsides to inner blades of our feet--that I found my stride. On the subway home I continued fidgeting there, finding my centerline and balance on each foot.

As a toddler I used to sleep with my butt up in the air, like an incomplete child’s pose. I don’t know how or why I found that comfortable, but today in class we came to this position with our heads rooted straight down to the floor and the teacher explained that it is a strong and holy Asana. In this shape, we form a direct connection from our head to roots. I’m sure I didn’t make that leap as a baby, but I have no trouble reaching the shape today. I felt its echo outside in the world after class, as if my head has been empowered to take on a life of its own, and is choosing to travel north. This torqued shape actually made me feel like I was rooted while reaching up, in a very connected way.The echo or the witness of the class turned into my day’s mantra: Strength. Strength. Strength. But understand this strength isn’t of a gym rat or weight-lifter. It’s the strength of a dancer to form a perfectly straight line, or a gymnast on a balance beam. I feel strong like a turbine slicing through, rather than being knocked down by, the night's aggressive winds.