Laughter as Medicine

Want the change

by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.

What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.

Pour yourself out like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.

Every happiness is the child of a separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming
a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.

This morning as my chair yoga class at the Florence Bain Center in Columbia finished savasana and gently drew their hands to their hearts into prayer to whisper the closing “Namaste”, I was overcome with emotion. These seniors who show up to practice yoga, despite their physical and cognitive limitations, have taught me much more than I could ever teach them.

Many of them battle pain, depression, chronic illness, and the challenges that come with aging, yet they make their way to our sweet sacred circle every week to breathe and move their bodies; to practice yoga together.

Today we practiced laughter yoga. It was a bit of a risk for me, a relatively new yoga teacher. I have been teaching for three years in Howard County. I never thought I’d be teaching seniors. I started teaching because I really believe in the healing benefits of yoga, having experienced them myself. Years ago, after the death of my six-year-old daughter Meghan, yoga was a practice that helped get me through the grieving process. I wrote about it in my book, Back to Happy. The physical practice, the meditation, and the opportunity to slow down were saving graces for me as I faced the difficult task of learning to accept that my daughter was gone.

When I introduced the idea of laughter yoga, I wasn’t sure how it would go over. With a couple of the students in wheelchairs, there are always modifications to the traditional poses that need to happen. But this was something altogether new for this brave class that typically ranges in age from 72 to 92. They are usually pretty game for my antics, but still, I had apprehension about trying something so new and different.

One of the chapters in my book Back to Happy is all about acceptance. Losing a child is hard to accept. Darn near impossible to be more precise. In those early days, months, and even years, I looked for almost any way to avoid the reality of her loss. I kept myself impossibly busy; too busy to think, too busy to breathe, too busy to hear the beating of my broken heart.

The class started with a “pranayama” exercise I called Ha Ha Hee Hee Hee, which we chanted for several rounds. By the end, a few students were smiling as I suggested they close their eyes and notice the effects of the exercise. We deepened and slowed our breath and sat in silence together, enjoying a short meditation. That went well, I thought to myself. Maybe this will work after all.

In another chapter of my book, I wrote about the day I learned to surrender. I had been trying to go on with life, being a mommy to my other two young children while deeply missing my daughter Meghan. The sadness was affecting me physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn't know what to do anymore. I had reached the bottom I suppose. That day, it was afternoon as I recall, I got down on my knees in my living room and cried out to God.

God and I had not exactly been on speaking terms after Meghan’s death. I was brought up in the Episcopal church, a generic enough religion. I knew all the proper prayers. They just weren't getting me anywhere. Until that day in my living room when, in desperation, I let down my armor and told God out loud that I couldn’t do this alone and I really, really, really could use a hand. 

After our meditation, the class loosened up a bit with some gentle neck stretches in preparation for phase two of laughter yoga. The next part of my little experiment involved an invisible telephone which we held up to our ears. Then we imagined that we had just been told the funniest joke ever over that phone. These obliging, funny, enthusiastic yogis went for it! They started with small chuckles which soon grew into roaring laughter. As they looked at one another their laughter became contagious. They kept it going for several minutes until this group of around ten sounded like an audience at a comedy show. One yogi snorted (or maybe that was me). When we finished our laughter yoga, all of us closed our eyes and observed the physical, chemical, and emotional changes that we knew were going on inside.

I thought I learned a lot from my grief journey, and surely I did. I never dreamed I would be teaching yoga to the senior population. The honor of teaching this courageous group of souls has given me much more than I ever expected, certainly much more than I give to them. I'm pretty sure it was a God thing.

Happiness is an inside job. Life is hard and if we’re lucky, we have the privilege of getting old.

To do this life thing well, we’ve got to keep moving and breathing and loving one another. 

I am still on my journey back to happy and grateful to be on it with this fantastic and incredibly wise group of yogis.

Namaste,

Connie Bowman

Connie Bowman is an actress, voice-over talent, yoga teacher, and author of Back to Happy, a Journey of Hope, Healing and Waking Up, and a new children's book entitled There's an Elephant in My Bathtub. For more info: www.conniebowman.com