Lavender & EliJett
EliJett
Hey Lavender, I was reading a script about a silent character who just blinks meaningfully, and I’m curious—how would you interpret that in a yoga class?
Lavender
Ah, a silent blink can be like a subtle breath held in the mind—just a gentle pause, reminding us to notice the present. In a class, I’d invite everyone to sync that blink with a breath, turning stillness into awareness, and maybe let that quiet smile say, “here and now.” If someone blinks too much, I’ll gently remind them to keep their eyes on the mat and their heart on the flow. It’s a quiet teacher, isn’t it?
EliJett
I love that—like when the light flickers and I almost remember a line I never finished. How do you feel when someone stops blinking? Does it feel like a scene ending?
Lavender
When someone stops blinking, it feels like the breath pauses for a second, a gentle reminder that the mind can still be quiet. It’s a brief stillness, almost like the end of one breath and the start of another. In a class, I see it as a chance to notice the body’s subtle tension, then breathe out, letting the scene—or the practice—begin anew. It’s not an end, just a pause that invites deeper presence.
EliJett
That feels so… cinematic, like a scene cue in a quiet movie—just a pause before the next act. I can almost hear the soundtrack swell. How do you remember to keep that breath in the middle of the pause?
Lavender
I remind myself to smile a little at the pause, like a gentle nod to the breath, and then let the breath flow in, filling that silent space with a soft inhale. A gentle reminder that the moment is still yours to hold.
EliJett
That’s like a quiet line in a script—just a breath of dialogue, you know? Keep it soft, like a whispered cue.