“Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment.” - Ellis Peters
Spring Break, for many, is a pause. For me, it became an unfolding of the mat in a space I did not expect.
This Spring Break, I attended Kundalini yoga classes taught by Catharine Embrey at the senior center for the first time. What I thought was just a regular building at the Industrial Park quietly held so much enthusiasm. The morning classes filled the room with energy, while the smaller afternoon session felt just as intentional. It was a space where everyone moved at their own pace, where the teacher offered modifications without hesitation, and where each of us was reminded to listen to the body and to what is enough.
Being there meant honoring where I am.
I found myself looking forward to those limited mornings before school days resumed. A simple chitchat before class, a “take care”, a few photos after practice - small things, but they stayed with me. Seeing familiar faces from Mission Yoga in a different venue made it feel as if something was slowly taking root. In a place that once felt new, I am beginning to feel at home. And more than anything, it is the teacher who shapes the space, the way she guides, that has continued to remind me that it is really the purpose that matters wherever we practice.
Before all this, yoga was something I kept trying to return to. Briefly post-pandemic, when my family and I were staying indefinitely in my hometown in the northern province of the Philippines, I saw a Facebook advertisement for Yoga Vizcaya. I decided to sign up, hoping the practice could help me heal from the trauma of a bike accident. Who would have thought that my first yoga teacher would be instrumental to why I have come here to the US to teach? After the pandemic, when I had to return to Manila for teaching, I wanted to keep practicing, which meant taking long commutes across the city just to attend classes and complete short-course certifications. I explored different practices: Vinyasa, Ashtanga, a bit of Hatha, meeting unforgettable teachers along the way, and starting again. I felt like I was searching for a rhythm I could truly sustain.
Here in Grants, I didn’t expect to find it this way. I was introduced to Kundalini yoga by a former colleague in middle school and tried a session at the park, fall of last year. I remember thinking I wasn’t quite ready to fully commit yet. But at the start of this year, something shifted. Despite the chill of winter, I began showing up more consistently, even attending my first yoga retreat here, where I shared movement, art, and joyful moments with others.
And then Spring Break came, and with it, this new space at the senior center. Well, the break is over, but the practice continues. I know I will return to that room, to those shared mornings, to learning alongside those who have been on the mat longer than I have. I even think of my mother back in the Philippines. She is a little bit over 70 years old, and she loves to dance, and I would have encouraged her to join, to move, to experience this kind of joy at the senior center.
The break was fleeting, but something came quietly, like the summer.
Much as a mat quietly supports, this practice slowly continues. The seasons, the mat, they fold and unfold, one breath at a time. Through every inhale and exhale, I am learning to be part of a community, to share both strength and vulnerability. Just as every spring blooms as its own astonishment, each practice on the mat feels like a chance to begin again. And maybe, to belong is to believe, and simply to be. That is how we find our way, each day, each season.